with joy at welcoming you to my father's palace, and I will tell you
why. Yesterday you saved the precious life of a tortoise. Urashima, I
was that tortoise! It was my life that you saved!'
Urashima could not believe this at first, but, when he gazed into her
beautiful eyes, he remembered their wistful look, and her sweet words
were spoken in the same voice as that which had called his name upon the
sea. And he was so astonished that he could not speak.
'Would you like to live here always, Urashima,--to live in everlasting
youth, never growing tired or weary? This is the land of eternal summer,
where all is joy, and neither death nor sorrow may come. Stay, Urashima,
and I, the Princess of my father's kingdom, will be your bride!'
Urashima felt it was all a dream; yet, if it were, then from the very
heart of that dream he replied in words that came of their own accord.
'Sweet Princess, if I could thank you ten thousand times I should still
want to thank you all over again. I will stay here; nay--more: I simply
cannot go, for this is the most wonderful place I have ever dreamed of,
and you are the most wonderful thing in it.'
A smile spread over her lovely face. She bent towards him, and their
lips met in the first sweet kiss of love.
Then, as if by this a magic button had been pressed, a loud gong
sounded, and immediately the whole palace was in a bustle of excitement.
Presently a procession of all kinds of fishes came in, all richly
attired in flowing robes of various colours. Each one advanced with slow
and stately pace, some bearing beautiful flowers, others great
mother-of-pearl dishes laden with all the delicacies that go to make a
feast; others bore trays of coral, red and white, with fragrant wines
and rare fruits such as only grow at the bottom of the sea. It was the
wedding feast, and with all decorum they set everything before the bride
and bridegroom.
It was a day of great joy, a day of song and revelry. Throughout the
whole kingdom the choice wine flowed and the sweet music resounded. In
the palace the happy pair pledged themselves in a wedding cup, while the
music played and glad songs were sung. Later on, the great hall of the
palace was cleared for a grand ball, and all the fishes of the sea came
dressed in their best gold and silver scales, and danced till the small
hours. Never had Urashima known happiness so great; never had he moved
amid so much splendour.
In the morning the Princess showed Urashima over the palace, and pointed
out all the wonders it contained. The whole place was fashioned out of
pink and white coral, beautifully carved and inlaid everywhere with
priceless pearls. But, wonderful as was the palace itself, the wide
gardens that encircled it appealed to Urashima even more.
These gardens were designed so as to represent the four seasons. Turning
to the east, Urashima beheld all the wealth of Spring. Butterflies
flitted from flower to flower, and bees were busy among the cherry
blossoms. The song of the nightingale could be heard among the trees,
and the sweetest fragrance was wafted on the breeze.
Facing round to the south, he saw everything at the height of Summer.
The trees were fully green, and luscious fruits weighed down their
branches, while over all was the drowsy hum of the cicada.
To the west the whole landscape was ablaze with the scarlet foliage of
Autumn; while, in the north, the whole outlook was beautiful with snow
as far as the eye could reach.
* * * * *
It was a wonderful country to live in and never grow old. No wonder that
Urashima forgot his home in Japan, forgot his old parents, forgot even
his own name. But, after three days of indescribable happiness, he
seemed to wake up to a memory of who he was and what he had been. The
thought of his poor old father and mother searching everywhere for him,
perhaps mourning him as dead; the surroundings of his simple home, his
friends in the little village,--all these things rushed in on his mind
and turned all his joy to sadness.
'Alas!' he cried, 'how can I stay here any longer? My mother will be
weeping and wringing her hands, and my father bowing his old head in
grief. I must go back this very day.'
So, towards evening, he sought the Princess, his bride, and said sadly:
'Alas! alas! you have been so kind to me and I have been so very, very
happy, that I have forgotten and neglected my parents for three whole
days. They will think I am dead and will weep for me. I must say
farewell and leave you.'
Then the Princess wept and besought him to remain with her.
[Illustration: THE STORY OF URASHIMA TARO
Urashima was so enchanted that he could not speak a word.
_See page 150_]
'Beloved!' he protested, 'in our land of Japan there is no crime so
terrible as the crime of faithlessness to one's parents. I cannot face
that, and you would not have me do it. Yet it will break my heart to
leave you--break my heart--break my heart! I must go, beloved, but only
for one day; then I will return to you.'
'Alas!' cried the Princess, 'what can we do? You must act as your heart
guides you. I would give the whole world to keep you with me just one
more day. But I know it cannot be. I know something of your land and
your love of your parents. I will await your return: you will be gone
only one day. It will be a long day for me, but, when it is over, and
you have told your parents all, you will find a tortoise waiting for you
by the seashore, and you will know that tortoise: it is the same that
will take you back to your parents--for one day!'
'Oh, my beloved! How can I leave you? But----'
'But you must. Wait! I have something to give you before you go.'
The Princess left him hastily and soon returned with a golden casket,
set with pearls and tied about with a green ribbon made from the
floating seaweed.
'Take it,' said she.
'After all your other gifts?' said he, feeling rather ashamed.
'You saved my life,' said she. 'You _are_ my life, and all I have is
yours. That casket contains all. When you go up to the dry land you must
always have this box with you, but you must never open it till you
return to me. If you do--alas! alas, for you and me!'
'I promise, I promise. I will never open it till I return to you.'
Urashima went on his bended knee as he said these words.
'Farewell!'
'Farewell!'
Urashima was then conducted to the gate by the court officials, led by
the dolphin. There the royal sturgeon blew a loud whistle, and presently
a large tortoise came up. As Urashima mounted on its back, it averted
its head as if to conceal its eyes. Perhaps it had a reason. And for
that same identical reason Urashima sat on its back stolidly, and never
a word spoken.
Down they went into the deep, green sea, and then up into the blue. For
miles and miles and miles they sped along, until they came to the coast
of Japan. There Urashima stepped ashore, answered the wistful eyes of
the tortoise with a long, lingering gaze of love, and hastened inland.
The tortoise plunged back into the sea, and Urashima was left on the
land with a sense of sadness.
He looked about him, recognising the old landmarks. Then he went up into
the village; but, as he went, he noticed with some surprise that
everything seemed wonderfully changed. The hills were the same, and, in
a way, the village was familiar, but the people who passed him on the
road were not those he had known three days ago. Surely three short days
would leave him exactly where he stood before he went. Three days could
never produce this change. He was at a loss to understand it. People he
did not know--strangers in the village, he supposed--passed him by as if
he were a complete stranger. Some of them turned and looked at him as
one would look at a newcomer. Furthermore, he noticed that the slender
trees of three days since were now giant monarchs of the wayside.
At last, wondering greatly, he came to his old home. How changed it was!
And, when he turned the handle of the door and walked in, crying out,
'Ho, mother! ho, father! I have come back at last!' he was met by a
strange man barring the doorway.
'What do you want?'
'What do you mean? I live here. Where are my father and mother? They are
expecting me.'
'I do not understand. What is your name?'
'Urashima Taro.'
'Urashima Taro!' cried the man in surprise.
'Yes, that is my name: Urashima Taro!'
The man laughed, as if he saw the joke.
'You don't mean the original Urashima Taro?' he said. 'But still, you
may be some descendant of his--what?'
'I do not understand you. My name is Urashima Taro. There is no other
bears that name. I am the fisherman: surely you know me.'
The man looked at Urashima very closely to see if he were joking or not.
'There _was_ a Urashima Taro, a famous fisherman of three hundred years
ago, but you--you are joking.'
'Nay, nay, I am not joking. It is you that are joking with your three
hundred years. I left here three or four days ago, and now I have
returned. Where have my father and mother gone?'
The man stared at him aghast.
'Are you mad?' he cried. '_I_ have lived in this house for thirty years
at least, and, as for your father and mother--why, if you are really
Urashima Taro, they have been dead three hundred years; and that is
absurd. Do you want me to believe you are a ghost?'
'Not so; look at my feet.' And Urashima put out one foot and then the
other, in full accordance with the Japanese belief that ghosts have no
feet.
'Well, well,' said the man, 'you can't be Urashima Taro, whatever you
say, for he lived three hundred years ago, and you are not yet thirty.'
With this the man banged the door in Urashima's face.
What could it all mean? Urashima Taro dead. Lived three hundred years
ago. What nonsense! He must be dreaming. He pinched his ear and assured
himself that he was not only alive, but wide awake. And yet--and
yet--everything about him seemed very much changed since he saw it last.
He stood stock still on his way to the gate, and looked this way and
that, trying to find something that had suffered only three days'
change. But everything was unfamiliar.
Then an idea struck him. On the morning of the day that he had rescued
the tortoise from the boys, he had planted a little willow slip down by
the pond in the field. He would go and look at it, and that would settle
the matter.
So he took his way to the pond. Half-way he was baulked by a hedge, high
and thick, which was new to him, but he found a way through a gap. Well
he remembered the exact spot where he had planted the willow slip on the
edge of the pond, but, when he arrived there, he could see no sign of
it. In its place was a gigantic trunk bearing vast branches which
towered overhead. And there the birds were singing the same songs as
they sang--three days ago! Alas! could it indeed be three _centuries_
ago?
Perplexed beyond measure, Urashima resolved to go to the fountain-head
and settle the matter once and for all. Turning away, he made all haste
to the village--was this the village he had known?--and inquired of a
countryman he had never seen before, where the village chronicles were
kept.
'Yonder,' said the man, pointing to a building which had certainly taken
more than three days to erect.
Urashima thanked him and then hastened to the building and went in. He
was not long in finding what he wanted. It was an ancient entry, and it
ran:
'Urashima Taro--a famous fisherman who lived in the early part of the
fourteenth century--the traditional patron demi-god of fishermen. There
are many stories concerning this half-mythical character, chief of which
is that he hooked a whale far from shore, and, as he would not
relinquish the prize, his boat was dragged for ever and ever over the
surface of the sea. Mariners of the present day solemnly aver that they
have seen Urashima Taro sitting in his boat skimming the waves as he
held the line by which he had caught the whale. Whatever the real
history of Urashima Taro, it is certain that he lived in the village,
and the legend concerning him is the subject of great interest to
visitors from the great land of America.'
Urashima shut the book with a slam and went away, down to the seashore.
As he went, he realised that those three days he had spent in perfect
happiness with the Princess were not three days at all, but three
hundred years. His parents were long since dead, and all was changed.
What else could he do but go back to the Dragon kingdom under the sea?
But when he reached the shore, he found no tortoise ready to take him
back, and, after waiting a long time, he began to think his case was
hopeless. Then, suddenly, he bethought himself of the little box which
the Princess had given him. He drew it forth and looked at it. He had
promised her not to open it, but what did it matter now? As he did not
care what happened to him, the deadly secret of the box was just as well
out as in. Besides, he might learn something from it, some secret way of
finding his beloved Princess--and that would be happiness; but if, on
the other hand, some terrible thing happened to him, what did it
signify?
So he sat down on the seashore, untied the fastenings of the little box
and then lifted the lid. He was surprised to find that the box was
empty; but, slowly, out of the emptiness came a little thin, purple
cloud which curled up and circled about his head. It was fragrant, and
reminded him of the sweet perfume of the Princess's robes. Now it
floated away towards the open sea and Urashima's soul seemed to go with
it.
Suddenly he stood up, thinking he heard her sweet voice calling him. For
a moment he stood there, a splendid figure of early youth. Then a change
came over him. His eyes grew dim, his hair turned silvery white, lines
came upon his face, and his form seemed to shrivel with extreme old age.
Then Urashima Taro reeled and staggered to and fro. The burden of three
hundred years was too heavy for him. He threw up his arms and fell dead
upon the sand.
THE FIRE BIRD
A RUSSIAN FAIRY TALE
It was a great day when the Prince was born. The King was delighted, and
the Queen nearly went mad with joy. The courtiers, though they hardly
dared dance a Trepâk in the palace, could not keep their heels still;
while the guards, the attendants, the little pages and pretty kitchen
maids, drank tea and coffee, glass after glass, till the following
morning, when they all had supper, and then crept off on tip-toe to bed.
The people clapped their hands and sang and danced in the squares and
streets, till those who danced the longest got sore throats, and those
who sang the loudest got footsore. The whole city could not sleep for
joy. The young Prince was the first-born, and would one day sit upon the
throne: was this a thing to put under the pillow? On with the dance!
Another song! Drink deep to the young Prince!
The doctors smiled, and stroked the smile down to the tips of their grey
beards as they nodded to one another amiably. The child was strong and
healthy, and would live; and besides, they all agreed upon the point
that he was a Prince, and had his father's nose. But alas! doctors are
not everybody. After the revel a wise man from Persia, who was staying
in the city at the time, awoke from his slumbers and dressed himself,
and went to see the King. Sunk in a deep sleep, he had missed the
celebrations, but he had found a vision of the future; and he was now
hastening to see the King about it, for, as you must understand, when a
wise man knows the worst he can never keep it to himself.
When he came before the King, he had scarcely the heart to tell him
what would befall his first-born; but the King bade him speak out, and
he obeyed.
'Sire,' he said humbly, 'I come not to tell thee bad news, but rather to
warn thee in time, lest a vision that came to me in the night should
perchance come true.'
The King looked a little anxious, for he had heard tales, strange but
true, about this wise man from Persia and his wonderful powers.
'Speak on, Ferdâsan,' he said.
'Sire,' replied the seer, 'the dream that came to me was a deep-sleep
vision. Doubt not that it is a warning entrusted to me to lay before
you. O King, this is the substance of it. Fifteen years came and went
before my inner eyes, and the son that has been born to you from heaven
grew more beautiful year by year. But at the close of the fifteenth year
he--flew away!'
'Flew away!' cried the King, startled. 'And what was the manner of his
flight, O Ferdâsan?'
'Sire, in the midst of the palace gardens, Hausa, the Bird of the Sun,
came to seek him or to be sought by him. He mounted on the back of this
bird; and then, as the twilight fell, it carried him away westward.'
'With what purpose, Ferdâsan?'
'That, sire, I can reveal to you only in words that hide my thoughts,
and----'
'Nay, nay; tell me all, I command you.'
'His fate stands thus. He is destined to marry the Maiden of the Dawn,
and, in quest of her, he will fly westward in his fifteenth year,
unless----'
'Yes, unless what, man?'
'Unless you yourself, sire, keep watch and ward and so prevent him.'
The King stared at the seer. How could he believe this thing?
'It seems that you have come to disturb my peace,' he said angrily.
'What proof have I that you speak truly? If your wisdom has brought me
this warning, then your wisdom can avert the evil fate. You will remain
in this palace until the die is cast. That is my command.'
[Illustration: THE FIRE BIRD
There he found the Princess asleep and saw that her face was the face he
had seen in the portrait.
_See page 165_]
'Sire,' replied Ferdâsan humbly, 'my work is done, and I must return to
my cave in the mountains.'
'What!' cried the King in a rage, 'you defy me? I will compel you.'
'You cannot,' replied Ferdâsan. 'Seers stand before kings--and that is
true in two ways.
'We shall see.' The King clapped his hands fiercely. Then, as two guards
came running in answer to the summons, he cried, 'Take that man and
place him in a dungeon!'
The guards turned upon Ferdâsan, who stood calm and unmoved, looking at
the King. Then, as they were about to seize him, a strange thing
happened. They clutched at the empty air and staggered against one
another, amazed. For a moment the Throne-room seemed to echo a sweet
music from far away; for a moment it was filled with the faint fragrance
of mountain lilies; then the King saw a thin grey mist slowly issuing
through one of the windows, to dissolve in the sunlight.
And then he knew.
From that time forward, the King regarded the seer's prediction with
great anxiety. He watched the young Prince continually in his first
years, and, when, as was often the case, he saw him gazing wistfully
towards the west when the sun had set, he felt sure that the coming
event had cast its shadow before.
Accordingly, as soon as the young Prince entered his fifteenth year, the
King had him imprisoned in a lofty tower situated in the palace gardens,
and placed a guard about it, for he was determined to take no risk
whatever.
But, while he kept the Prince a close prisoner, he surrounded him with
every luxury, for he loved him dearly. He even promised him that, on his
fifteenth birthday, a great festival would be held in his honour, though
he himself would only be allowed to watch the festivities from the high
window of the tower.
The Prince implored his father to let him wander in the gardens on his
birthday; but the King was so afraid that, by some means or other, he
would be spirited away, that he refused. In addition to this, he
double-locked and barred the topmost room of the tower in which the
Prince was imprisoned.
On the day of the festival, the sun rose bright. As the Prince watched
it from his high window, his heart rose with it. At noon he had fully
decided to disobey his father and escape from his prison. He brooded
till sunset; then, as the twilight gathered, he went to the window again
and listened to the sounds of festivity in the city all around.
Presently, he leaned out over the window-sill and looked down. It was a
long way to the ground, but the gardens were beautiful, and he was
determined to reach them and roam free among the trees and flowers. Was
not this his birthday, and was not the city holding high festival in his
honour? It seemed hard that he should be a prisoner, when even the
guards of his prison had stolen away to join the merry throng. The city
without was a blaze of light and a chorus of revel, but the gardens
below seemed to be deserted: now was his opportunity.
Turning back into the apartment, he swept his eyes round for anything
that would serve as a rope. There were heavy hangings falling from the
high ceiling: he could not pull these down. There was the carpet; yes,
he could make a rope of that.
He quickly secured a knife, and ripped from the edge of the carpet many
long threads. When he had a sufficient number, he set to work to plait a
rope, splicing fresh threads in at intervals until it was nearly a
hundred feet long. Then he tied one end of it securely to one of the
pillars supporting the roof, and let the free length of it down from the
window. By the light of the full moon sailing overhead, he could see
that the end of the rope reached as far as the branches of a tree
growing at the foot of the tower.
It was now past midnight, and the garden below was just as silent as the
city outside was loud with merriment. As the Prince climbed over the
window-sill and let himself down the rope, he took no thought as to how
he might get back again; it was quite enough to get away from the
lonely, stifling place of his imprisonment.
At last his feet touched the topmost bough of the tree, but there was
rope to spare; and he went on until, at the end of it, he was able to
grasp a bough thick enough to bear his weight; and by this means he
climbed along to the trunk, and so to the ground.
There was no one about. The guards were all away merrymaking in the
Prince's honour. Although he was still a prisoner within the garden
walls, he was enjoying his adventure and the sense of freedom to wander,
even in the gardens.
He took his way along pathways where the moonbeams strayed. He drank in
the cool night air, and paused ever and again to pluck a sweet-smelling
night-flower. Wandering on, he came at length to a bank at the end of
the garden, beyond which he knew was a steep cliff overlooking a valley.
Before his father had shut him up in the tower, he had always been
forbidden to approach that end of the garden, and he had never done so;
but now his curiosity led him on, and he advanced cautiously along an
avenue of overarching trees. But it soon grew so dense and dark, that he
was about to turn back, when suddenly he espied a misty light beginning
to grow brighter and brighter at the far end of the avenue.
Eager to find out where this light came from, and seeing his way more
clearly now, he hastened on, and soon arrived at the mouth of a large
cave, which, inside, was as bright as day. He ventured farther forward
and peered round a buttress of rock; and there, in the centre of the
cave, a strange sight met his eyes. A gigantic bird was standing there,
getting ready to fly through the farther opening overlooking the valley.
It was stretching its neck and flapping its wings; and, from every
feather of these, flashed rays and sparkles of light, illuminating the
whole place.
In the centre of the cavern floor was a crystal pool into which, from a
ledge high up on the wall, fell a broad cascade almost like a flowing
veil, and the strong light shed by the giant bird shone through this on
to the rock behind it. And there the Prince saw the most beautiful thing
he had ever set eyes on.
It was an oval picture, framed in crystal, and hanging behind the
transparent cascade--a picture of a beautiful Princess. And, as he
looked, her eyes met his.
Immediately the young Prince was filled with a great longing to find the
original of this portrait, but it seemed that his only way of doing so
was through the help of the great bird, which was now attracting his
attention by strange signs. First it looked at him with a kindly eye;
then it craned its neck towards the farther opening of the cave, and,
flapping its wings as if about to fly, ran a step or two and then
stopped and looked back at him. After doing this two or three times it
crouched down and turned its head sideways, looking straight at him, as
much as to say, 'Don't you want to ride in the air?'
The Prince saw the bird's meaning, but, to signify that he wanted to
find the Princess, he pointed to the picture. At this the bird spread
its wings right out until the tips brushed against each side of the
cave, the feathers quivering intensely and throwing out a bright light
which almost blinded the Prince.