persons. The floor was neatly covered with new, clean mats of sea-green
rice-straw, on which tables, silken cushions, arm-rests, drinking-cups,
bottles and many other articles of comfort lay about. The stone walls
were richly decorated with curtains and hangings of fine silken stuffs.
At the end of the long hall, on a raised dais, our heroes presently
observed, as a curtain was lifted, the chief demon, Shi-ten d[=o]ji, of
august, yet frightful appearance. He was seated on a heap of luxurious
cushions made of blue and crimson crape, stuffed with swan's down. He was
leaning on a golden arm-rest. His body was quite red, and he was round
and fat like a baby grown up. He had very black hair cut like a small
boy's, and on the top of his head, just peeping through the hair were
two very short horns. Around him were a score of lovely maidens--the
fairest of Kioto--on whose beautiful faces was stamped the misery they
dared not fully show, yet could not entirely conceal. Along the wall
other demons sat or lay at full length, each one with his handmaid seated
beside him to wait on him and pour out his wine. All of them were of
horrible aspect, which only made the beauty of the maidens more
conspicuous. Seeing our heroes walk in the hall led by the cook, each one
of the demons was as happy as a spider, when in his lurking hole he feels
the jerk on his web-thread that tells him a fly is caught. All of them at
once poured out a fresh saucer of sake and drank it down.
Raiko and his men separated, and began talking freely with the demons
until the partitions at one corner were slid aside, and a troop of
little demons who were waiter-boys entered. They brought in a host of
dishes, and the onis fell to and ate. The noise of their jaws sounded
like the pounding of a rice mill.
Our heroes were nearly sickened at the repast, for it consisted chiefly
of human flesh, while the wine-cups were made of empty human skulls.
However, they laughed and talked and excused themselves from eating,
saying they had just lunched.
As the demons drank more and more they grew lively, laughed till the cave
echoed, and sang uproarious songs. Every time they grinned, they showed
their terrible tusks, and teeth like fangs. All of them had horns, though
most of these were very short.
The d[=o]ji became especially hilarious, and drank the health of every
one of his four guests in a skull full of wine. To supply him there was
a tub full of sake at hand, and his usual drinking-vessel was a dish
which seemed to Tsuma to be as large as a full moon.
Raiko now offered to return the courtesies shown them by dancing "the
Kioto dance," for which he was famous. Stepping out into the centre of
the hall, with his fan in one hand, he danced gracefully and with such
wonderful ease, that the onis screamed with delight, and clapped their
hands in applause, saying they had never seen anything to equal it. Even
the maidens, lost in admiration of the polished courtier, forgot their
sorrow, and felt as happy for the time as though they were at home
dancing.
The dance finished, Raiko took from his bosom a bottle of sake, and
offered it to the chief demon as a gift, saying it was the best wine of
Sakai. The delighted d[=o]ji drank and gave a sip to each of his lords
saying, "This is the best liquor I ever tasted, you must drink the health
of our friends in it."
Now Raiko had bought, at the most skillful druggists' in the capital, a
powerful sleeping potion, and mixed it with the wine, which made it taste
very sweet. In a few minutes all the demons had dropped off asleep, and
their snores sounded like the rolling thunder of the mountains.
Then Raiko rose up and gave the signal to his comrades. Whispering to the
maidens to leave the room quietly, they drew their swords, and with as
little noise as possible cut the throats of the demons. No sound was
heard but the gurgling of blood that ran out in floods on the floor. The
d[=o]ji lying like a lion on his cushions was still sleeping, the snores
issuing out of his nose like thunder from a cloud. The four warriors
approached him and like loyal vassals as they were, they first turned
their faces towards Kioto, reverenced the mikado, and prayed for the
blessing of the gods who made Japan. Raiko then drew near, and measuring
the width of the doji's neck with his sword found that it would be short.
Suddenly, the blade lengthened of itself. Then lifting his weapon, he
smote with all his might and cut the neck clean through.
In an instant, the bloody head flew up in the air gnashing its teeth and
rolling its yellow eyes, while the horns sprouted out to a horrible
length, the jaws opening and shutting like the edges of an earthquake
fissure. It flew up and whirled round the room seven times. Then with a
rush it flew at Raiko's head, and bit through the straw hat and into the
iron helmet inside. But this final effort exhausted its strength, it's
motions ceased and it fell heavily to the floor.
Anxiously the comrades helped their fallen leader to rise, and examined
his head. But he was unhurt,--not a scratch was on him. Then the heroes
congratulated each other and after despatching the smaller demons,
brought out all the treasure and divided it equally. Then they set the
castle on fire and buried the bones of the victims, setting up a stone to
mark the spot. All the maidens and captives were assembled together, and
in great state and pomp they returned to Kioto. The virgins were restored
to their parents, and many a desolate home was made joyful, and many
mourning garments taken off. Raiko was honored by the mikado in being
made a kuge (court noble,) and was appointed Chief of the entire garrison
of Kiot[=o]. Then all the people were grateful for his valor.
THE SAZAYE AND THE TAI.
Sazaye is a shell-fish, which is very proud of its shell. This is high,
full of points like towers, and thick like a castle wall. When feeding,
enjoying itself or moving around, its long neck and body are stretched
out before it, armed with its hard operculum, which is like an iron
shield, or the end of a battering ram. The operculum fits the entrance to
its shell like a trap door. As soon as any danger is near it pulls in its
head, and slams itself shut with a loud noise.
On account of the hardness and thickness of his shell, the sazaye is the
envy of the soft-bodied fishes that covet his security. But on the other
hand the sazaye, though a slow moving creature, is apt to be too proud of
his defence and trust too much to his fancied security.
* * * * *
One day a Tai (red fish) and a Herring were looking at the strong shell
of the sazaye, and becoming quite envious, the Tai said:
"What a mighty strong castle you do live in, Mr. Sazaye. When you once
shut up your shell no one need even try to touch you. You are to be
envied sir."
The Sazaye was tickled at the flattery, but pretending to be very humble,
shook his head and said:
"It is very kind in you, my lords, to say so, but my little hut is
nothing but a shell; yet I must say that when I lock my door I do not
feel any anxiety, and I really pity you poor fellows who have no shell at
all."
He had hardly got the last word out of his grisly throat, when suddenly
there was a great splash, and away darted the tai and herring, never
resting their fins or tails a moment till safe out of danger.
The Sazaye drew in his flap in the twinkling of an eye, and keeping as
quiet as possible, wondered what the noise was. Was it a stone, or a net,
or a fish-hook? He wondered if the tai and herring were caught.
"Surely they must be," thought he. "However I'm safe, thanks to my castle
shell," he muttered.
So drawing his trap tighter he took a long nap. When he woke up, quite
refreshed, he cautiously loosened his trap and peeped out.
"How strange every thing looks, am I dreaming?" said he as he saw piles
of fish, clams, prawns and lobsters lying on a board all around him.
"Ugh, what is that?" clapping himself shut as a great black-nosed and
long-whiskered dog poked his muzzle near him.
Poor shell-fish! There he lay in a fishmonger's shop, with a slip of
paper marked "ten cash," (1-10 of a cent,) on his back. A few hours
later, purchased by a laborer's wife for his dinner, he was stewing along
with several of his relative's in his own juice. The castle, of which he
was so proud, serving first as a dinner-pot, then as a saucer, after
which it was thrown away in a heap and burned into lime.
[Illustration: THE FISH STALL IN TOKIO.]
SMELLS AND JINGLES.
Yedo people are very fond of broiled eels. A rich merchant, named
Kisaburo, who was very miserly with his money, once moved his quarters
next door to the shop of one Kichibei, who caught and cooked eels for a
living. During the night Mr. Kichibei caught his stock in trade, and in
the day-time served them, smoking hot, to his customers. Cut into pieces
three or four inches long, they were laid to sizzle on a grid-iron over
red hot charcoal, which was kept in a glow by constant fanning.
Kisaburo, wishing to save money, and having a strong imagination, daily
took his seat at meal time close to his neighbor's door. Eating his
boiled rice, and snuffing in the odors of the broiled eels, as they were
wafted in, he enjoyed with his nose, what he would not pay for to put in
his mouth. In this way, as he flattered himself, he saved much money, and
his strong box grew daily heavier.
Kichibei, the eel-broiler, on finding this out, thought he would charge
his stingy neighbor for the smell of his eels. So, making out his bill he
presented it to Kisaburo, who seemed to be much pleased. He called to his
wife to bring his iron-bound money box, which was done. Emptying out the
shining mass of _kobans_ (oval gold pieces, worth five or six dollars),
_ichi-bu_ and _ni-bu_ (square silver pieces, worth a quarter and a half
dollar respectively) he jingled the coins at a great rate, and then
touching the eel-man's bill with his fan, bowed, low and said with a
smile:
[Illustration: A JINGLE FOR A SNIFF.]
"All right, neighbor Kichibei, we are square now."
"What!" cried the eel-frier, "are you not going to pay me?"
"Why yes, I have paid you. You have charged me for the smell of your
eels, and I have paid you with the sound of my money."
THE LAKE OF THE LUTE AND THE MATCHLESS MOUNTAIN.
Of all the beautiful objects in "the land of the holy gods," as the
Japanese call their country, none are more beautiful than Fuji Mountain
and Lake Biwa. The one is a great cone of white snow, the other is a
sheet of heaven-blue water, in shape like a lute with four strings.
Sweeping from twenty square leagues of space out of the plain and rising
twelve thousand feet in air, Fuji, or Fusi Yama, casts its sunset shadow
far out on the ocean, and from fourteen provinces gleams the splendor of
its snowy crest. It sits like a king on his throne in the heart of
Suruga Province.
One hundred and thirty miles to the west as the crane wings her flight,
in the heart of Omi, is Biwa Ko, the lake of the lute. It is sixty miles
long and as blue as the sky whose mirror it is. Along its banks rise
white-walled castles and stretch mulberry plantations. On its bosom rise
wooded islands, white, but not with frost; for thousands of herons nestle
on the branches of the trees, like lilies on their stems. Down under the
blue depths, say the people, is the Dragon shrine (Riu Gu), where dwell
the dragon-helmed Kai Riu O, and his consort, the shell-crowned Queen of
the World Under the Sea.
Why do the pilgrims from all over the empire exclaim joyfully, while
climbing Fuji's cinder-beds and lava-blocks, "I am a man of Omi"? Why,
when quenching their thirst with the melted snow-water of Fuji crater, do
they cry out "I am drinking from Lake Biwa"? Why do the children clap
their hands, as they row or sail over Biwa's blue surface, and say: "I am
on top of Fuji Yama"?
To these questions the Japanese legend gives answer.
* * * * *
When Heaven and earth were first created, there was neither Lake of Biwa
nor Mountain of Fuji. Suruga and Omi were both plains. Even for long
after men inhabited Japan and the Mikados had ruled for centuries there
was neither earth so nigh to heaven nor water so close to the Under-world
as the peaks of Fuji and the bottom of Biwa. Men drove the plow and
planted the rice over the very spot where crater and deepest depth now
are.
But one night in the ancient times there was a terrible earthquake. All
the world shook, the clouds lowered to the earth, floods of water poured
from the sky, and a sound like the fighting of a myriad of dragons filled
the air. In the morning all was serene and calm. The sky was blue. The
earth was as bright and all was as "white-faced" as when the sun goddess
first came out from her hiding in the cave.
The people of Omi awoke, scarce expecting to find either earth or heaven,
when lo! they looked on what had yesterday been tilled land or barren
moor, and there was a great sheet of blue. Was it sky? Had a sheet of the
"blue field of heaven" fallen down? Was it the ocean? They came near it,
tasted it. It was fresh and sweet as a fountain-rill. They looked at it
from the hill-tops, and, seeing its outline, called it "the lake of the
four-stringed lute." Others, proud of their new possession, named it the
Lake of Omi.
Greater still was the surprise of the Suruga people. The sailors, far out
at sea, rubbed their eyes and wondered at the strange shape of the
towering white cloud. Was it the Iwakura, the eternal throne of Heaven,
come down to rest on earth out of the many piled white clouds of heaven?
Some thought they had lost their reckoning; but were assured when they
recognized familiar landmarks on shore. Many a cottager woke up to find
his house, which lay in a valley the day before, was now far up on the
slope, with the distant villages and the sea visible; while far, far
above shone the snowy head of a mountain, whose crown lay in the blue
sky. At night the edges of the peak, like white fingers, seemed to pluck
the stars from the Milky Way.
"What shall we call this new-born child of the gods?" said the people.
And various names were proposed.
"There is no other mountain so beautiful in all the earth, there's not
its equal anywhere; therefore call it Fuji, (no two such), the peerless,
the matchless mountain," said one.
"It is so tall, so comely, so grand, call it Fuji, (rich scholar, the
lordly mountain)," said another.
"Call it Fuji, (never dying, the immortal mountain)," said a third.
"Call it, after the festal flower of joy, Fuji" (Wistaria) said another,
as he decked the peak of his hat with the drooping clusters of the tender
blue blossom. "It looks blue and purple in the distance, just like the
fuji flower." Various as the meanings of the name were, they sounded all
alike to the ear. So, without any quarreling, all agreed to call it Fuji
and each to choose his own meaning. To this day, though many a learned
dispute and the scratching of the written character on the sand with
walking stick, or on paper with pencil, or on the palm of the hand with
forefinger takes place, all pronounce the name alike as they rave on the
beauties of Fuji Yama.
So went forth into the countries bounding "the four seas" the belief that
there was a white mountain of perfect form in Japan, and that whoever
ascended it would live long and even attain immortality; and that
somewhere on the mountain was hidden the elixir of immortality, which if
any one drank he would live forever. Now in one of the kingdoms of
far-off China there lived a rich old king, who had abundance of
treasures, health, and many children. But he did not wish to die, and,
hence, spent his days in studying the lore and arts of the alchemists,
who believed they would finally attain to the transmutation of lead into
gold, find the universal solvent of all things, the philosophers' stone,
the elixir of life, and all the wondrous secrets which men in Europe long
afterward labored to discover.
Among the king's sages was one old man of mighty wisdom, who had heard of
the immortal mountain of Japan, and, learning of the manner of its
appearance, concluded that the Japan Archipelago contained the Fortunate
Isles and in it was the true elixir of life. He divulged his secret to
the king, and advised him to make the journey to the Land of the Rising
Sun.
Overjoyed at the good news and the faithfulness of his loyal sage, the
king loaded him with gifts and honors. He selected five hundred of the
most beauteous youths and virgins of his kingdom, and, fitting out a
fleet, sailed away to the Happy Isles of the East. Coasting along the
shore until they recognized the glorious form of the mountain, they
landed and began the ascent. Alas! for the poor king. The rough sea and
severe storms had worn on his aged frame and the fatigues of the ascent
were so great, that before reaching the top he fainted away, and before
the head of the procession had set foot on the crater edge the monarch
was dead. Sadly they gave up the search for the elixir of life, and,
descending the mountain, buried their master in the Province of Kii.
Then, in their exuberance of youth and joy, thinking little of the far
future and wishing to enjoy the present, they separated in couples,
married, and, disposing of their ship and cargo, settled in the country,
and colonized the eastern part of Japan.
Long afterward, when Buddhist believers came to Japan, one of them,
climbing Fuji, noticed that around its sunken crater were eight peaks,
like the petals of their sacred lotus flower. Thus, it seemed to them,
Great Buddha had honored Japan, by bestowing the sacred symbol of
Nirvana, or Heaven, on the proudest and highest part of Japan. So they
also named it Fuji, "the sacred mountain"; and to this day all the world
calls this sacred mountain Fuji, or Fusi Yama, while the Japanese people
believe that the earth which sunk in Omi is the same which, piled to the
clouds, is the lordly mountain of Suruga.
THE WATERFALL OF YORO, OR THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH.
Long, long, ago, when the oldest stork was young, there lived an aged
woodcutter and his son on the slopes of the mountain Tagi, in the
province of Mino. They gained a frugal livelihood by cutting brushwood on
the hill-side, and carrying it in bundles on their back to sell in the
nearest market town; for they were too poor to own an ox. With the money
thus received they bought rice and radishes, their daily food.
Only once or twice a year, at New Year's and on the mikado's birthday,
could they afford to treat themselves to a mess of bean-curd or fresh
fish. Yet the old man was very fond of rice-wine, and every week bought a
gourd full to keep his old blood warm.
As the years rolled on the aged father's limbs became so stiff that he
was unable any longer to climb the mountains. So his son, now grown to be
a sturdy man, cut nearly double the quantity of wood and thus kept the
family larder full. The old man was so proud of his son that he daily
stood at sunset in front of his rustic gate to welcome him back. And to
see the old daddy and the young stripling remove their headkerchiefs, and
bow with hands on knees in polite fashion, bending their backs and
sucking in their breath, out of respect to each other, and to hear them
inquiring after one another's health, showering mutual compliments all
the time, one would have thought they had not seen each other for eight
years, instead of eight hours.
One winter the snow fell long and thick, until all the ground in field
and forest was covered several feet over. The bamboo branches bent with
their weight of white, the pine boughs broke under their load, and even
the stone idols along the wayside were covered up. At first, even with
the hardest work, the young woodcutter could scarcely get and sell wood
to buy enough food to keep them both alive. He often went hungry himself,
so that his father might have his warm wine.
One day he went by another path up one of the mountain dells with his
rope basket strapped to his back, and the empty gourd-bottle at his belt.
While gloomily grieving over his hard luck, the faint odor of rice-wine
seemed borne on the breeze.
He snuffed the air. It was no mistake. "Here's luck, surely," said he,
throwing down his bundle.
Hurrying forward he saw a foaming waterfall tumbling over the rocks in a
thick stream.
As he drew near, some of the spray fell on his tongue. He tasted it,
smacked his lips and throwing down his cord and basket to the ground,
filled his gourd and hastened home to his father.
Every day, till the end of his father's life, did he come to this
wonderful cascade of wine, and thus the old man was nourished for many a
long year.
The news of this fountain of youth spread abroad until it reached the
court. The mikado, hearing of it, made a journey to Mino to see the
wonderful waterfall. In honor of this event, and as a reward of filial
piety, the name of the year-period was changed to Yoro, (Nourishing Old
Age).
* * * * *
To this day, many people young and old go out to enjoy picnic parties at
the foot of the waterfall; which now, however, runs honest water only,
which makes the cheeks red; and not the wonderful wine that once tipped
the old daddy's nose with perpetual vermilion.
THE EARTHQUAKE FISH.
Mukashi, mukashi, (as most Japanese stories begin), long, long ago, when
the gods came down from heaven to subdue the earth for the mikados, and
civilize the country, there were a great many earthquakes, and nothing to
stop them. The world continually rocked, and men's houses and lives were
never safe.
Now the two gods who were charged with the work of subduing the
northeastern part of the world were Kashima and Katori. Having done their
work well, and quieted all the enemies of the Sun-goddess, they came to
the province of Hitachi. Kashima, sticking his sword into the earth, ran
it through to the other side, leaving the hilt above the ground. In the
course of centuries this mighty sword shrunk and turned to stone, and the
people gave it the name of _Kaname ishi_, (The rock of Kaname).
Now Kaname means the rivet in a fan, that holds all the sticks together,
and they gave the name "rivet-rock," because it is the rivet that binds
the earth together. No one could ever lift this rock except Kashima the
mighty one who first set it in the earth.
Yet even Kashima never raises it, except to stop an earthquake of unusual
violence. When the earth quivers, it is because the great earthquake-fish
or _jishin-uwo_ is restless or angry. This _jishin-uwo_ is a great
creature something like a catfish. It is about seven hundred miles long,
and holds the world on its back. Its tail is at Awomori in the north,
and the base of its head is at Kioto, so that all Japan lies on top of
it. To his mouth are attached huge twirling feelers, which are just like
the hideous moustaches which the hairy-faced men from beyond the
_Tai-kai_ (Pacific Ocean) wear on their lips. As soon as these begin to
move, it is a sign that the monster is in wrath. When he gets angry, and
flaps his tail or bumps his head, there is an earthquake. When he
flounders about or rolls over, there is terrible destruction of life and
property on the surface of the earth above.
In order to keep the earthquake-fish quiet, the great giant Kashima is
appointed to watch him. His business is to stand near by, and when the
monster becomes violent Kashima must jump up and straddle him, and hold
his gills, put his foot on his fin; and when necessary lift up the great
rock of Kaname and hold him down with its weight. Then he becomes
perfectly quiet, and the earthquake ceases. Hence the people sing this
earthquake verse:
"No monster can move the Kaname rock
Though he tug at it never so hard,
For over it stands, resisting the shock,
The Kashima Kami on guard."
Another verse they sing as follows:
"These are things
An earthquake brings;
At nine of the bell they sickness fortell,
At five and seven betoken rain,
At four the sky is cleared thereby,
At six and eight comes wind again."
THE DREAM STORY OF GOJIRO.
Only a few years ago there was a gentleman in Fukui, Japan, who had a
son, a bright lad of twelve, who was very diligent at school and had made
astonishing progress in his studies. He was especially quick at learning
Chinese characters, of which every Japanese gentleman who wishes to be
called educated must know at least two thousand. For, although the
Chinese and Japanese are two very different languages, yet the Japanese,
Coreans and Chinese use the same letters to write with, just as English,
Germans, French and Spaniards all employ one and the same alphabet.