Part 4

So when the morning broke in golden streams across the mountain-top the hunter and the priest looked long and carefully, and they found a spot of blood where had stood the vision of the night. Another and another they found, forming a slender trail which led deep into the forest, and ever the crimson trail grew larger and larger until at last they found a pool of blood beside the body of a huge badger which lay dead, pierced by an arrow.

“See,” said the hunter. “You have been deceived though you are far holier than I. All your study can not teach you what I was taught by common sense.”

FOOTNOTES:

[12] Buddhism does not approve the taking of life.

THE PRINCESS MOONBEAM

A woodman once dwelt with his wife at the edge of the forest, under the shadow of the Honorable Mountain. The two were industrious and good, but though they loved each other they were not happy. No children had come to bless them and this the wife mourned deeply.

The husband pitied her and treated her very kindly, yet still she was sad. As she gazed upon the snows of Fujiyama her heart swelled within her and she prostrated herself and said, “Fuji no Yama, Honorable Mountain, my heart is heavy because no childish arms encircle my neck, no little head nestles in my bosom. From thy eternal purity send some little white soul to comfort me!”

The Honorable Mountain spoke not; yet as she prayed, lo, from its heights there sparkled and glowed a tiny light. Fitful and gleaming it seemed, yet it had a silver radiance as of the moon.

The woodman’s wife beheld it, and she called to her husband eagerly, “Come hither, I pray you. See the strange light which comes from Fuji San. I seem to see a face smiling at me. It is the face of a little child!”

Then her husband smiled at her fancy, but, because he loved her, he said indulgently, “I will go and see what it is.”

“I thank you, my lord; go quickly!” she replied.

So, quickly he went to the forest, and as he neared a mountain stream, with Fuji gleaming cold and white in the moonlight, he saw the strange light, which seemed to hover and rest upon the branches of a tall bamboo. Hastening thither he found there a moon child, a tiny, fragile, fairy thing, more beautiful than any child he had ever seen.

“Little creature,” he said. “Who are you?”

“My name is Princess Moonbeam,” she answered sweetly. “My mother is the Moon Lady, and she has sent me to Earth because every Moon Child must do some good thing, else will its silvery light become pale and wan and be of no avail.”

“Little Princess,” he said eagerly, “the best of good deeds is to comfort a sad heart. Come home with me and be a child to my wife, who weeps for children. Thus will your beams grow bright.”

“I will go with you,” said the little Moonbeam, and, rejoicing greatly, he bore her tenderly to his wife.

“I bring you a treasure,” he said. “The Moon Lady sends you this beam of light to lighten your sad heart.”

[Illustration: “LOVELIER GREW THE MOON CHILD EVERY YEAR”]

Then was his wife much overjoyed and she took the little creature to her bosom and cared for her.

Lovelier grew the Moon Child every year and much she rejoiced the hearts of her foster parents. Her hair was like a golden aureole about her face. Her eyes were deep and tender, her cheeks were pale and delicate, and about her there was a subtle and unearthly charm. Every one loved her, even the emperor’s son, who, hunting in the forest, saw her lighting up the humble cottage with her heavenly light. He loved her dearly and she loved him, but alas! she could not marry him because her life upon the earth could be but twenty years. Then she must return to her home in the moon, for so willed her mother the Moon Lady.

At last the day came when she must go. Her parents wept, and could not be consoled; and her lover, who was now the emperor, could not keep her, although he besought High Heaven to spare her.

Her mother caught her up in a silver moonbeam; and all the way to the Moon the little Princess wept silvery tears. As the tears fell from her eyes, lo! they took wings and floated away looking for the form of her beloved, the emperor, who might see her no more.

But the silver-bright tears are seen to this day floating hither and yon about the vales and marshes of fair Nippon. The children chase them with happy cries, and say, “See the fireflies! How fair they are! Whence came they?”

Then their mothers relate to them the legend and say, “These are the tears of the little Princess, flitting to seek her beloved”; and over all, calm and eternal, smiles the Honorable Mountain.

THE SINGLE LANTERN OF YAMATO

There was a poor woman in Yamato who was very good. She prayed daily at the graves of her parents, although she was very old. Daily she placed there some grains of rice, although she was very, very poor. She went to the temple whenever she was able, and prayed much. She was kind to the poor and gave always to the hungry, so that often she went hungry herself.

“It is better to be hungry than to grow hard of heart,” she said.

Now they made a grand temple in Yamato and all the people were proud and gave to it many _yen_. They gave a lantern of bronze so wonderfully fine that all men wondered, for the workmanship was delicate and beautiful. The lantern makers had sat and wrought upon it for days with matchless skill and patience. The stand was large and the light so small as to seem but a mere glimmer of the light of the world.

Many lanterns were given to the temple and a rich man gave a thousand large ones.

“All men shall see that I am of a generous heart,” he said proudly to himself.

[Illustration: “SHE WENT TO THE TEMPLE AND PRAYED MUCH”]

The poor woman was grieved at heart.

“I have nothing to give,” she said. “The gods would accept nothing that I have.” She looked carefully over her poor little house, but alas! There was nothing any one would buy. She had only the barest necessaries and these much worn and used for many years.

At last she bethought herself that she still possessed one thing which she might sell. Her hair was yet long and black. It might not bring much, but it would be worth something.

“I am too old to marry, no one cares how I look,” she said, smiling to herself. “I will sell my hair to make a temple offering.”

So she sold it for a small sum, which happily she found was enough to buy one little temple light. This she joyfully placed upon the shrine.

How tiny it looked beside the rich man’s great ones! Yet its light seemed to her to warm her old heart into fresher life, and she was happy.

That night there was a great festival in the temple. All the lamps were lighted, from the great ones of the rich man to the tiny one which the poor woman had placed there with such loving care.

The whole temple was aglow with light, and all the people praised the rich man and said, “How generous he is! How great!”

But just as they were praising him and admiring the lights, there sprang up a sudden fierce wind. It blew so wild a gust that the light of all the great lanterns of the rich man went out, and all was darkness. Yet not all--for lo! there gleamed through the gloom a tiny light, as bright as the light of day. It was the little light of the poor woman, which with its spark seemed to light the whole great temple, and all the people wondered. Then they looked with care to see whence came the little light and when they found it was the gift of so humble a soul they marveled again. But the priest of the temple, who was old and good and very wise, said, “Do not marvel! In the sight of the All Knowing One, the poor gift of a good heart is more worthy than all the splendor of the rich and proud.”

THE SOUL OF THE SAMURAI

Far upon a Western headland the pine trees waved their arms to the sea and the sea god loved them and dashed his high foaming spray to send them greeting. Giant _torii_[13] rose heavenward, that the Golden Crow, the strange and mystic Hobo Bird, might rest there, in his swift flight toward the sun god.

The sea flowed restless and proud at the foot of the cliffs and the beach was soft and treacherous, and the sea god yearly claimed a victim, when the air was heavy with the sweet scent of the wild pittosporum.

O Nitta San was a great warrior. He fought for Go-Daigo the emperor and was his faithful general. Many a battle he fought and won, though the men of the Hojo Clan were many and strong and fought well. But when he reached the headland of the pines, the soul of O Nitta San was heavy within him.

“The men of the Hojo guard the sea with ships, they watch the hills with archers,” he said to his head man. “They are as many as the waves of the sea. Our fate is in the hands of the gods!”

“The favor of the gods must be won, O Nitta San,” said the head man. “I am of small account, but let me throw myself into the sea, and perchance the sea god may accept the sacrifice and smile upon you, my master.”

“Not so,” replied O Nitta San. “I myself will appease the god of the sea, that he may grant us a passage to conquer the city, for the glory of my master the emperor.”

“Honorably the emperor will reward you,” said the head man bowing low, but O Nitta San shook his head.

“I desire no reward,” he said. “Do you hear the chirp of that bird? In a land where even the wild songsters of the forest cry ‘Chiu,’[14] do not think a Samurai needs a reward.”

O Nitta San turned him to the cliffs, and he raised his hands to the sea god and prayed long and earnestly. Then he drew from its scabbard his sword, and lovingly he gazed upon its keen and shining blade. He raised it toward the clouds and it gleamed in the moonlight like a shimmering serpent.

“Beloved comrade, Soul of the Samurai,”[15] he cried. “Well have you served me in many a fierce battle. You are a friend as well as a servant. Now serve me once again and appease the wrath of the sea god!” For a moment he lovingly laid the sword against his breast, then “God of the Sea,” he cried aloud, “accept my sacrifice and care for the Soul of the Samurai.” And so saying he cast far from him the sword.

[Illustration: “HE LAID HIS SWORD AGAINST HIS BREAST”]

It screamed through the air and smote the water, and a myriad sparkling crystals rose into the air. They leaped to encircle the sword, as if lovingly encrusting it with diamonds. It rose upon a wave, it fell, the pearl-like foam covered it, and O Nitta San saw it no more.

But from the sea came a dull murmuring sound, and the waters rolled back from the cliffs and a passageway appeared.

“Kompira has accepted my sacrifice,” cried O Nitta San. “We may pass over in safety to conquest and glory.”

Then the army passed over at the edge of the cliff, and they fought a mighty battle with the Hojo and took the city.

Go-Daigo was glad, and he greatly rewarded O Nitta San who was proud and of a good heart fighting for the emperor.

He offered much rice and millet to Kompira, god of the sea, but never, so long as he lived, did he smile when the sun-crested waves sparkled and broke into diamonds before him, for he murmured to himself, “Oh, Kompira, God of the Sea, deal gently with my offering, be kind to the Soul of the Samurai.”

FOOTNOTES:

[13] An archway placed before certain shrines in Japan; originally a perch for sacred fowl heralding the approach of day.

[14] Loyalty.

[15] In Japan, a title given to the sword.

THE DREAM OF THE GOLDEN BOX

Hojo Tokimasa had two daughters. Musako, the elder, was as beautiful as the eight beauties of Omi. Her hair was as black as polished ebony, her eyes were deep and dark and full of fire, her skin was smooth as ivory. She was clever, too, as well as beautiful. But her sister Ume was the favorite of her father.

Ume was sweet and gentle and her father thought to marry her well, though she had not her sister’s beauty.

One night, Ume dreamed a good-luck dream, that a bird brought her a golden box, and she told her sister, while she arranged the elder’s ebon locks in the early morning.

“That is a dream of good omen,” said Musako. “Give it to me and I will give you in return my golden mirror, into which I have so often gazed.”

Now little Ume did not wish to part with her good-luck dream at all; but, more than anything in the world, she desired to share her sister’s beauty. So she said, as she thrust a superb jade hairpin into place, “I will give you the dream, fair sister, and may it bring you good fortune; and so may I, gazing into your mirror, gain some of your radiant beauty, for to you the gods have been kind.”

Musako smiled at the flattery, and thought much all day upon the happy dream.

Late in the twilight, when the moon shone through the flowering plum tree and the fragrance of the plum blossoms stole over the garden, and the nightingale sang of love in the branches, there came a bold knock at the castle gate.

When the gate was opened and the stranger bidden welcome in the name of the god of hospitality, he spoke simply, “I am Yoritomo. The men of the Taira pursue me, and Kiyomori, their chief, has slain my father and many of my father’s house. You are my father’s friend. Of you I ask shelter.”

“You are welcome,” said Hojo. “Abide with us until safety awaits you without.”

Then Yoritomo thanked him and did remain. Ere long he sent his retainer into Hojo’s presence to act as go-between, and ask him for the hand of his daughter Ume. He had seen her. She was gentle and discreet. She was the favorite of the old man, her father. Why should he not be adopted into the family for her sake?

But his retainer desired ever the best for his beloved master. He had seen the radiant beauty of Musako as she had walked in the arbor of wistaria, herself a fairer flower, even, than the long purple racemes swaying in the breeze. He decided in his own mind that the elder sister was the one for his master.

[Illustration: “SHE ARRANGED HER SISTER’S EBON LOCKS”]

“The falcon may not mate with the dove,” he said to himself. “O Musako San is far more beautiful than her sister and more clever. She will be a better mate for my glorious master than the gentle dove her sister. I shall request her hand of Hojo San.”

So he demanded O Musako San from her father, and that good man was much distressed.

“Truly I should like to give my daughter to your master,” he said. “But she is promised to a lord of the Taira Clan and I dare not break my word to him.”

Then the retainer returned to Yoritomo very sad. He bore such glowing accounts of the beauty and cleverness of O Musako San that Yoritomo’s curiosity was fired, and by night he stole beneath the window where she sat peering into the garden and wondering when the good-luck bird would fly to her.

How fair she was! And when she saw the handsome youth who gazed so ardently upon her, how kindly her eyes looked upon him! Yoritomo determined that she and no other should be his wife. He stole her upon her very wedding day, not, perhaps, without her father’s knowledge, and through all the troubles of his career, she was his faithful wife.

But gazing into Musako’s mirror, the little sister grew fairer every day, and she wedded a great lord and bore him many sons.

THE PRINCESS OF THE SEA

A beautiful princess lived in the depths of the sea. She was fairer than any mortal maiden, and sweet as she was fair. Her voice was as gentle as the sea waves lapping the strand, her sigh was as soft as the sound of the wind through the reeds of the shore, and her laugh was musical as the tinkle of water through the coral branches.

Her mother was no more, but her father, the old Sea King, adored her and gave her all the treasures of the deep. Her necklace was of coral, her girdle was of pearls, her hairpins were of curiously carved tortoise shell, her kimono was embroidered with feathery seaweed, and her floating _obi_ with delicate traceries of kelp, encircled her slender waist.

The princess lived in a magnificent palace built of mother-of-pearl. All the creatures of the sea had given to its adornment. Pearls gleamed from its walls, amber pillars, like shafts of light, supported its roof, while a million lights gleamed from branching corals. The walls were tinted in exquisite colors and decorated with sprays of seaweed floating in cool green waves in which the fish seemed really swimming, so natural did they appear.

The princess did not always stay in this home, beautiful as it was. She loved the fresh breath of the open sea. It brought the color into her cheeks and made her happy. When she went forth she rode upon a dolphin, who plunged through the sea foam and rode over the crested waves with careless grace.

One day the princess mounted his back for a long ride. The next day and the next she went again and always in the same direction. Then her father noticed that she seemed sad, and he said to her, “Where do you go each day, my daughter? Why is it that you do not stay at home?”

“It is lonely here, my father,” she answered. “I like to ride upon the top of the waves, for there I can watch the strange beings who live upon the land. You talk to me of marrying. Find me a sea-prince like one of those mortals whom I have seen and I will marry him.”

“Whom have you seen?” demanded her father, much astonished, for he did not know that she had ever seen a mortal.

“I know not his name,” said the maiden. “But I have seen him upon the shore. He fishes there and I have heard many of the fishes say how kind he is and how gentle. He is handsome, too. He fishes only for such sea food as he must eat and he puts back into the water all those fish which are not good for him to eat. Oh, my father! I love this youth! He is so great and strong! Bring him to me!” and the little princess clasped her hands together as she looked at her father.

But the Sea King was angry. “It is not fitting that you should think such thoughts,” he said in high displeasure. “A sea princess should not marry a mere mortal. Tarry at home henceforth! No more shall you go to ride upon the dolphin!”

So the poor little princess stayed at home and pined. She missed the fresh air of the upper sea and the sight of the blue sky, but above all she missed the young fisherman. At last she grew weak and ill and her father could endure it no longer.

“Are you pining still for that young mortal?” he asked one day; and she replied,

“Oh, my father, unless I speak with him my heart will break!”

“Go to the shore where he fishes,” said the Sea King. “Change yourself into a sea turtle and allow him to catch you in his net. You say he is of such a wonderful kindness--well, Mortals do not eat such turtles; and so if he throws you down upon the sands to die, I will rescue you, but if he places you again in the water, I give my consent to your bringing him here to my palace.”

This the wily old king said, thinking the fisherman would surely throw the turtle aside; but the princess smiled happily, for she knew he would prove kind.

Now Urashima, for that was the fisherman’s name, knew nothing at all of all this. When therefore next day he found in his net a huge turtle, he said to himself, “Well, my fine fellow, what a pity it is that you are not eatable! You would make a good meal for my honorable parents were you as good as you are big. But since you are not, run along home to your friends,” and he dropped the turtle back into the waves.

What was his surprise to see rise from the sea and come toward him across the crested waves, a huge dolphin, carrying on its back a sea nymph fair as the dawn. She cast upon him a sun-bright glance and said,

“Come with me, oh Mortal! Come to the depths of my sea-girt home and see my palace of emerald and pearl. I was that turtle which you cast into the sea, for I took that form to see if you were of as great kindness of heart as the fishes said.”

Urashima stood spellbound and stared at the vision of loveliness before him.

“Come with me,” said the princess, again. “The coral caves await you,--will you not come?”

[Illustration: “A DOLPHIN CARRYING ON ITS BACK A SEA NYMPH”]

“Not for all the wealth of the ocean would I leave my beloved home, but to be with you, loveliest of sea nymphs,” cried Urashima, bewitched by her beauty and loveliness.

He went with her to the depths of the ocean and there memory fell from him, and he forgot his home. He thought only of the princess and basked in the sunshine of her smile.

So they were married and lived happily, and even the old Sea King grew to like Urashima and blessed him before he died.

Urashima had lived in the Dragon Palace of the Princess of the Sea what seemed to him but a short time when memory came to him again. He thought of his father and mother and of his little brothers and sisters, and he grew sad. The princess watched him and her heart sank.

“He will go from me and not return,” she sighed. “Alas! alas! for mortal love!”