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[Illustration: The three-headed monster belched forth flame]
What Every Child Should Know LIBRARY
TALES
OF WONDER
EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW
Edited by
KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN
and NORA ARCHIBALD SMITH
Published by DOUBLEDAY, DORAN & CO., INC., for
THE PARENTS' INSTITUTE, INC.
Publishers of "THE PARENTS' MAGAZINE"
_52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York_
COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
* * * * *
PUBLISHER'S NOTE
_Doubleday, Page & Company wish to make acknowledgment of their
indebtedness to the following publishers_:
_G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York and London, for permission to use "The
Five Queer Brothers," "The Two Melons" and "What the Birds Said," from
"Chinese Nights' Entertainment," by Adele M. Fielde; "The Lac of
Rupees," from "Indian Fairy Tales," by Joseph Jacobs; "The
Sea-maiden," from "Celtic Fairy Tales," by Joseph Jacobs; "The Black
Horse" and "The Farmer of Liddesdale," from "More Celtic Fairy Tales,"
by Joseph Jacobs; and "The Buried Moon," from "More English Fairy
Tales," by Joseph Jacobs._
_T. Y. Crowell & Company, New York, for permission to use "The
Grateful Crane" from "The Fire-fly's Lovers," by William Elliot
Griffis._
_Joseph McDonough, Albany, for permission to use "Little Surya Bai,"
"The Jackal, the Barber and the Brahmin," "Truth's Triumph," "The
Raksha's Palace," and "Panch-Phul Ranee," from "Old Deccan Days," by
M. Frere._
_Charles Scribner's Sons, New York, for permission to use "The
Deserter," "Steelpacha" and "The Watch-tower Between Earth and
Heaven," from "The Russian Grandmother's Wonder Tales," by L. S.
Houghton._
_Macmillan & Company, London, for permission to use "The Grateful
Foxes" and "The Badger's Money," from "Tales of Old Japan," by A. B.
Mitford._
_The Review of Reviews Company, London, for permission to use "The
Feast of Lanterns" and "The Lake of Gems," from "Books for the
Bairns," edited by W. T. Stead._
_We also wish to express our appreciation to Mr. Seumas MacManus for
the use of his stories, "The Amadan of the Dough," "Hookedy-Crookedy,"
"Billy Beg and the Bull," and "The Queen of the Golden Mines," from
"Donegal Fairy Stories," and "In Chimney Corners," published by us._
* * * * *
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
I WONDER (_Scandinavian_)
WHAT THE BIRDS SAID (_Chinese_)
THE SMITH AND THE FAIRIES (_Gaelic_)
THE GRATEFUL CRANE (_Japanese_)
LITTLE SURYA BAI (_Southern Indian_)
THE STORKS AND THE NIGHT OWL (_Persian_)
THE FIVE QUEER BROTHERS (_Chinese_)
THE LAC OF RUPEES (_Southern Indian_)
THE EMPEROR'S NIGHTINGALE. H. C. ANDERSEN
HOOKEDY-CROOKEDY. SEUMAS MACMANUS (_Celtic_)
ARNDT'S NIGHT UNDERGROUND. D. M. MULOCK
THE UNICORN (_German_)
DESTINY. E. LABOULAYE (_Dalmatian_)
THE QUEEN OF THE GOLDEN MINES. SEUMAS MACMANUS (_Celtic_)
THE DESERTER (_Russian_)
THE TWO MELONS (_Chinese_)
THE IRON CASKET (_Persian_)
THE KNIGHTS OF THE FISH. FERNAN CABALLERO (_Spanish_)
DAPPLEGRIM (_Scandinavian_)
THE HERMIT. VOLTAIRE (_French_)
THE WATCH-TOWER BETWEEN EARTH AND HEAVEN (_Russian_)
THE LUCKY COIN. FRANCOSO (_Portuguese_)
THE JACKAL, THE BARBER AND THE BRAHMIN (_Southern Indian_)
THE BIRD OF TRUTH. CABALLERO (_Spanish_)
THE TWO GENIES. VOLTAIRE (_French_)
STEELPACHA (_Russian_)
THE BURIED MOON (_English_)
THE FARMER OF LIDDESDALE (_English_)
THE BADGER'S MONEY (_Japanese_)
THE GRATEFUL FOXES (_Japanese_)
THE BLACK HORSE (_Celtic_)
TRUTH'S TRIUMPH (_Southern Indian_)
THE FEAST OF THE LANTERNS (_Chinese_)
THE LAKE OF GEMS (_Chinese_)
THE SEA-MAIDEN (_Celtic_)
THE ENCHANTED WATERFALL (_Japanese_)
THE AMADAN OF THE DOUGH. SEUMAS MACMANUS (_Celtic_)
THE RAKSHAS'S PALACE (_Southern Indian_)
BILLY BEG AND THE BULL. SEUMAS MACMANUS (_Celtic_)
THE PRINCES FIRE-FLASH AND FIRE-FADE (_Japanese_)
PANCH-PHUL RANEE (_Southern Indian_)
SCHIPPEITARO (_Japanese_)
* * * * *
I WONDER!
I wonder if in Samarcand
Grave camels kneel in golden sand,
Still lading bales of magic spells
And charms a lover's wisdom tells,
To fare across the desert main
And bring the Princess home again--
I wonder!
I wonder in Japan to-day
If grateful beasts find out the way
To those who succoured them in pain,
And bring their blessings back again;
If cranes and sparrows take the shape
And all the ways of mortals ape--
I wonder!
In Bagdad, may there still be found
That potent powder, finely ground,
Which changes all who on it feast,
Monarch or slave, to bird or beast?
Do Caliphs taste and unafraid,
Turn storks, and weeping night-owls aid?
I wonder!
I wonder if in far Cathay
The nightingale still trills her lay
Beside the Porcelain Palace door,
And courtiers praise her as before I
If emperors dream of bygone things
And musing, weep the while she sings--
I wonder!
Such things have never chanced to me.
I wonder if to eyes that see
These magic visions still appear
In daily living, now and here;
If every flower is touched with glory,
If e'en the grass-blades tell a story--
I wonder
N. A. S.
* * * * *
_INTRODUCTION_
There is a Chinese tale, known as "The Singing Prisoner," in which a
friendless man is bound hand and foot and thrown into a dungeon, where
he lies on the cold stones unfed and untended.
He has no hope of freedom and as complaint will avail him nothing, he
begins to while away the hours by reciting poems and stories that he
had learned in youth. So happily does he vary the tones of the
speakers, feigning in turn the voices of kings and courtiers, lovers
and princesses, birds and beasts, that he speedily draws all his
fellow-prisoners around him, beguiling them by the spell of his
genius.
Those who have food, eagerly press it upon him that his strength may
be replenished; the jailer, who has been drawn into the charmed
circle, loosens his bonds that he may move more freely, and finally
grants him better quarters that the stories may be heard to greater
advantage. Next the petty officers hear of the prisoner's marvellous
gifts and report them everywhere with such effect that the higher
authorities at last become interested and grant him a pardon.
Tales like these, that draw children from play and old men from the
chimney-corner; that gain the freedom of a Singing Prisoner, and
enable a Scheherazade to postpone from night to night her hour of
death, are one and all pervaded by the same eternal magic. Pain,
grief, terror, care, and bondage are all forgotten for a time when
lakes of gems and enchanted waterfalls shimmer in the sunlight, when
Rakshas's palaces rise, full-built, before our very eyes, or when
Caballero's Knights of the Fish prance away on their magic chargers.
"I wonder when!" "I wonder how!" "I wonder where!" we say as we follow
them into the land of mystery. So Youngling said when he heard the
sound of the mysterious axe in the forest and asked himself who could
be chopping there.
"I wonder!" he cried again when he listened to the faerie spade
digging and delving at the top of the rocks.
"I wonder!" he questioned a third time when he drank from the
streamlet and sought its source, finding it at last in the enchanted
walnut. Axe and spade and walnut each gladly welcomed him, you
remember, saying, "It's long I've been looking for you, my lad!" for
the new world is always awaiting its Columbus.
No such divine curiosity as that of Youngling's stirred the dull minds
of his elder brothers and to them came no such reward. They jeered at
the wanderer, reproaching him that he forever strayed from the beaten
path, but when Youngling issues from the forest with the magic axe,
the marvellous spade, and the miraculous nut to conquer his little
world, we begin to ask ourselves which of the roads in the wood are
indeed best worth following.
"Childish wonder is the first step in human wisdom," said the greatest
of the world's showmen, but there are no wonders to the eyes that lack
real vision. In the story of "What the Birds Said," for instance, the
stolid jailer flatly denies that the feathered creatures have any
message of import to convey; it is the poor captive who by sympathy
and insight divines the meaning of their chatter and thus saves the
city and his own life.
The tales in this book are of many kinds of wonder; of black magic,
white magic and gray; ranging from the recital of strange and
supernatural deeds and experiences to those that fore-shadow modern
conquests of nature and those that utilize the marvellous to teach a
moral lesson. Choose among them as you will, for as the Spaniards
might say, "The book is at your feet; whatever you admire is yours!"
"Tales of Wonder" is the fourth and last of our Fairy Series in the
Children's Classics, so this preface is in the nature of an epilogue.
"The Fairy Ring," "Magic Casements," "Tales of Laughter"--each had its
separate message for its little public, and "Tales of Wonder" rings
down the curtain.
There was once a little brown nightingale that sang melodious strains
in the river-thickets of the Emperor's garden, but when she was
transported to the Porcelain Palace the courtiers soon tired of her
wild-wood notes and supplanted her with a wonderful bird-automaton,
fashioned of gold and jewels.
Time went on, but the Emperor, wisest of the court, began at last to
languish, and to long unceasingly for the fresh, free note of the
little brown nightingale. It was sweeter by far than the machine-made
trills and roulades of the artificial songster, and he felt
instinctively that only by its return could death be charmed away.
The old, yet ever new, tales in these four books are like the wild
notes of the nightingale in the river-thicket, and many are the
emperors to whom they have sung.
Whenever we tire of what is trivial and paltry in the machine-made
fairy tale of to-day, let us open one of these crimson volumes and
hear again the note of the little brown bird in the thicket.
KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN.
* * * * *
_Tales of Wonder_
_I Wonder_
Once on a time there was a man who had three sons--Peter, Paul, and
the least of all, whom they called Youngling. I can't say the man had
anything more than these three sons, for he hadn't one penny to rub
against another; and he told the lads, over and over again, that they
must go out into the world and try to earn their bread, for at home
there was nothing to be looked for but starving to death.
Now near by the man's cottage was the King's palace, and, you must
know, just against the windows a great oak had sprung up, which was so
stout and tall that it took away all the light. The King had said he
would give untold treasure to the man who could fell the oak, but no
one was man enough for that, for as soon as one chip of the oak's
trunk flew off, two grew in its stead.
A well, too, the King desired, which was to hold water for the whole
year; for all his neighbours had wells, but he hadn't any, and that he
thought a shame. So the King said he would give both money and goods
to anyone who could dig him such a well as would hold water for a
whole year round, but no one could do it, for the palace lay high,
high up on a hill, and they could only dig a few inches before they
came upon the living rock.
But, as the King had set his heart on having these two things done, he
had it given out far and wide, in all the churches of his dominion,
that he who could fell the big oak in the King's courtyard, and get
him a well that would hold water the whole year round, should have the
Princess and half the kingdom.
Well! you may easily know there was many a man who came to try his
luck; but all their hacking and hewing, all their digging and delving,
were of no avail. The oak grew taller and stouter at every stroke, and
the rock grew no softer.
So one day the three brothers thought they'd set off and try, too, and
their father hadn't a word against it; for, even if they didn't get
the Princess and half the kingdom, it might happen that they would get
a place somewhere with a good master, and that was all he wanted. So
when the brothers said they thought of going to the palace, their
father said "Yes" at once, and Peter, Paul, and Youngling went off
from their home.
They had not gone far before they came to a fir-wood, and up along one
side of it rose a steep hillside, and as they went they heard
something hewing and hacking away up on the hill among the trees.
"I wonder now what it is that is hewing away up yonder?" said
Youngling.
"You are always so clever with your wonderings," said Peter and Paul,
both at once. "What wonder is it, pray, that a wood-cutter should
stand and hack up on a hillside?"
"Still, I'd like to see what it is, after all," said Youngling, and up
he went.
"Oh, if you're such a child, 't will do you good to go and take a
lesson," cried out his brothers after him.
But Youngling didn't care for what they said; he climbed the steep
hillside toward where the noise came, and when he reached the place,
what do you think he saw?
Why, an axe that stood there hacking and hewing, all of itself, at the
trunk of a fir.
"Good day," said Youngling. "So you stand here all alone and hew, do
you?"
"Yes, here I've stood and hewed and hacked a long, long time, waiting
for you, my lad," said the Axe.
"Well, here I am at last," said Youngling, as he took the Axe, pulled
it off its haft, and stuffed both head and haft into his wallet.
So when he climbed down again to his brothers, they began to jeer and
laugh at him.
"And now, what funny thing was it you saw up yonder on the hillside?"
they said.
"Oh, it was only an axe we heard," said Youngling.
When they had gone a bit farther, they came under a steep spur of
rock, and up above they heard something digging and shovelling.
"I wonder, now," said Youngling, "what it is digging and shovelling up
yonder at the top of the rock?"
"Ah, you're always so clever with your wonderings," said Peter and
Paul again; "as if you'd never heard a woodpecker hacking and pecking
at a hollow tree."
"Well, well," said Youngling, "I think it would be a piece of fun just
to see what it really is."
And so off he set to climb the rock, while the others laughed and made
game of him. But he didn't care a bit for that; up he clambered, and
when he got near the top, what do you think he saw? Why, a spade that
stood there digging and delving.
"Good day," said Youngling. "So you stand here all alone, and dig and
delve?"
"Yes, that's what I do," said the Spade, "and that's what I've done
this many a long day, waiting for you, my lad."
"Well, here I am," said Youngling again, as he took the Spade and
knocked off its handle, and put it into his wallet; and then he
climbed down again to his brothers.
"Well, what was it, so strange and rare," said Peter and Paul, "that
you saw up there at the top of the rock?"
"Oh," said Youngling, "nothing more than a spade; that was what we
heard."
So they went on again a good bit, till they came to a brook. They were
thirsty all three, after their long walk, and so they lay down beside
the brook to have a drink.
"I have a great fancy to see where this brook comes from," said
Youngling.
So up alongside the brook he went, in spite of all that his brothers
shouted after him. Nothing could stop him. On he went. And as he went
up and up, the brook grew smaller and smaller, and at last, a little
way farther on, what do you think he saw? Why, a great walnut, and out
of that the water trickled.
"Good day," said Youngling again. "So you lie here and trickle, and
run down all alone?"
"Yes, I do," said the Walnut "and here have I trickled and run this
many a long day, waiting for you, my lad."
"Well, here I am," said Youngling, as he took a lump of moss and
plugged up the hole, so that the water mightn't run out. Then he put
the Walnut into his wallet, and ran down to his brothers.
"Well, now," said Peter and Paul, "have you found out where the water
comes from? A rare sight it must have been!"
"Oh, after all, it was only a hole it ran out of," said Youngling, and
the others laughed and made game of him again, but Youngling didn't
mind that a bit.
So when they had gone a little farther, they came to the King's
palace; but as every man in the kingdom had heard that he might win
the Princess and half the realm, if he could only fell the big oak and
dig the King's well, so many had come to try their luck that the oak
was now twice as stout and big as it had been at first, for you will
remember that two chips grew for every one they hewed out with their
axes.
So the King had now laid it down as a punishment that if anyone tried
and couldn't fell the oak, he should be put on a barren island, and
both his ears were to be clipped off. But the two brothers didn't let
themselves be frightened by this threat; they were quite sure they
could fell the oak, and Peter, as he was the eldest, was to try his
hand first; but it went with him as with all the rest who had hewn at
the oak: for every chip he cut two grew in its place. So the King's
men seized him, and clipped off both his ears, and put him out on the
island.
Now Paul was to try his luck, but he fared just the same! When he had
hewn two or three strokes, they began to see the oak grow, and so the
King's men seized him, too, and clipped his ears, and put him out on
the island; and his ears they clipped closer, because they said he
ought to have taken a lesson from his brother.
So now Youngling was to try.
"If you want to look like a marked sheep, we're quite ready to clip
your ears at once, and then you'll save yourself some trouble," said
the King, for he was angry with him for his brothers' sake.
"Well, I'd just like to try first," said Youngling, and so he got
leave. Then he took his Axe out of his wallet and fitted it to its
handle.
"Hew away!" said he to his Axe, and away it hewed, making the chips
fly again, so that it wasn't long before down came the oak.
When that was done, Youngling pulled out his Spade and fitted it to
its handle.
"Dig away!" said he to his Spade, and so the Spade began to dig and
delve till the earth and rock flew out in splinters, and he soon had
the well deep enough, you may believe.
And when he had got it as big and deep as he chose, Youngling took out
his Walnut and laid it in one corner of the well, and pulled the plug
of moss out.
"Trickle and run," said Youngling, and so the Nut trickled and ran
till the water gushed out of the hole in a stream, and in a short time
the well was brimful.
So as Youngling had felled the oak which shaded the King's palace, and
dug a well in the palace-yard, he got the Princess and half the
kingdom, as the King had said; but it was lucky for Peter and Paul
that they had lost their ears, else they might have grown tired of
hearing how everyone said each hour of the day:
"Well, after all, Youngling wasn't so much out of his mind when he
took to wondering."
_What the Birds Said_
A lad named Kong Hia Chiang, who lived with his parents among the
mountains, understood the language of the birds. One twilight, as he
sat at his books, a flock of birds alighted on a tree before his
window and sang:
"Kong Hia Chiang, on the southern plain
A sheep awaits you by a heap of stones,--
A fine fat wether, that the dogs have slain;
You eat the flesh and we will pick the bones!"
Kong Hia Chiang went and brought in the torn sheep and cooked it
during the night. The next morning a shepherd came and said that one
of his sheep was missing; he had found blood on the meadow, had
followed the trail, and it had brought him to that house. Kong Hia
Chiang acknowledged that he had brought in the sheep, but declared
that the dogs had killed it, and that its death and the place where it
might be found had been made known to him by birds. His story was
considered to be an impudent fabrication, and he was haled away to
prison.
While he was awaiting his trial before the magistrate, a bird, flying
eastward, perched on the wall, saw him, and piped:
"Foes approach the western border,
Banners, bows, and spears in order,
While the gate lacks watch or warder."
Kong Hia Chiang thereupon so vehemently besought his jailer to inform
the magistrate of the imminent danger of invasion through the
unprotected Western Pass, that the jailer, though wholly incredulous,
decided to test his power of comprehending the utterances of birds. He
took some rice, soaked a part of it in sweetened water, and a part in
brine, and then spread the whole on the roof of a shed into which he
brought Kong Hia Chiang, and asked him if he knew why so many birds
were chirruping overhead. Kong Hia Chiang at once replied that those
on the roof were hailing those that were flying past, and saying:
"Call a halt; call a halt;
Here is rice fresh and white;
Half is sweet, half is salt;
Stop a bit; take a bite."
The jailer was at once convinced that the prisoner understood the
speech of birds, and therefore hastened to the magistrate to report
the warning and the test. The magistrate sent a swift courier to
notify the military officers, and a scout was sent out to the west. He
soon confirmed the message of Kong Hia Chiang, and troops were
dispatched to strengthen the garrison at the pass, the invaders
thereby being successfully repelled. The great service rendered to the
country by Kong Hia Chiang was acknowledged by his sovereign, who
afterward made use of his remarkable talent, invited him to study with
the princes, and eventually raised him to a high rank among the nobles
of the empire.
_The Smith and the Fairies_
Years ago there lived in Crossbrig a smith of the name of MacEachern.
This man had an only child, a boy of about thirteen or fourteen years
of age, cheerful, strong, and healthy. All of a sudden he fell ill;
took to his bed and moped whole days away. No one could tell what was
the matter with him, and the boy himself could not, or would not, tell
how he felt. He was wasting away fast; getting thin, old, and yellow;
and his father and all his friends were afraid that he would die.
At last one day, after the boy had been lying in this condition for a
long time, getting neither better nor worse, always confined to bed,
but with an extraordinary appetite--one day, while sadly revolving
these things, and standing idly at his forge, with no heart to work,
the smith was agreeably surprised to see an old man, well known for
his sagacity and knowledge of out-of-the-way things, walk into his
workshop. Forthwith he told him the occurrence which had clouded his
life.
The old man looked grave as he listened; and after sitting a long time
pondering over all he had heard, gave his opinion thus: "It is not
your son you have got. The boy has been carried away by the '_Daione
Sith_,' and they have left a _Sibhreach_ in his place."
"Alas! and what then am I to do?" said the smith. "How am I ever to
see my own son again?"
"I will tell you how," answered the old man. "But, first, to make sure
that it is not your own son you have got, take as many empty
egg-shells as you can get, go into his room, spread them out carefully
before his sight, then proceed to draw water with them, carrying them
two and two in your hands as if they were a great weight, and arrange
them when full, with every sort of earnestness around the fire."
The smith accordingly gathered as many broken egg-shells as he could
get, went into the room, and proceeded to carry out all his
instructions.
He had not been long at work before there arose from the bed a shout
of laughter, and the voice of the seeming sick boy exclaimed, "I am
eight hundred years of age, and I have never seen the like of that
before." The smith returned and told the old man.
"Well, now," said the sage to him, "did I not tell you that it was not
your son you had: your son is in Borracheill in a digh there (that is,
a round green hill frequented by fairies). Get rid as soon as possible
of this intruder, and I think I may promise you your son. You must
light a very large and bright fire before the bed on which this
stranger is lying. He will ask you, 'What is the use of such a fire as
that?' Answer him at once, 'You will see that presently!' and then
seize him, and throw him into the middle of it. If it is your own son
you have got, he will call out to you to save him; but if not, the
thing will fly through the roof."
The smith again followed the old man's advice: kindled a large fire,
answered the question put to him as he had been directed to do, and
seizing the child flung him in without hesitation. The _Sibhreach_
gave an awful yell, and sprang through the roof, where a hole had been
left to let the smoke out.
On a certain night the old man told him the green round hill, where
the fairies kept the boy, would be open, and on that date the smith,
having provided himself with a Bible, a dirk, and a crowing cock, was
to proceed to the hill. He would hear singing and dancing, and much
merriment going on, he had been told, but he was to advance boldly;
the Bible he carried would be a certain safeguard to him against any
danger from the fairies. On entering the hill he was to stick the dirk
in the threshold, to prevent the hill from closing upon him; "and
then," continued the old man, "on entering you will see a spacious
apartment before you, beautifully clean, and there, standing far
within, working at a forge, you will also see your own son. When you
are questioned, say you come to seek him, and will not go without
him."
Not long after this, the time came round, and the smith sallied forth,
prepared as instructed. Sure enough as he approached the hill, there
was a light where light was seldom seen before. Soon after, a sound of
piping, dancing, and joyous merriment reached the anxious father on
the night wind.
Overcoming every impulse to fear, the smith approached the threshold
steadily, stuck the dirk into it as directed, and entered. Protected
by the Bible he carried on his breast, the fairies could not touch
him; but they asked him, with a good deal of displeasure, what he
wanted there. He answered, "I want my son, whom I see down there, and
I will not go without him."
Upon hearing this the whole company before him gave a loud laugh,
which wakened up the cock he carried dozing in his arms, who at once
leaped up on his shoulders, clapped his wings lustily, and crowed loud
and long.
The fairies, incensed, seized the smith and his son, and throwing them
out of the hill, flung the dirk after them, and in an instant all was
dark.
For a year and a day the boy never did a turn of work, and hardly ever
spoke a word; but at last one day, sitting by his father and watching
him finishing a sword he was making for some chief, and which he was
very particular about, he suddenly exclaimed, "That is not the way to
do it;" and taking the tools from his father's hands he set to work
himself in his place, and soon fashioned a sword, the like of which
was never seen in the country before.
From that day the young man wrought constantly with his father, and
became the inventor of a peculiarly fine and well-tempered weapon, the
making of which kept the two smiths, father and son, in constant
employment, spread their fame far and wide, and gave them the means in
abundance, as they before had the disposition, to live content with
all the world and very happily with each other.
_The Grateful Crane_[1]
"Fighting sparrows fear not man," as the old proverb says. Yet it was
not a sparrow but a crane that fell down out of the air. Near the feet
of Musai, the farmer's boy, it lay, as he waded in the ooze of his
rice field, working from daybreak to sundown.
[Footnote 1: From "The Fire-fly's Lovers," by William Elliot Griffis,
copyright, 1008, by T. Y. Crowell & Co.]
The farmer's boy was used to cranes, for in the plough's furrow on the
dry land these long-legged birds walked close behind, not the least
afraid in the Mikado's dominions. For who would hurt the
white-breasted creature, that every one called the Honourable Lord
Crane? The graceful birds seemed to love to be near man, when he
worked in the wet or paddy fields, where under four inches of water
the seeds were planted and the rice plants grew. So graceful in all
its movements is the crane that many a dainty little maid who acts
politely hears herself spoken of as the "bird that rises from the
water without muddying the stream."
Musai hurried to the grassy bank at the edge of the paddy field as
fast as he could wade through the liquid mud, to see what was the
matter with the crane. Throwing down his hoe, and looking in the
grass, he saw that an arrow was sticking in the crane's back, and that
red drops of blood dappled its white plumage. Instead of seeming
frightened when the man came near, the bird bent down its neck, as if
to submit to whatever the farmer's boy should do.
Gently Musai plucked out the arrow and helped the bird to rise,
pushing back the undergrowth so that its broad white pinions could
have free play. After a few feeble attempts to fly it spread its
wings, rose up from the earth, and after circling several times round
its benefactor as though to thank him, it flew off to the mountain.
Musai went back to his work, hoping that in season his labor would
yield a good crop. He had his widowed mother to support and must needs
toil every day. His one delight was to come home, weary after the long
hours of labour in the muddy rice field, and have a hot bath. This his
mother always had ready for him. Then, clean and with a fresh kimono,
and a little rest before supper-time, he was ready for a quiet evening
with the neighbours.
So in routine the days passed by until autumn was near at hand. One
day, returning before the sun was fully set, he found seated beside
his mother a lovely girl. In spite of his contemptible appearance
after a day's toil, working barelegged in the mire, she welcomed him
with the grace of a princess.
Not thinking of returning the salute in his unwashed condition, he
took off his head-kerchief, drew in his breath, and bowing to his
mother asked.
"Who is the honourable That Side, and how comes she into this
miserable hut?"
"My son," replied his mother, "though you are a man, you have as yet
no wife. Your virtues of obedience, filial reverence, fidelity, and
politeness have made you well known. Hence this fair damsel is not
unwilling to become your wife. But, without your consent, I could not
answer her proposal. What do you think about it?"
The young farmer, though highly complimented, at first said little,
but he thought hard. "Daintily reared, and perhaps of noble birth is
she, but should I gratify her desire, how can she bear the poverty to
which we are accustomed? Will she be patient, when she has to suffer
hunger? Or, shall we be separated, and that which promises love and
happiness last only a little while, to pass away, leaving gloom and
sorrow behind?"
But as the days slipped along, and when he saw how kind she was to her
new mother, ever patient and self-denying in loving reverence, all his
fears were driven away like clouds before the wind. So the young man
and woman were married.
But when the full autumn-time came for the rice ears to fill and round
out, nothing was found but husk and shell. The crop was a total
failure. With heavy taxes unpaid and no food in the house, starvation
loomed before them. By winter, all were in dire distress.
Then the patient wife revealed new powers and cheered her husband,
saying,
"I can spin such cloth as was never made in this province, if you will
build me a separate room. I cannot weave here, or make the fine
pattern of red and white except when alone and in perfect silence.
Build me a room, and the money you need will flow in."
The old mother was doubtful as to her daughter-in-law's project and
even Musai was but half-hearted. Yet he went to work diligently. With
beam, and wattle, and thatch, floor of mats and window of latticed
paper, with walls made tight because well daubed with clay, he built
the room apart. There alone, day by day, secluded from all, the sweet
wife toiled unseen. The mother and husband patiently waited, until
after a week, the little woman rejoined the family circle. In her
hands she bore a roll of woven stuff, white and shining, as lustrous
and pure as fresh fallen snow. Yet here and there, a crimson thread in
the stuff did but intensify the purity of the otherwise unflecked
whiteness. Pure red and pure white were the only colours of this
wonderful fabric.
"What shall we call it?" inquired the amazed husband.
"It has no name, for there is none other in the world like it," said
the fair weaver.
"But I must have a name. I shall take it to the Daimio. He will not
buy, if he does not know how it is called."
"Then," said the wife, "tell him its name is 'White Crane's-down
cloth.'"
Quickly passed the snowy fabric into the hands of the lord of the
castle, who sent it as a present to the Empress in Kioto. All were
amazed by it, and the Empress commanded the donor to be richly
rewarded. The farmer husband, bearing a thousand pieces of coin in his
bag, hastened home to spread the shining silver at his mother's feet
and to thank the wife who had brought him fortune. A feast followed,
and for many weeks the family lived easily on the money thus gained.
Then, when again on the edge of need, Musai asked his wife if she were
willing to weave another web of the wonderful Crane's-down cloth.
Cheerfully she agreed, cautioning him to leave her in privacy, and not
to look upon her until she came forth with the cloth.
But alas for the spirit of prying impertinence and wicked curiosity!
Not satisfied with having been delivered from starvation by a wife
that served him like a slave, Musai stealthily crept up to the paper
partition, touched his tongue to the latticed pane, and poked his
finger noiselessly through, thus making a round hole to which he glued
his eye and looked in.
What a sight! There was no woman at work, but a noble white crane--the
same that he had seen in the field, and from whose back he had
extracted the hunter's arrow. Bending over the spinning wheel, the
bird pulled from her own breast the silky down, and by twining and
twisting made it into the finest thread which mortals ever beheld.
From time to time, she pressed from her heart's blood red drops with
which to dye some strands, and thus the weaving went on. The web of
the cloth was nearly finished.
Musai astounded looked on without moving, until suddenly called by his
mother, he cried out in response, "Yes, I'm coming."
The startled crane turned and saw the eye in the wall. Throwing down
thread and web she moved angrily to the door, gave a shrill scream and
flew out under the sky. Like a white speck against the blue hills, she
appeared for a little while and then was lost to sight.
Son and mother once more faced poverty and loneliness, and Musai again
splashed barelegged in the rice field.
_Little Surya Bai_
A poor Milkwoman was once going into the town with cans full of milk
to sell. She took with her her little daughter (a baby of about a year
old), having no one in whose charge to leave her at home. Being tired,
she sat down by the roadside, placing the child and the cans full of
milk beside her; when, on a sudden, two large eagles flew overhead;
and one, swooping down, seized the child, and flew away with her out
of the mother's sight.
Very far, far away the eagles carried the little baby, even beyond the
borders of her native land, until they reached their home in a lofty
tree. There the old eagles had built a great nest; it was made of iron
and wood, and was as big as a little house; there was iron all round,
and to get in and out you had to go through seven iron doors.
In this stronghold they placed the little baby, and because she was
like a young eaglet they called her Surya Bai (the Sun Lady). The
eagles both loved the child; and daily they flew into distant
countries to bring her rich and precious things--clothes that had been
made for princesses, precious jewels, wonderful playthings, all that
was most costly and rare.
One day, when Surya Bai was twelve years old, the old husband Eagle
said to his wife, "Wife, our daughter has no diamond ring on her
little finger, such as princesses wear; let us go and fetch her one."
"Yes," said the other old Eagle; "but to fetch it we must go very
far." "True," rejoined he, "such a ring is not to be got nearer than
the Red Sea, and that is a twelve-month's journey from here;
nevertheless we will go." So the Eagles started off, leaving Surya Bai
in the strong nest, with twelve months' provisions (that she might not
be hungry whilst they were away), and a little dog and cat to take
care of her.
Not long after they were gone, one day the naughty little cat stole
some food from the store, for doing which Surya Bai punished her. The
cat did not like being whipped, and she was still more annoyed at
having been caught stealing; so, in revenge, she ran to the fireplace
(they were obliged to keep a fire always burning in the Eagle's nest,
as Surya never went down from the tree, and would not otherwise have
been able to cook her dinner), and put out the fire. When the little
girl saw this she was much vexed, for the cat had eaten their last
cooked provisions, and she did not know what they were to do for food.
For three whole days Surya Bai puzzled over the difficulty, and for
three whole days she and the dog and the cat had nothing to eat. At
last she thought she would climb to the edge of the nest, and see if
she could see any fire in the country below; and, if so, she would go
down and ask the people who lighted it to give her a little with which
to cook her dinner. So she climbed to the edge of the nest. Then, very
far away on the horizon, she saw a thin curl of blue smoke. So she let
herself down from the tree, and all day long she walked in the
direction whence the smoke came. Toward evening she reached the place,
and found it rose from a small hut in which sat an old woman warming
her hands over a fire. Now, though Surya Bai did not know it, she had
reached the Rakshas's country, and this old woman was none other than
a wicked old Rakshas, who lived with her son in the little hut. The
young Rakshas, however, had gone out for the day. When the old Rakshas
saw Surya Bai, she was much astonished, for the girl was beautiful as
the sun, and her rich dress resplendent with jewels; and she said to
herself, "How lovely this child is; what a dainty morsel she would be!
Oh, if my son were only here we would kill her, and boil her, and eat
her. I will try and detain her till his return."
Then, turning to Surya Bai, she said, "Who are you, and what do you
want?"
Surya Bai answered, "I am the daughter of the great Eagles, but they
have gone a far journey, to fetch me a diamond ring, and the fire has
died out in the nest. Give me, I pray you, a little from your
hearth."
The Rakshas replied, "You shall certainly have some, only first pound
this rice for me, for I am old, and have no daughter to help me."
Then Surya Bai pounded the rice, but the young Rakshas had not
returned by the time she had finished; so the old Rakshas said to her,
"If you are kind, grind this corn for me, for it is hard work for my
old hands."
Then she ground the corn, but still the young Rakshas came not; and
the old Rakshas said to her, "Sweep the house for me first, and then I
will give you the fire."
So Surya Bai swept the house; but still the young Rakshas did not
come.
Then his mother said to Surya Bai, "Why should you be in such a hurry
to go home? Fetch me some water from the well, and then you shall have
the fire."
And she fetched the water. When she had done so, Surya Bai said, "I
have done all your bidding, now give me the fire, or I will go
elsewhere and seek it."
The old Rakshas was grieved because her son had not returned home; but
she saw she could detain Surya Bai no longer, so she said, "Take the
fire and go in peace; take also some parched corn, and scatter it
along the road as you go, so as to make a pretty little pathway from
our house to yours"--and so saying, she gave Surya Bai several
handfuls of parched corn. The girl took them, fearing no evil, and as
she went she scattered the grains on the road. Then she climbed back
into the nest and shut the seven iron doors, and lighted the fire, and
cooked the food, and gave the dog and the cat some dinner, and took
some herself, and went to sleep.
No sooner had Surya Bai left the Rakshas's hut, than the young Rakshas
returned, and his mother said to him, "Alas, alas, my son, why did not
you come sooner? Such a sweet little lamb has been here, and now we
have lost her." Then she told him all about Surya Bai.
"Which way did she go?" asked the young Rakshas; "only tell me that,
and I'll have her before morning."
His mother told him how she had given Surya Bai the parched corn to
scatter on the road; and when he heard that, he followed up the track,
and ran, and ran, and ran, till he came to the foot of the tree.
There, looking up, he saw the nest high in the branches above them.
Quick as thought, up he climbed, and reached the great outer door; and
he shook it, and shook it, but he could not get in, for Surya Bai had
bolted it. Then he said, "Let me in, my child, let me in; I'm the
great Eagle, and I have come from very far, and brought you many
beautiful jewels; and here is a splendid diamond ring to fit your
little finger." But Surya Bai did not hear him--she was fast asleep.
He next tried to force open the door again, but it was too strong for
him. In his efforts, however, he had broken off one of his finger
nails (now the nail of a Rakshas is most poisonous), which he left
sticking in the crack of the door when he went away.
Next morning Surya Bai opened all the doors, in order to look down on
the world below; but when she came to the seventh door a sharp thing,
which was sticking in it, ran into her hand, and immediately she fell
down dead.
At that same moment the two poor Eagles returned from their long,
wearisome journey, bringing a beautiful diamond ring, which they had
fetched for their little favourite from the Red Sea.
There she lay on the threshold of the nest, beautiful as ever but cold
and dead.
The Eagles could not bear the sight; so they placed the ring on her
finger, and then, with loud cries, flew off to return no more.
But a little while after there chanced to come by a great Rajah, who
was out on a hunting expedition. He came with hawks, and hounds, and
attendants, and horses, and pitched his camp under the tree in which
the Eagles' nest was built. Then looking up, he saw, amongst the
topmost branches, what appeared like a queer little house; and he sent
some of his attendants to see what it was. They soon returned, and
told the Rajah that up in the tree was a curious thing like a cage,
having seven iron doors, and that on the threshold of the first door
lay a fair maiden, richly dressed; that she was dead, and that beside
her stood a little dog and a little cat.
At this the Rajah commanded that they should be fetched down, and when
he saw Surya Bai he felt very sad to think that she was dead. And he
took her hand to feel if it were already stiff; but all her limbs were
supple, nor had she become cold, as the dead are cold; and, looking
again at her hand, the Rajah saw that a sharp thing, like a long
thorn, had run into the tender palm, almost far enough to pierce
through to the back of her hand.
He pulled it out, and no sooner had he done so than Surya Bai opened
her eyes, and stood up, crying, "Where am I? and who are you? Is it a
dream, or true?"
The Rajah answered, "It is all true, beautiful lady. I am the Rajah of
a neighbouring land; pray tell me who are you."
She replied, "I am the Eagles' child."
But he laughed. "Nay," he said, "that cannot be; you are some great
Princess."
"No," she answered, "I am no royal lady; what I say is true. I have
lived all my life in this tree. I am only the Eagles' child."
Then the Rajah said, "If you are not a Princess born, I will make you
one; say only you will be my Queen."
Surya Bai consented, and the Rajah took her to his kingdom and made
her his Queen. But Surya Bai was not his only wife, and the first
Ranee, his other wife, was both envious and jealous of her.
The Rajah gave Surya Bai many trustworthy attendants to guard her and
be with her; and one old woman loved Surya Bai more than all the rest,
and used to say to her, "Don't be too intimate with the first Ranee,
dear lady, for she wishes you no good, and she has power to do you
harm. Some day she may poison or otherwise injure you." But Surya Bai
would answer her, "Nonsense! what is there to be alarmed about? Why
cannot we both live happily together like two sisters?" Then the old
woman would rejoin, "Ah, dear lady, may you never live to rue your
confidence! I pray my fears may prove folly." So Surya Bai went often
to see the first Ranee, and the first Ranee also came often to see
her.
One day they were standing in the palace courtyard, near a tank, where
the Rajah's people used to bathe, and the first Ranee said to Surya
Bai, "What pretty jewels you have, sister; let me try them on for a
minute, and see how I look in them."
The old woman was standing beside Surya Bai, and she whispered to her,
"Do not lend her your jewels."
"Hush, you silly old woman," answered she. "What harm will it do?" and
she gave the Ranee her jewels.
Then the Ranee said, "How pretty all your things are! Do you not think
they look well even on me! Let us come down to the tank; it is as
clear as glass, and we can see ourselves reflected in it, and how
these jewels will shine in the clear water!"
The old woman, hearing this, was much alarmed, and begged Surya Bai
not to venture near the tank, but she said, "I bid you be silent; I
will not distrust my sister." And she went down to the tank. Then,
when no one was near, and they were both leaning over, looking at
their reflections in the water, the first Ranee pushed Surya Bai into
the tank, who, sinking under the water, was drowned; and from the
place where her body fell there sprang up a bright golden sunflower.
The Rajah shortly afterward inquired where Surya Bai was, but nowhere
could she be found. Then, very angry, he came to the first Ranee and
said, "Tell me where the child is. You have made away with her."
But she answered, "You do me wrong; I know nothing of her. Doubtless
that old woman whom you allowed to be always with her, has done her
some harm." So the Rajah ordered the poor old woman to be thrown into
prison.
He tried to forget Surya Bai and all her pretty ways, but it was no
good. Wherever he went he saw her face. Whatever he heard, he still
listened for her voice. Every day he grew more miserable; he would not
eat or drink; and as for the other Ranee, he could not bear to speak
to her. All his people said, "He will surely die."
When matters were in this state, the Rajah one day wandered to the
edge of the tank, and bending over the parapet, looked into the water.
Then he was surprised to see, growing out of the tank close beside him
a stately golden flower; and as he watched it, the sunflower gently
bent its head and leaned down toward him. The Rajah's heart was
softened, and he kissed its leaves and murmured, "This flower reminds
me of my lost wife. I love it, it is fair and gentle as she used to
be." And every day he would go down to the tank and sit and watch the
flower. When the Ranee heard this, she ordered her servants to go and
dig the sunflower up, and to take it far into the jungle and burn it.
Next time the Rajah went to the tank he found his flower gone, and he
was much grieved, but none dared say who had done it.
Then, in the jungle, from the place where the ashes of the sunflower
had been thrown, there sprang up a young mango tree, tall and
straight, that grew so quickly, and became such a beautiful tree, that
it was the wonder of all the country round. At last, on its topmost
bough, came one fair blossom; and the blossom fell, and the little
mango grew rosier and rosier, and larger and larger, till so wonderful
was it both for size and shape that people flocked from far and near
only to look at it.
But none ventured to gather it, for it was to be kept for the Rajah
himself.
Now one day, the poor Milkwoman, Surya Bai's mother, was returning
homeward after her day's work with the empty milk cans, and being very
tired with her long walk to the bazaar, she lay down under the mango
tree and fell asleep. Then, right into her largest milk can, fell the
wonderful mango! When the poor woman awoke and saw what had happened,
she was dreadfully frightened, and thought to herself, "If any one
sees me with this wonderful fruit, that all the Rajah's people have
been watching for so many, many weeks, they will never believe that I
did not steal it, and I shall be put in prison. Yet it is no good
leaving it here; besides, it fell off of itself into my milk can. I
will therefore take it home as secretly as possible, and share it with
my children."