Part 1
# Japanese folk stories and fairy tales ### By Nixon-Roulet, Mary F.
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JAPANESE FOLK STORIES AND FAIRY TALES
[Illustration: JAPANESE FOLK STORIES AND FAIRY TALES]
JAPANESE FOLK STORIES AND FAIRY TALES
BY MARY F. NIXON-ROULET
AUTHOR OF “WITH A PESSIMIST IN SPAIN,” “OUR LITTLE SPANISH COUSIN,” “OUR LITTLE ALASKAN COUSIN,” ETC., ETC.
[Illustration: [Publisher's logo]]
NEW YORK ·:· CINCINNATI ·:· CHICAGO AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY
ENTERED AT STATIONERS’ HALL, LONDON COPYRIGHT, 1908, TOKYO
JAPANESE FOLK STORIES W. P. I
TO DR. ALFRED DE ROULET
CONTENTS
Page
The Choice of the Princess 9
The Mirror of the Sun Goddess 17
The Sworded Falcon 22
The Phantom Cats 27
The Sword of the Clustering Clouds of Heaven 35
The Boastful Bamboo 40
The Angel’s Robe 46
The Moon and the Cuckoo 50
The Hang-The-Money-Up Tree 54
The Goddess of Green-growing Things 58
The Knightly Waste-paper Man 62
The Hunter and the Priest 73
The Princess Moonbeam 78
The Single Lantern of Yamato 83
The Soul of the Samurai 87
The Dream of the Golden Box 91
The Princess of the Sea 96
The Firefly of Matsui 104
The Mountain Rose 107
The Evil One and the Rat 112
The Painter of Cats 115
The Coming of Benten Sama 124
The Waterfall Which Flowed Saké 128
The Boy and the Spirits of Things 133
The Daughter of a Samurai 137
The Fishes of the Boiling Spring 144
The Inao of the Ainu 149
The Goblin Tree 154
The Man Who Became a Serpent 158
The Laughing Dumpling 162
The Sacrifice to Kompira 173
The Two Brothers 177
The Princess and the Fox Baby 183
THE CHOICE OF THE PRINCESS
A beautiful princess lived in Inaba. She was called the Princess of Yakami, and was the loveliest princess in all the land. Her skin was like velvet, her hair was dark as night, and her eyes were as bright and soft as the stars. She was sweet as well as fair, but willful, and when they said, “Fair Princess, you must marry,” she replied, “The time has not yet come. I see nowhere in Inaba the man who may be my lord.”
At this the court was in despair. The Princess would not marry until she was quite ready,--that the counselors knew. They had not counseled the little, pretty, willful princess for nothing. Had the king, her father, lived it might have been different; but he was long since gone, and the queen mother could do no more with the princess than could the wise men of the kingdom. Early in her life the princess had learned that there was just one thing she could say which no one could answer. She had only to look very sweetly at whoever was trying to persuade her to do something, and then, with a dainty little smile, say simply, “But I don’t want to!”
That was all. No one, not even the wisest of the counselors, had ever found an answer to that. It was a strange state of affairs; for all the little princesses before had been gentle and sweet, and had done just what they were told.
The counselors at length proclaimed that all young men of proper age and rank should present themselves for the princess to look at and see if she liked any of them well enough to marry.
The news of this quickly spread everywhere. It was no time at all before the road to Yakami was seen crowded with youths. There were youths tall and short, fat and thin, handsome and ugly, and each hoped he would be the favored suitor.
Among others there came eighty-one brothers, each of whom had seen the picture of the princess and wished to win her. These brothers were of noble family, but the youngest was the only one who was really noble. He was as brave as Yositumé! Eighty of the brothers were ugly and jealous of one another. It seemed as if they could agree upon nothing in all the world except treating the youngest meanly. They despised him because he was so good and gentle, and never rude or quarrelsome.
The eighty-first brother never complained. He tried to please his brothers; and when he found that he could not, he stayed away from them as far as possible.
When, therefore, they went to wait on the princess, he lingered at the back of the train; for his brothers scoffed at him and made him carry their burdens, as if he had been a servant.
The eighty brothers went proudly ahead. As they toiled up a mountain-side they came upon a poor little hare stretched out upon the grass. All his fur had been pulled out and he was ill and wretched.
“Let me tell you what will cure you,” said one of the brothers, with a wicked laugh to his companions. “Go down to the sea; bathe yourself in the salt water, and then run to the top of the hill. The Wind God of the hilltop will cure you, and your fur will grow again.”
“Thank you, noble prince,” said the hare; and as the eighty brothers turned away laughing, he hurried to the sea shore.
Alas! the salt water hurt his tender skin, and the sun and wind burned him so that he cried out with pain.
The eighty-first brother, trudging along with his brothers’ bundles, heard the cry and hurried to see if some one was hurt.
“Poor little fellow!” he said, pityingly. “What is the matter?”
“Your voice is kind, your face is kind, and I feel that you have a kind heart,” said the hare. “Perhaps you can help me if I tell you my story.”
“I will gladly do so if I can,” said the eighty-first brother.
“I was born in the Isle of Oki,” said the hare. “When I grew up I longed to see the world, but I knew not how to reach the mainland. After a long time, however, I thought of a way. Great numbers of crocodiles were in the habit of coming to the beach to sun themselves. One day I said to them boastfully, ‘There are more hares in Oki than crocodiles in the sea.’
“‘Not so,’ said one of the crocodiles, ‘there are a great many more crocodiles.’
“‘Let us count,’ I answered, ‘and then both will be satisfied. I can count all of you crocodiles very easily. You have only to form a line from here to Cape Kita, and let the nose of one be at the tail of another, and I will run lightly across on your backs and count as I go. Then we shall know how many crocodiles there are.’
“‘But how shall we know about the hares?’ asked a crocodile.
“‘Oh, that we can decide later,’ I answered.
“So they did as I had said. They formed in a line, and I ran across. Their broad backs made a good bridge, but, alas, why did I not know enough to hold my tongue? As I jumped from the last crocodile to the bank, I cried, ‘I have fooled you well! I don’t care how many crocodiles there are. I only used you as a bridge to reach the mainland.’ But just as I said this, the last monster grabbed me with his teeth and tore off all my fur.
[Illustration: “GO AND BATHE IN THE FRESH WATER OF THE RIVER”]
“‘You deserve to be killed,’ he said. ‘But I will let you go. In future do not try to deceive creatures bigger than yourself.’”
“Indeed, he was quite right,” said the eighty-first brother. “You were well paid for being deceitful; but I am very sorry for you.”
“Let me finish my story,” said the hare, hanging his head at this rebuke. “As I lay here, smarting with pain, a train of princes passed by. One of them told me to bathe in the sea and run in the wind. I did so, and that is what put me in this painful state. Now what can I do, for I can hardly bear my suffering?”
“It must have been my eighty brothers whom you met,” said the prince. “I must try to help you, since they have been so cruel. Go and bathe in the fresh water of the river. Then take pollen from the reeds and rub yourself with it. Your skin will heal, and your fur will grow again.”
“Thank you, most noble prince,” cried the hare. “You are as good as your eighty brothers are evil. You will find that I am not ungrateful,” and he hastened to the river.
Soon he felt quite well; and he hurried away, scarcely waiting to bid the prince good-by.
The eighty-first brother smiled to himself as he thought, “He is not so grateful as he pretended.” Then he went on to the court.
The hare, however, was already there. He had heard the talk about the wedding of the princess, and he saw how he could serve the one who had been kind to him.
One of the hare’s brothers was a handsome little fellow who had been given to the princess and who was a great favorite at the court. So the hare of Inaba hurried to this brother and told him his story.
“Now, to help my prince to wed your princess,” he said. “Two such kind souls should dwell together and make the world happier.”
“Trust me,” said his brother, who had grown wise since he came to the palace and had learned court ways.
So when the eighty brothers presented themselves before the princess, dressed all in their finest array, she received them scornfully and sent them all away.
“Your faces smile,” she said, “but your hearts are cruel, and I will have none of you.”
But when the eighty-first brother presented himself before her golden throne, she stretched forth her hand and said, “Good heart and true, I will share my throne with you and you alone!”
Then was the eighty-first brother glad; and all the people rejoiced and the little hare danced merrily on two legs and said, “You see now, dear Prince, that I am not ungrateful; for it is due to me that you are the Choice of the Princess.”
THE MIRROR OF THE SUN GODDESS
Many, many years ago, when the gods reigned in high heaven, the country of Nippon rose from the waters. Izanagi and Izananu, standing upon the floating bridge of heaven, thrust down a glittering blade. They probed the blue ocean and the drops from the sword’s point hardened and became islands; and thus was created the “Land of Many Blades,” the isles of Nippon.
Now Izanagi and Izananu were the highest of the gods of heaven, and they had two children, Amaterasu and Susanoo. Susanoo was made god of the sea, and his sister was the bright and beautiful sun goddess, whose name meant Great Goddess of the Shining Heaven.
She reigned happily from her bright golden throne for many years, but Susanoo, like many other brothers, was a tease, and he made his sister very angry with some of his tricks. She was quite patient with him, as elder sisters should be, but at last there came a time when she could no longer stand his naughty ways.
Amaterasu sent Susanoo one day upon an errand, for she wished him to find a goddess named Uke-mochi, who lived in the reedy moors. When Susanoo found her he was tired and hungry, and so he asked her for food. Uke-mochi took food from her mouth to give him and this made him very angry. “Why feed me with foul things? You shall not live!” he cried; and, drawing his sword, he struck her dead.
When he went home and told Amaterasu what he had done, his sister was in a great rage and left her brother in total darkness. She fled to the cave of Ameno and closed the entrance with a huge rock. Then was all the earth dark, for the sun goddess no longer shed her light upon men. So terrible was it upon earth that at last the other gods met together near the cave, to consult and see what could be done.
They tried in every way to persuade Amaterasu to come forth, but she sulked like a naughty child and would not shine upon them. At last they thought of a plan to entice the goddess from her cavern by means of an image of herself. So a mirror was made, very large and fine. It was hung upon a tree, just before the door of the cave, and a strong hempen cord was put in the hands of a god who hid himself beside the door.
A number of cocks were started to crowing, and the lovely goddess Uzumé began to dance to music from a bamboo tube. The gods kept time by striking two pieces of wood together, and one of them played a harp made by placing six of their bows together with the strings upward and drawing grass and rushes across them. Great bonfires were lighted, and a huge drum was brought for Uzumé to dance upon. This she did with so much spirit and grace that all the gods were delighted. They laughed with joy, clapped their hands, and fairly shook high heaven with their merriment.
[Illustration: “UZUMÉ BEGAN TO DANCE”]
Amaterasu heard the noise and could not understand it. She was annoyed because the gods seemed to be having such a good time without her. She had thought that they could not possibly get along unless she let the light of her face shine upon them. She was naturally very curious to find out what it was all about. So she pushed open the door of her cave, just a little bit, and peeped out. There, by the light of the bonfires she saw Uzumé’s graceful dancing, and heard her sing,
“Hito futa miyo Itsu muyu nana Ya koko no tari.”[1]
“Why does Uzumé dance and why do the gods laugh? I thought both heaven and earth would be sad without me”, said Amaterasu crossly.
“Oh, no,” laughed Uzumé. “We rejoice because we have here a deity who far surpasses you in beauty.”
“Where?” demanded the sun goddess indignantly. “Let me see her!” and as she spoke she caught sight of her own reflection in the mirror.
She had never seen such a thing before and was greatly astonished. She stepped outside her cave to see more plainly this radiant rival, when lo! the god who was waiting, seized her and drew her forth, quickly passing the rope across the cave door to prevent her return. Thus was the sun goddess restored to earth.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] “Gods! behold the carven door, Majesty appears! Rejoice! Our hearts are fully satisfied!”
THE SWORDED FALCON
In the days of the Emperor Koan there lived near Koya a falcon which had wings and a tail of swords. It was far more dreaded than a porcupine of even the largest spines, and it used to lie in wait near the village of Koya to carry off people and eat them.
No one was safe from the ferocious bird. Little people, playing beneath the pines, happy in childish glee, were but tender morsels for the cruel bird. Women resting under the long racemes of the woodland wistaria, were attacked and dragged screaming to his nest. Even the men working in the rice fields would sometimes hear a cry of agony and see one of their number suddenly rise into the air in the clutches of the monstrous bird.
The villagers despaired of ever being able to rid themselves of this terrible creature. At last they sent a petition to the Mikado, urging him to send some one to deliver them from the pest.
“Behold!” they cried, “We, the subjects of Your Majesty, are in much fear and danger from this fierce creature, and we beseech you to save us, your humble servants.”
The Mikado sent to their aid the brave Prince Yashimasa; and the Prince tarried long in the village, for the bird was very wary and hid from sight. When the Prince went out to seek him, the falcon would disguise himself in various shapes. First, he would appear as a woman washing clothes beside the river; then he would become a tree growing beside a rippling waterfall; and again, he would look like a crane standing on the reedy shore.
It took so long to find the creature that Prince Yashimasa tarried for months in the house of Atago Shoji, a gentleman of the town. Thus it came about that he loved Atago’s daughter, the fair and gentle Shiragika, and the maiden returned his love. The two walked happily together in the iris-bordered meadows, and chatted long and cheerfully in the shade of the bamboo trees.
One day Prince Yashimasa found the nest of the falcon upon a hilltop and he cried, “Aha! my fine fellow! At last I have you! Soon I shall destroy you, and the village will no longer be in dread, but will rejoice greatly.”
He hid himself in a bamboo thicket, armed with his bow and arrows, and awaited the coming of the falcon.
[Illustration: “HE SENT HIS ARROW THROUGH ITS CRUEL HEART”]
At last it came, fierce and terrible. Its eyes gleamed like twin stars, its tail spread like forked lightning, its wings of gleaming steel beat the air like flames of fire!
“It is indeed the sworded falcon,” said Yashimasa, and, aiming carefully, he sent his arrow through its cruel heart. The falcon dropped dead, and Yashimasa hurried to the village to tell the news.
Then all the people rejoiced, singing the victor’s praises. “Hail to the noble prince!” they cried. “He has delivered us from the evil claws and the cruel beak of this demon-bird! Greatly will our lord the Mikado reward him.”
But Shiragika wept and mourned, for now that her lover’s task was done, she knew that he must return to his home. He must go alone, for it was not fitting that she, a simple village maiden, should go with him to the Emperor’s court.
“Yashimasa,” she wept. “Farewell forever. Forget me and be happy!”
“Never!” cried Yashimasa. “As soon as I have told the Mikado of the success of my mission I will return to find you. Never will I forget you;” and he bade her a tender farewell.
She waited long and looked for his return, but he came not, for the Mikado sent him on other missions to far lands and he must obey. At last, with her kimono sleeves loaded with stones, she dropped gently to sleep in the great river. And as she sank to rest, she sighed, “Yashimasa! In its death, the sworded falcon pierced my heart!”
When Yashimasa heard of her death, he mourned her truly; and when he grew old he returned to Koya and died beside the stream where she had perished.
THE PHANTOM CATS
A ruined temple stood in a lonely wood. All about it was a trackless forest. The huge trees waved above it, the leaves in the thicket whispered about it, the sun goddess seldom shone upon it with her light.
Uguisu,[2] poet of the woods, sang in the plum tree near by. He sang the poet’s song to the plum tree which he loved:
“Send forth your fragrance upon the eastern winds, Oh flower of the plum tree, Forget not the spring because of the absence of the sun.”
Ruined though the temple was, it still held a shrine and hither came Wakiki Mononofu, a young Samurai.[3] He was a brave young soldier who was seeking his fortune in the wide, wide world. He had lost his way and wandered in the forest seeking the path, until at length he came to the little clear space where was the temple. A storm was coming up, and a palace could not have seemed more welcome to the young warrior.
“Here is all I want,” he said to himself. “Here I shall have a shelter from the storm god’s wrath, and a place to sleep and dream of glory and adventure. What more could be desired?”
Then he wrapped himself in his mantle, curled up in a corner of the sacred room, and soon fell asleep. But his slumber did not last long. His pleasant dreams were disturbed by horrid sounds, and waking, he sprang to his feet and looked out of the temple door.
There he saw a troop of monstrous cats which seemed in the weird moonlight like phantoms, marching across the clear space in front of the temple, and dancing a wild dance. As they danced they uttered horrid sounds, yells, and wicked laughs; and through these he could hear the words of a strange chant:
“Whisper not to Shippeitaro That the Phantom Cats are near, Whisper not to Shippeitaro Lest he soon appear.”
Wakiki crouched low behind the door; for, brave as he was, there was something so dreadful in the appearance of the creatures that he did not want them to see him. Soon, however, with a chorus of wild yells, they disappeared as quickly as they had come. Then Wakiki lay down and slept again, nor did he waken until the sun goddess peered into the temple and whispered to him that it was morning.
[Illustration: “A TROOP OF MONSTROUS CATS”]
By the morning light it was easy to find the path which the night’s shadows had hidden from him, and being very hungry he started out to seek some dwelling. The path led away from the temple, in an opposite direction to that from which he had come the night before. Soon, however, he came out of the forest and saw a little hamlet surrounded by green fields.
“How fortunate I am,” he cried joyfully. “Here are houses, and so there must be people, and people must have something to eat. If they are kind they will share with me, and I am starving for a bowl of rice.”
He hurried to the nearest cottage, but as he approached he heard sounds of bitter weeping. He went up to the door, and was met by a sweet young girl whose eyes were red with crying. She greeted him kindly, and he asked her for food.
“Enter and welcome,” said she. “My parents are about to be served with breakfast. You shall join them, for no one must pass our door hungry.”
Thanking her the young warrior went in and seated himself upon the floor. The parents of the young girl greeted him courteously. A small table was set before him, and on it was placed rice and tea. He ate heartily, and, when he had finished eating, rose to go.
“Thank you very many times for such a good meal, kind friends,” he said.
“You have been welcome. Go in peace,” said the master of the house.
“And may happiness be yours,” returned the young Samurai.
“Happiness can never again be ours,” said the old man, with a sad face, as his daughter left the room. Her mother followed her and from behind the paper partitions of the breakfast room, Wakiki could hear sounds as if she were trying to comfort the young girl.
“You are then in trouble?” he asked, not liking to be inquisitive, and yet wishing to show sympathy.