Books: Japanese Fairy Tales
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Yei Theodora Ozaki >> Japanese Fairy Tales
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His Majesty was highly pleased, and sent for her to the Palace and
rewarded her with the rank of Chinjo--that of Lieutenant-General--to
distinguish her. From that time she was called Chinjo-hime, or the
Lieutenant-General Princess, and respected and loved by all.
There was only one person who was not pleased at Hase-Hime's
success. That one was her stepmother. Forever brooding over the
death of her own child whom she had killed when trying to poison her
step-daughter, she had the mortification of seeing her rise to power
and honor, marked by Imperial favor and the admiration of the whole
Court. Her envy and jealousy burned in her heart like fire. Many
were the lies she carried to her husband about Hase-Hime, but all to
no purpose. He would listen to none of her tales, telling her
sharply that she was quite mistaken.
At last the step-mother, seizing the opportunity of her husband's
absence, ordered one of her old servants to take the innocent girl
to the Hibari Mountains, the wildest part of the country, and to
kill her there. She invented a dreadful story about the little
Princess, saying that this was the only way to prevent disgrace
falling upon the family--by killing her.
Katoda, her vassal, was bound to obey his mistress. Anyhow, he saw
that it would be the wisest plan to pretend obedience in the absence
of the girl's father, so he placed Hase-Hime in a palanquin and
accompanied her to the most solitary place he could find in the wild
district. The poor child knew there was no good in protesting to her
unkind step-mother at being sent away in this strange manner, so she
went as she was told.
But the old servant knew that the young Princess was quite innocent
of all the things her step-mother had invented to him as reasons for
her outrageous orders, and he determined to save her life. Unless he
killed her, however, he could not return to his cruel task-mistress,
so he decided to stay out in the wilderness. With the help of some
peasants he soon built a little cottage, and having sent secretly
for his wife to come, these two good old people did all in their
power to take care of the now unfortunate Princess. She all the time
trusted in her father, knowing that as soon as he returned home and
found her absent, he would search for her.
Prince Toyonari, after some weeks, came home, and was told by his
wife that his daughter Hime had done something wrong and had run
away for fear of being punished. He was nearly ill with anxiety.
Every one in the house told the same story--that Hase-Hime had
suddenly disappeared, none of them knew why or whither. For fear of
scandal he kept the matter quite and searched everywhere he could
think of, but all to no purpose.
One day, trying to forget his terrible worry, he called all his men
together and told them to make ready for a several days' hunt in the
mountains. They were soon ready and mounted, waiting at the gate for
their lord. He rode hard and fast to the district of the Hibari
Mountains, a great company following him. He was soon far ahead of
every one, and at last found himself in a narrow picturesque valley.
Looking round and admiring the scenery, he noticed a tiny house on
one of the hills quite near, and then he distinctly heard a
beautiful clear voice reading aloud. Seized with curiosity as to who
could be studying so diligently in such a lonely spot, he
dismounted, and leaving his horse to his groom, he walked up the
hillside and approached the cottage. As he drew nearer his surprise
increased, for he could see that the reader was a beautiful girl.
The cottage was wide open and she was sitting facing the view.
Listening attentively, he heard her reading the Buddhist scriptures
with great devotion. More and more curious, he hurried on to the
tiny gate and entered the little garden, and looking up beheld his
lost daughter Hase-Hime. She was so intent on what she was saying
that she neither heard nor saw her father till he spoke.
"Hase-Hime!" he cried, "it is you. my Hase-Hime!"
Taken by surprise, she could hardly realize that it was her own dear
father who was calling her, and for a moment she was utterly bereft
of the power to speak or move.
"My father, my father! It is indeed you--oh, my father!" was all she
could say, and running to him she caught hold of his thick sleeve,
and burying her face burst into a passion of tears.
Her father stroked her dark hair, asking her gently to tell him all
that had happened, but she only wept on, and he wondered if he were
not really dreaming.
Then the faithful old servant Katoda came out, and bowing himself to
the ground before his master, poured out the long tale of wrong,
telling him all that had happened, and how it was that he found his
daughter in such a wild and desolate spot with only two old servants
to take care of her.
The Prince's astonishment and indignation knew no bounds. He gave up
the hunt at once and hurried home with his daughter. One of the
company galloped ahead to inform the household of the glad news, and
the step-mother hearing what had happened, and fearful of meeting
her husband now that her wickedness was discovered, fled from the
house and returned in disgrace to her father's roof, and nothing
more was heard of her.
The old servant Katoda was rewarded with the highest promotion in
his master's service, and lived happily to the end of his days,
devoted to the little Princess, who never forgot that she owed her
life to this faithful retainer. She was no longer troubled by an
unkind step-mother, and her days passed happily and quietly with her
father.
As Prince Toyonari had no son, he adopted a younger son of one of
the Court nobles to be his heir, and to marry his daughter Hase-
Hime, and in a few years the marriage took place. Hase-Hime lived to
a good old age, and all said that she was the wisest, most devout,
and most beautiful mistress that had ever reigned in Prince
Toyonari's ancient house. She had the joy of presenting her son, the
future lord of the family, to her father just before he retired from
active life.
To this day there is preserved a piece of needle-work in one of the
Buddhist temples of Kioto. It is a beautiful piece of tapestry, with
the figure of Buddha embroidered in the silky threads drawn from the
stem of the lotus. This is said to have been the work of the hands
of the good Princess Hase.
THE STORY OF THE MAN WHO DID NOT WISH TO DIE.
Long, long ago there lived a man called Sentaro. His surname meant
"Millionaire," but although he was not so rich as all that, he was
still very far removed from being poor. He had inherited a small
fortune from his father and lived on this, spending his time
carelessly, without any serious thoughts of work, till he was about
thirty-two years of age.
One day, without any reason whatsoever, the thought of death and
sickness came to him. The idea of falling ill or dying made him very
wretched.
"I should like to live," he said to himself, "till I am five or six
hundred years old at least, free from all sickness. The ordinary
span of a man's life is very short."
He wondered whether it were possible, by living simply and frugally
henceforth, to prolong his life as long as he wished.
He knew there were many stories in ancient history of emperors who
had lived a thousand years, and there was a Princess of Yamato, who,
it was said, lived to the age of five hundred This was the latest
story of a very long life record.
Sentaro had often heard the tale of the Chinese King named Shin-no-
Shiko. He was one of the most able and powerful rulers in Chinese
history. He built all the large palaces, and also the famous great
wall of China. He had everything in the world he could wish for, but
in spite of all his happiness and the luxury and the splendor of his
Court, the wisdom of his councilors and the glory of his reign, he
was miserable because he knew that one day he must die and leave it
all.
When Shin-no-Shiko went to bed at night, when he rose in the
morning, as he went through his day, the thought of death was always
with him. He could not get away from it. Ah--if only he could find
the "Elixir of Life," he would be happy.
The Emperor at last called a meeting of his courtiers and asked them
all if they could not find for him the "Elixir of Life" of which he
had so often read and heard.
One old courtier, Jofuku by name, said that far away across the seas
there was a country called Horaizan, and that certain hermits lived
there who possessed the secret of the "Elixir of Life." Whoever
drank of this wonderful draught lived forever.
The Emperor ordered Jofuku to set out for the land of Horaizan, to
find the hermits, and to bring him back a phial of the magic elixir.
He gave Jofuku one of his best junks, fitted it out for him, and
loaded it with great quantities of treasures and precious stones for
Jofuku to take as presents to the hermits.
Jofuku sailed for the land of Horaizan, but he never returned to the
waiting Emperor; but ever since that time Mount Fuji has been said
to be the fabled Horaizan and the home of hermits who had the secret
of the elixir, and Jofuku has been worshiped as their patron god.
Now Sentaro determined to set out to find the hermits, and if he
could, to become one, so that he might obtain the water of perpetual
life. He remembered that as a child he had been told that not only
did these hermits live on Mount Fuji, but that they were said to
inhabit all the very high peaks.
So he left his old home to the care of his relatives, and started
out on his quest. He traveled through all the mountainous regions of
the land, climbing to the tops of the highest peaks, but never a
hermit did he find.
At last, after wandering in an unknown region for many days, he met
a hunter.
"Can you tell me," asked Sentaro, "where the hermits live who have
the Elixir of Life?"
"No." said the hunter; "I can't tell you where such hermits live,
but there is a notorious robber living in these parts. It is said
that he is chief of a band of two hundred followers."
This odd answer irritated Sentaro very much, and he thought how
foolish it was to waste more time in looking for the hermits in this
way, so he decided to go at once to the shrine of Jofuku, who is
worshiped as the patron god of the hermits in the south of Japan.
Sentaro reached the shrine and prayed for seven days, entreating
Jofuku to show him the way to a hermit who could give him what he
wanted so much to find.
At midnight of the seventh day, as Sentaro knelt in the temple, the
door of the innermost shrine flew open, and Jofuku appeared in a
luminous cloud, and calling to Sentaro to come nearer, spoke thus:
"Your desire is a very selfish one and cannot be easily granted. You
think that you would like to become a hermit so as to find the
Elixir of Life. Do you know how hard a hermit's life is? A hermit is
only allowed to eat fruit and berries and the bark of pine trees; a
hermit must cut himself off from the world so that his heart may
become as pure as gold and free from every earthly desire. Gradually
after following these strict rules, the hermit ceases to feel hunger
or cold or heat, and his body becomes so light that he can ride on a
crane or a carp, and can walk on water without getting his feet
wet."
"You, Sentaro, are fond of good living and of every comfort. You are
not even like an ordinary man, for you are exceptionally idle, and
more sensitive to heat and cold than most people. You would never be
able to go barefoot or to wear only one thin dress in the winter
time! Do you think that you would ever have the patience or the
endurance to live a hermit's life?"
"In answer to your prayer, however, I will help you in another way.
I will send you to the country of Perpetual Life, where death never
comes--where the people live forever!"
Saying this, Jofuku put into Sentaro's hand a little crane made of
paper, telling him to sit on its back and it would carry him there.
Sentaro obeyed wonderingly. The crane grew large enough for him to
ride on it with comfort. It then spread its wings, rose high in the
air, and flew away over the mountains right out to sea.
Sentaro was at first quite frightened; but by degrees he grew
accustomed to the swift flight through the air. On and on they went
for thousands of miles. The bird never stopped for rest or food, but
as it was a paper bird it doubtless did not require any nourishment,
and strange to say, neither did Sentaro.
After several days they reached an island. The crane flew some
distance inland and then alighted.
As soon as Sentaro got down from the bird's back, the crane folded
up of its own accord and flew into his pocket.
Now Sentaro began to look about him wonderingly, curious to see what
the country of Perpetual Life was like. He walked first round about
the country and then through the town. Everything was, of course,
quite strange, and different from his own land. But both the land
and the people seemed prosperous, so he decided that it would be
good for him to stay there and took up lodgings at one of the
hotels.
The proprietor was a kind man, and when Sentaro told him that he was
a stranger and had come to live there, he promised to arrange
everything that was necessary with the governor of the city
concerning Sentaro's sojourn there. He even found a house for his
guest, and in this way Sentaro obtained his great wish and became a
resident in the country of Perpetual Life.
Within the memory of all the islanders no man had ever died there,
and sickness was a thing unknown. Priests had come over from India
and China and told them of a beautiful country called Paradise,
where happiness and bliss and contentment fill all men's hearts, but
its gates could only be reached by dying. This tradition was handed
down for ages from generation to generation--but none knew exactly
what death was except that it led to Paradise.
Quite unlike Sentaro and other ordinary people, instead of having a
great dread of death, they all, both rich and poor, longed for it as
something good and desirable. They were all tired of their long,
long lives, and longed to go to the happy land of contentment called
Paradise of which the priests had told them centuries ago.
All this Sentaro soon found out by talking to the islanders. He
found himself, according to his ideas, in the land of Topsyturvydom.
Everything was upside down. He had wished to escape from dying. He
had come to the land of Perpetual Life with great relief and joy,
only to find that the inhabitants themselves, doomed never to die,
would consider it bliss to find death.
What he had hitherto considered poison these people ate as good
food, and all the things to which he had been accustomed as food
they rejected. Whenever any merchants from other countries arrived,
the rich people rushed to them eager to buy poisons. These they
swallowed eagerly, hoping for death to come so that they might go to
Paradise.
But what were deadly poisons in other lands were without effect in
this strange place, and people who swallowed them with the hope of
dying, only found that in a short time they felt better in health
instead of worse.
Vainly they tried to imagine what death could be like. The wealthy
would have given all their money and all their goods if they could
but shorten their lives to two or three hundred years even. Without
any change to live on forever seemed to this people wearisome and
sad.
In the chemist shops there was a drug which was in constant demand,
because after using it for a hundred years, it was supposed to turn
the hair slightly gray and to bring about disorders of the stomach.
Sentaro was astonished to find that the poisonous globe-fish was
served up in restaurants as a delectable dish, and hawkers in the
streets went about selling sauces made of Spanish flies. He never
saw any one ill after eating these horrible things, nor did he ever
see any one with as much as a cold.
Sentaro was delighted. He said to himself that he would never grow
tired of living, and that he considered it profane to wish for
death. He was the only happy man on the island. For his part he
wished to live thousands of years and to enjoy life. He set himself
up in business, and for the present never even dreamed of going back
to his native land.
As years went by, however, things did not go as smoothly as at
first. He had heavy losses in business, and several times some
affairs went wrong with his neighbors. This caused him great
annoyance.
Time passed like the flight of an arrow for him, for he was busy
from morning till night. Three hundred years went by in this
monotonous way, and then at last he began to grow tired of life in
this country, and he longed to see his own land and his old home.
However long he lived here, life would always be the game, so was it
not foolish and wearisome to stay on here forever?
Sentaro, in his wish to escape from the country of Perpetual Life,
recollected Jofuku, who had helped him before when he was wishing to
escape from death--and he prayed to the saint to bring him back to
his own land again.
No sooner did he pray than the paper crane popped out of his pocket.
Sentaro was amazed to see that it had remained undamaged after all
these years. Once more the bird grew and grew till it was large
enough for him to mount it. As he did so, the bird spread its wings
and flew, swiftly out across the sea in the direction of Japan.
Such was the willfulness of the man's nature that he looked back and
regretted all he had left behind. He tried to stop the bird in vain.
The crane held on its way for thousands of miles across the ocean.
Then a storm came on, and the wonderful paper crane got damp,
crumpled up, and fell into the sea. Sentaro fell with it. Very much
frightened at the thought of being drowned, he cried out loudly to
Jofuku to save him. He looked round, but there was no ship in sight.
He swallowed a quantity of sea-water, which only increased his
miserable plight. While he was thus struggling to keep himself
afloat, he saw a monstrous shark swimming towards him. As it came
nearer it opened its huge mouth ready to devour him. Sentaro was all
but paralyzed with fear now that he felt his end so near, and
screamed out as loudly as ever he could to Jofuku to come and rescue
him.
Lo, and behold, Sentaro was awakened by his own screams, to find
that during his long prayer he had fallen asleep before the shrine,
and that all his extraordinary and frightful adventures had been
only a wild dream. He was in a cold perspiration with fright, and
utterly bewildered.
Suddenly a bright light came towards him, and in the light stood a
messenger. The messenger held a book in his hand, and spoke to
Sentaro:
"I am sent to you by Jofuku, who in answer to your prayer, has
permitted you in a dream to see the land of Perpetual Life. But you
grew weary of living there, and begged to be allowed to return to
your native land so that you might die. Jofuku, so that he might try
you, allowed you to drop into the sea, and then sent a shark to
swallow you up. Your desire for death was not real, for even at that
moment you cried out loudly and shouted for help."
"It is also vain for you to wish to become a hermit, or to find the
Elixir of Life. These things are not for such as you--your life is
not austere enough. It is best for you to go back to your paternal
home, and to live a good and industrious life. Never neglect to keep
the anniversaries of your ancestors, and make it your duty to
provide for your children's future. Thus will you live to a good old
age and be happy, but give up the vain desire to escape death, for
no man can do that, and by this time you have surely found out that
even when selfish desires are granted they do not bring happiness."
"In this book I give you there are many precepts good for you to
know--if you study them, you will be guided in the way I have
pointed out to you."
The angel disappeared as soon as he had finished speaking, and
Sentaro took the lesson to heart. With the book in his hand he
returned to his old home, and giving up all his old vain wishes,
tried to live a good and useful life and to observe the lessons
taught him in the book, and he and his house prospered henceforth.
THE BAMBOO-CUTTER AND THE MOON-CHILD.
Long, long ago, there lived an old bamboo wood-cutter. He was very
poor and sad also, for no child had Heaven sent to cheer his old
age, and in his heart there was no hope of rest from work till he
died and was laid in the quiet grave. Every morning he went forth
into the woods and hills wherever the bamboo reared its lithe green
plumes against the sky. When he had made his choice, he would cut
down these feathers of the forest, and splitting them lengthwise, or
cutting them into joints, would carry the bamboo wood home and make
it into various articles for the household, and he and his old wife
gained a small livelihood by selling them.
One morning as usual he had gone out to his work, and having found a
nice clump of bamboos, had set to work to cut some of them down.
Suddenly the green grove of bamboos was flooded with a bright soft
light, as if the full moon had risen over the spot. Looking round in
astonishment, he saw that the brilliance was streaming from one
bamboo. The old man. full of wonder. dropped his ax and went towards
the light. On nearer approach he saw that this soft splendor came
from a hollow in the green bamboo stem, and still more wonderful to
behold, in the midst of the brilliance stood a tiny human being,
only three inches in height, and exquisitely beautiful in
appearance.
"You must be sent to be my child, for I find you here among the
bamboos where lies my daily work," said the old man, and taking the
little creature in his hand he took it home to his wife to bring up.
The tiny girl was so exceedingly beautiful and so small, that the
old woman put her into a basket to safeguard her from the least
possibility of being hurt in any way.
The old couple were now very happy, for it had been a lifelong
regret that they had no children of their own, and with joy they now
expended all the love of their old age on the little child who had
come to them in so marvelous a manner.
From this time on, the old man often found gold in the notches of
the bamboos when he hewed them down and cut them up; not only gold,
but precious stones also, so that by degrees he became rich. He
built himself a fine house, and was no longer known as the poor
bamboo woodcutter, but as a wealthy man.
Three months passed quickly away, and in that time the bamboo child
had, wonderful to say, become a full-grown girl, so her foster-
parents did up her hair and dressed her in beautiful kimonos. She
was of such wondrous beauty that they placed her behind the screens
like a princess, and allowed no one to see her, waiting upon her
themselves. It seemed as if she were made of light, for the house
was filled with a soft shining, so that even in the dark of night it
was like daytime. Her presence seemed to have a benign influence on
those there. Whenever the old man felt sad, he had only to look upon
his foster-daughter and his sorrow vanished, and he became as happy
as when he was a youth.
At last the day came for the naming of their new-found child, so the
old couple called in a celebrated name-giver, and he gave her the
name of Princess Moonlight, because her body gave forth so much soft
bright light that she might have been a daughter of the Moon God.
For three days the festival was kept up with song and dance and
music. All the friends and relations of the old couple were present,
and great was their enjoyment of the festivities held to celebrate
the naming of Princess Moonlight. Everyone who saw her declared that
there never had been seen any one so lovely; all the beauties
throughout the length and breadth of the land would grow pale beside
her, so they said. The fame of the Princess's loveliness spread far
and wide, and many were the suitors who desired to win her hand, or
even so much as to see her.
Suitors from far and near posted themselves outside the house, and
made little holes in the fence, in the hope of catching a glimpse of
the Princess as she went from one room to the other along the
veranda. They stayed there day and night, sacrificing even their
sleep for a chance of seeing her, but all in vain. Then they
approached the house, and tried to speak to the old man and his wife
or some of the servants, but not even this was granted them.
Still, in spite of all this disappointment they stayed on day after
day, and night after night, and counted it as nothing, so great was
their desire to see the Princess.
At last, however, most of the men, seeing how hopeless their quest
was, lost heart and hope both, and returned to their homes. All
except five Knights, whose ardor and determination, instead of
waning, seemed to wax greater with obstacles. These five men even
went without their meals, and took snatches of whatever they could
get brought to them, so that they might always stand outside the
dwelling. They stood there in all weathers, in sunshine and in rain.
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