a bronze bell five and a half feet high. It has on it none of the
superscriptions so commonly found on Japanese bells, and though its
surface is covered with scratches it was once as brilliant as a mirror.
This old bell, which is visited by thousands of people from all parts of
Japan who come to wonder at it, is remarkable for many things.
Over two thousand years ago, say the bonzes, it hung in the temple of
Gihon Shoja in India which Buddha built. After his death it got into the
possession of the Dragon King of the World under the Sea. When the hero
Toda the Archer shot the enemy of the queen of the Under-world, she
presented him with many treasures and among them this great bell, which
she caused to be landed on the shores of the lake. Toda however was not
able to remove it, so he presented it to the monks at Miidera. With great
labor it was brought to the hill-top and hung in this belfry where it
rung out daily matins and orisons, filling the lake and hill sides with
sweet melody.
Now it was one of the rules of the Buddhists that no woman should be
allowed to ascend the hill or enter the monastery of Miidera. The bonzes
associated females and wicked influences together. Hence the
prohibition.
A noted beauty of Kioto hearing of the polished face of the bell,
resolved in spite of the law against her sex to ascend the hill to dress
her hair and powder her face in the mirror-like surface of the bell.
So selecting an hour when she knew the priests would be too busy at study
of the sacred rolls to notice her, she ascended the hill and entered the
belfry. Looking into the smooth surface, she saw her own sparkling eyes,
her cheeks, flushed rosy with exercise, her dimples playing, and then her
whole form reflected as in her own silver mirror, before which she daily
sat. Charmed as much by the vastness as the brilliancy of the reflection,
she stretched forth her hand, and touching her finger-tips to the bell
prayed aloud that she might possess just such a mirror of equal size and
brightness.
But the bell was outraged at the impiety of the woman's touch, and the
cold metal shrank back, leaving a hollow place, and spoiling the even
surface of the bell. From that time forth the bell gradually lost its
polish, and became dull and finally dark like other bells.
When Benkei was a monk, he was possessed of a mighty desire to steal this
bell and hang it up at Hiyeisan. So one night he went over to Miidera
hill and cautiously crept up to the belfry and unhooked it from the great
iron link which held it. How to get it down the mountain was now the
question.
Should he let it roll down, the monks at Miidera would hear it bumping
over the stones. Nor could he carry it in his arms, for it was too big
around (16 feet) for him to grasp and hold. He could not put his head in
it like a candle in a snuffer, for then he would not be able to see his
way down.
So climbing into the belfry he pulled out the cross-beam with the iron
link, and hanging on the bell put the beam on his shoulder to carry it in
_tembimbo_ style, that is, like a pair of scales.
The next difficulty was to balance it, for he had nothing but his lantern
to hang on the other end of the beam to balance the bell. It was a
prodigiously hard task to carry his burden the six or seven miles
distance to Hiyeisan. It was "trying to balance a bronze bell with a
paper lantern."
The work made him puff and blow and sweat until he was as hungry as a
badger, but he finally succeeded in hooking it up in the belfry at
Hiyeisan.
Then all the fellow priests of Benkei got up, though at night, to welcome
him. They admired his bravery and strength and wished to strike the bell
at once to show their joy.
"No, I won't lift a hammer or sound a note till you make me some soup. I
am terribly hungry," said Benkei, as he sat down on a cross piece of the
belfry and wiped his forehead with his cowl.
Then the priests got out the iron soup-pot, five feet in diameter, and
kindling a fire made a huge mess of soup and served it to Benkei. The
lusty monk sipped bowl after bowl of the steaming nourishment until the
pot was empty.
"Now," said he, "you may sound the bell."
Five or six of the young bonzes mounted the platform and seized the rope
that held the heavy log suspended from the roof. The manner of striking
the bell was to pull back the log several feet, then let go the rope,
holding the log after the rebound.
At the first stroke the bell quivered and rolled out a most mournful and
solemn sound which as it softened and died away changed into the distinct
murmur:
"I want to go back to Miidera, I want to go back to Miidera, I want to
go-o back to-o M-i-i-de-ra-ra-a-a-a."
"Naru hodo" said the priests. "What a strange bell. It wants to go back.
It is not satisfied with our ringing."
"Ah! I know what is the matter" said the aged abbot. "It must be
sprinkled with holy water of Hiyeisan. Then it will be happy with us. Ho!
page bring hither the deep sea shell full of sacred water."
So the pure white shell full of the consecrated water was brought,
together with the holy man's brush. Dipping it in the water the abbot
sprinkled the bell inside and out.
"I dedicate thee, oh bell, to Hiyeisan. Now strike," said he, signalling
to the bell-pullers.
Again the young men mounted the platform, drew back the log with a lusty
pull and let fly.
"M-m-m-mi-mi-de-de-ra-ra ye-e-e-e-ko-o-o-o-o" "(Miidera ye ko, I want to
go back to Miidera)" moaned out the homesick bell.
This so enraged Benkei that he rushed to the rope waved the monks aside
and seizing the rope strained every muscle to jerk the beam its entire
length afield, and then let fly with force enough to crack the bell. For
a moment the dense volume of sound filled the ears of all like a storm,
but as the vibrations died away, the bell whined out:
"Miidera-mi-mi-de-de-ra-a-a ye-e-e-ko-o-o-o-o." "I want to go back to
Miidera," sobbed the bell.
Whether struck at morning, noon or night the bell said the same words. No
matter when, by whom, how hard or how gently it was struck, the bell
moaned the one plaint as if crying, "I want to go back to Miidera." "I
want to go back to Miidera."
At last Benkei in a rage unhooked the bell, shouldered it beam and all,
and set off to take it back. Carrying the bell to the top of Hiyeisan, he
set it down, and giving it a kick rolled it down the valley toward
Miidera, and left it there. Then the Miidera bonzes hung it up again.
Since that time the bell has completely changed its note, until now it is
just like other bells in sound and behavior.
LITTLE SILVER'S DREAM OF THE SHOJI.
Ko Gin San (Miss Little Silver) was a young maid who did not care for
strange stories of animals, so much as for those of wonder-creatures in
the form of human beings. Even of these, however, she did not like to
dream, and when the foolish old nurse would tell her ghost stories at
night, she was terribly afraid they would appear to her in her sleep.
To avoid this, the old nurse told her to draw pictures of a tapir, on the
sheet of white paper, which, wrapped round the tiny pillow, makes the
pillow-case of every young lady, who rests her head on two inches of a
bolster in order to keep her well-dressed hair from being mussed or
rumpled.
Old grannies and country folks believe that if you have a picture of a
tapir under the bed or on the paper pillow-case, you will not have
unpleasant dreams, as the tapir is said to eat them.
So strongly do some people believe this that they sleep under quilts
figured with the device of this long-snouted beast. If in spite of this
precaution one should have a bad dream, he must cry out on awaking,
"tapir, come eat, tapir, come eat"; when the tapir will swallow the
dream, and no evil results will happen to the dreamer.
Little Silver listened with both eyes and open mouth to this account of
the tapir, and then making the picture and wrapping it around her
pillow, she fell asleep. I suspect that the kowameshi (red rice) of which
she had eaten so heartily at supper time, until her waist strings
tightened, had something to do with her travels in dream-land.
* * * * *
She thought she had gone down to Ozaka, and there got on a junk and
sailed far away to the southwest, through the Inland sea. One night the
water seemed full of white ghosts of men and women. Some of them were
walking on, and in, the water. Some were running about. Here and there
groups appeared to be talking together. Once in a while the junk would
run against one of them; and when Little Silver looked to see if he were
hurt or knocked over, she could see nothing until the junk passed by,
when the ghost would appear standing in the same place, as though the
ship had gone through empty air.
Occasionally a ghost would come up to the side of the ship, and in a
squeaky voice ask for a dipper. While she would be wondering what a ghost
wanted to do with a dipper, a sailor would quietly open a locker, take
out a dipper having no bottom, and give one every time he was asked for
them. Little Silver noticed a large bundle of these dippers ready. The
ghosts would then begin to bail up water out of the sea to empty it in
the boat. All night they followed the junk, holding on with one hand to
the gunwale, while they vainly dipped up water with the other, trying to
swamp the boat. If dippers with bottoms in them had been given them, the
sailors said, the boat would have been sunk. When daylight appeared the
shadowy host of people vanished.
In the morning they passed an island, the shores of which were high rocks
of red coral. A great earthen jar stood on the beach, and around it lay
long-handled ladles holding a half-gallon or more, and piles of very
large shallow red lacquered wine cups, which seemed as big as the full
moon. After the sun had been risen some time, there came down from over
the hills a troop of the most curious looking people. Many were short,
little wizen-faced folks, that looked very old; or rather, they seemed
old before they ought to be. Some were very aged and crooked, with
hickory-nut faces, and hair of a reddish gray tint. All the others had
long scarlet locks hanging loose over their heads, and streaming down
their backs. Their faces were flushed as if by hard drinking, and their
pimpled noses resembled huge red barnacles. No sooner did they arrive at
the great earthen jar than they ranged themselves round it. The old ones
dipped out ladles full, and drank of the wine till they reeled. The
younger ones poured the liquor into cups and drank. Even the little
infants guzzled quantities of the yellow sake from the shallow cups of
very thin red-lacquered wood.
Then began the dance, and wild and furious it was. The leather-faced old
sots tossed their long reddish-grey locks in the air, and pirouetted
round the big sake jar. The younger ones of all ages clapped their hands,
knotted their handkerchiefs over their foreheads, waved their dippers or
cups or fans, and practiced all kinds of antics, while their scarlet hair
streamed in the wind or was blown in their eyes.
The dance over, they threw down their cups and dippers, rested a few
minutes and then took another heavy drink all around.
"Now to work" shouted an old fellow whose face was redder than his
half-bleached hair, and who having only two teeth like tusks left looked
just like an _oni_ (imp.) As for his wife, her teeth had long ago fallen
out and the skin of her face seemed to have added a pucker for every year
since a half century had rolled over her head.
Then Little Silver looked and saw them scatter. Some gathered shells and
burned them to make lime. Others carried water and made mortar, which
they thickened by a pulp made of paper, and a glue made by boiling fish
skin. Some dived under the sea for red coral, which they hauled up by
means of straw ropes, in great sprigs as thick as the branches of a tree.
They quickly ran up a scaffold, and while some of the scarlet-headed
plasterers smeared the walls, others below passed up the tempered mortar
on long shell shovels, to the hand mortar-boards. Even at work they had
casks and cups of sake at hand, while children played in the empty kegs
and licked the gummy sugar left in some of them.
"What is that house for?" asked Little Silver of the sailors.
"Oh, that is the Kura (storehouse) in which the King of the Sh[=o]ji
stores the treasures of life, and health, and happiness, and property,
which men throw away, or exchange for the sake, which he gives them, by
making funnels of themselves."
"Oh, Yes," said Little Silver to herself, as she remembered how her
father had said of a certain neighbor who had lately been drinking hard,
"he swills sake like a Sh[=o]ji."
She also understood why picnic or "chow-chow" boxes were often decorated
with pictures of Sh[=o]ji, with their cups and dippers. For, at these
picnics, many men get drunk; so much so indeed, that after a while the
master of the feast orders very poor and cheap wine to be served to the
guests. He also replaces the delicate wine cups of egg-shell porcelain,
with big thick tea-cups or wooden bowls, for the guests when drunk, do
not know the difference.
She also now understood why it was commonly said of a Mr. Matsu, who had
once been very rich but was now a poor sot, "His property has all gone to
the Sh[=o]ji."
Just then the ship in which she was sailing struck a rock, and the sudden
jerk woke up Little Silver, who cried out, "Tapir, come eat; tapir, come
eat."
No tapir came, but if he had I fear Little Silver would have been more
frightened than she was by her dream of the ghosts; for next morning she
laughed to think how they had all their work a-dipping water for
nothing, and at her old nurse for thinking a picture of a tapir could
keep off dreams.
THE TENGUS, OR THE ELVES WITH LONG NOSES.
(After Hokusai.)
Curious creatures are the tengus, with the head of a hawk and the body of
a man. They have very hairy hands or paws with two fingers, and feet with
two toes. They are hatched out of eggs, and have wings and feathers,
until full grown. Then their wings moult, and the stumps are concealed
behind their dress, which is like that of a man. They walk, when grown
up, on clogs a foot high, which are like stilts, as they have but one
support instead of two, like the sort which men wear. The tengus strut
about easily on these, without stumbling.
The Dai Tengu, or master, is a solemn-faced, scowling individual with a
very proud expression, and a nose about eight finger-breadths long. When
he goes abroad, his retainers march before him, for fear he might break
his nose against something. He wears a long grey beard down to his
girdle, and moustaches to his chin. In his left hand he carries a large
fan made of seven wide feathers. This is the sign of his rank. He has a
mouth, but he rarely opens it. He is very wise, and rules over all the
tengus in Japan.
The Karasu or crow-tengu is a black fellow, with a long beak, in the
place where his nose and mouth ought to be. He looks as if some one had
squeezed out the lower part of his face, and pulled his nose down so as
to make a beak like a crow's. He is the Dai Tengu's lictor. He carries
the axe of authority over his left shoulder, to chop bad people's heads
off. In his right fist is his master's book of wisdom, and roll of
authority. Even these two highest in authority in Tengu-land are servants
of the great lord Kampira, the long-haired patron of sailors and
mountaineers.
The greatest of the Dai Tengu lived in Kurama mountain and taught
Yoshitsune. This lad, while a pupil in the monastery, would slip out in
the evening, when the priests thought him asleep, and come to the King of
the Tengus, who instructed him in the military arts, in cunning, magic,
and wisdom. Every night the boy would spread the roll of wisdom before
him, and sit at the feet of the hoary-headed tengu, and learn the
strange letters in which tengu wisdom is written, while the long-nosed
servant tengus, propped up on their stilt-clogs, looked on. The boy was
not afraid, but quickly learned the knowledge which birds, beasts and
fishes have, how to understand their language and to fly, swim and leap
like them.
When a tengu stumbles and falls down on his nose, it takes a long while
to heal, and if he breaks it, the doctor puts it in splints like a broken
arm, until it straightens out and heals up again.
Some of the amusements in Tengu-land are very curious. A pair of young
tengus will fence with their noses as if they were foils. Their faces are
well protected by masks, for if one tengu should "poke his nose" into the
other's eye he might put it out, and a blind tengu could not walk about,
because he would be knocking his nose against everything.
Two old tengus with noses nearly two feet long, sometimes try the
strength of their face-handles. One fellow has his beak straight up in
the air like a supporting post, while the other sits a yard off with his
elastic nose stretched across like a tight-rope, and tied with twine at
the top of the other one's nose. On this tight nose-rope a little tengu
boy, with a tiny pug only two inches long, dances a jig. He holds an
umbrella in his hand, now dancing, and now standing upon one foot. The
tengu-daddy, whose nose serves as a tent-pole, waves his fan and sings a
song, keeping time to the dance.
There is another tengu who sometimes quarrels with his wife, and when
angry boxes her ears with his nose.
A lady-tengu who is inclined to be literary and sentimental, writes
poetry. When the mood seizes her she ties the pen to her nose, dips it in
ink and writes a poem on the wall.
A tengu-painter makes a long-handled brush to whitewash the ceiling, by
strapping it to his nose.
Sometimes the little tengus get fighting, and then the feathers fly as
they tear each other with their little claws which have talons on them
shaped like a chicken's, but which when fully grown look like hands.
All the big tengus are fond of trying the strength of their noses, and
how far they can bend them up and down without breaking. They have two
favorite games of which they sometimes give exhibitions. The player has
long strings of iron cash (that is, one hundred of the little iron coins,
with a square hole in the centre). Several of these he slides on a rope
like buttons on a string, or counters on a wire. Then he lifts them off
with the tip of his nose. Sometimes his nose bends so much under the
weight that the coins slip off. Whichever tengu can pick off the greater
number of strings without letting any slip, wins the game, and is called
O-hana (The King of Noses).
Another balances hoops and poles on his nose and throws balls through the
hoops; or he poises a saucer of water on the tip of his nose without
spilling a drop. Another fellow hangs a bell from the ceiling. Then, with
a handkerchief tied loosely round his head, he pulls his nose back like a
snapping-turtle's beak, and then suddenly lets go. His nose then strikes
the bell and rings it. It hurts very much, but he does not mind it.
The tengus have one great fault. They love liquor too much. They often
get drunk. They buy great casks of rice-wine, sling them round their
necks, and drink out of long cups shaped like their faces, using the nose
for a handle. A drunken tengu makes a funny sight, as he staggers about
with his big wings drooping and flapping around him, and the feathers
trailing in the mud, and his long nose limp, pendulous and groggy.
When the master of the tengus wishes to "see the flowers," which means to
go on a picnic, he punishes his drunken servant by swinging the box of
eatables over the fellow's red nose. Putting the end over his shoulders,
he compels the sot to come along. It sobers the fellow, for the weight on
his nose and the pulling on it hurts dreadfully, and often makes him
squeal.
Oyama, a mountain near Tokio, is said to be full of these long-nosed
elves, but many other mountains are inhabited by them, for they like
lonely places away from men.
Dancers often put on masks like the tengu's face and dance a curious
dance which they call the Tengu's quadrille.
The tengus are very proud fellows, and think themselves above human
beings. They are afraid of brave men, however, and never dare to hurt
them. They scare children, especially bad boys. They watch a boy telling
lies and catch him. Then the tengus pull out his tongue by the roots, and
run away with it.
When a tengu walks, he folds his arms, throws back his head till his nose
is far up in the air, and struts around as if he were a daimio. When a
man becomes vain and carries his nose too high, the people say "He has
become a tengu."
KINTARO, OR THE WILD BABY.
Long, long ago, when the tallest fir trees on the Hakone mountains were
no higher than a rice-stalk, there lived in that part of the range called
Ashigara, a little ruddy boy, whom his mother had named Kintar[=o], or
Golden Darling. He was not like other boys, for having no children to
play with, he made companions of the wild animals of the forest.
He romped with the little bears, and often when the old she bear would
come for her cubs to give them their supper and put them to bed,
Kintar[=o] would jump on her back and have a ride to her cave. He also
put his arms around the neck of the deer, which were not afraid of him.
He was prince of the forest, and the rabbits, wild boars, squirrels and
martens, pheasants and hawks were his servants and messengers.
Although not much more than a fat baby, Kintar[=o] wielded a big axe, and
could chop a snake to pieces before he had time to wriggle.
Kintar[=o]'s father had been a brave soldier in Ki[=o]to, who through the
malice of enemies at court, had fallen into disgrace. He had loved a
beautiful lady whom he married. When her husband died she fled eastward
to the Ashigara mountains, and there in the lonely forests in which no
human being except poor woodcutters ever came, her boy was born.
She lived in a cave, nourishing herself on roots and herbs. The
woodcutters soon learned about the strange pair living wild but
peacefully in the woods, though they did not dream of her noble rank. The
boy was known among them as "Little Wonder," and the woman as "The old
nurse of the mountain."
Thus, all alone, the little fellow grew up, exercising himself daily, so
that even though a child he could easily wrestle with a bear. Among his
retainers were the tengus, though they were often rebellious and
disobedient, not liking to be governed by a boy.
One day, an old mother-tengu, who had always laughed at the idea of
obeying a little dumpling of a fellow like Kintar[=o], flew up to her
nest in a high fir tree. Kintar[=o] watched to see where it was, and
waited till she left it to go and seek for food. Then going up to the
tree, he shook it with all his might, until the nest came tumbling down,
and the two young squabs of tengus with it.
Now it happened that just at that time the great hero and imp-killer,
Raik[=o], was marching through the mountains on his way to Ki[=o]to.
Seeing that the ruddy little fellow was no ordinary child, he found out
the mother and heard her story. He then asked for the child and adopted
him as his own.
So Kintar[=o] went off with Raik[=o] and grew up to be a brave soldier,
and taking his father's name, he was known as Sakata Kintoki. His mother,
however, remained in the mountains, and living to an extreme old age, was
always known as "The old nurse of the mountains."
* * * * *
To this day, Kintaro is the hero of Japanese boys, and on their huge
kites will usually be seen a picture of the little black-eyed ruddy boy
of the mountains, with his axe, while around him are his wild playmates,
and the young tengus rubbing their long noses, which were so nearly
broken by their fall.
JIRAIYA, OR THE MAGIC FROG.
Ogata was the name of a castle-lord who lived in the Island of the Nine
Provinces, (Kiushiu). He had but one son, an infant, whom the people in
admiration nicknamed Jiraiya (Young Thunder.) During one of the civil
wars, this castle was taken, and Ogata was slain; but by the aid of a
faithful retainer, who hid Jiraiya in his bosom, the boy escaped and fled
northward to Echigo. There he lived until he grew up to manhood.
At that time Echigo was infested with robbers. One day the faithful
retainer of Jiraiya being attacked, made resistance, and was slain by
the robbers. Jiraiya now left alone in the world went out from Echigo and
led a wandering life in several provinces.