 Chapter 7 The Story of Princess Hase, A Story of Old Japan Many many years ago there lived in Nara, the ancient capital of Japan, a wise state minister by name Prince Toyunari Fujiwara. His wife was a noble, good, and beautiful woman called Princess Murasaki, Violet. They had been married by their respective families according to Japanese custom, went very young, and had lived together happily ever since. They had, however, won cause for great sorrow, for as the years went by no child was born to them. These made them very unhappy, for they both longed to see a child of their own who would grow up to gladden their old age, carry on the family name, and keep up the ancestral rights when they were dead. So Prince and his lovely wife, after long consultation, and much thought, determined to make pilgrimage to the temple of Hase no Kanon, goddess self-mercy at Hase. For they believed, according to the beautiful tradition of their religion, that the mother of Mercy, Kanon, comes to answer the prayers of mortals in the form that they need the most. Surely, after all these years of prayer, she would come to them in the form of a beloved child in answer to their special pilgrimage, for that was the greatest need of their two lives. Everything else they had that this life could give them, but it was all as nothing, because the cry of their hearts was unsatisfied. So the Prince Toyunari and his wife went to the temple of Kanon at Hase, and stayed there for a long time, both daily offering incense and praying to Kanon, the heavenly mother, to grant them the desire of their whole lives, and their prayer was answered. Her daughter was born at last with the Princess Morasaki, and great was the joy of her heart. Unpresenting the child to her husband, they both decided to call her Hasehime, or the Princess of Hase, because she was the gift of the Kanon at that place. They both reared her with great care and tenderness, and the child grew in strength and beauty. When the little girl was five years old, her mother felt dangerously ill, and all the doctors and their medicines could not save her. A little before she breathed her last, she called her daughter to her, and gently stroking her head said, Hasehime, do you know that your mother cannot live any longer? Though I die, you must grow up a good girl. Be a best not to give trouble to your nurse or any other of your family. Perhaps your father will marry again, and some will fill my place as your mother. If so, do not grieve for me, but look upon your father's second wife, a sure true mother, and be obedient and filial to both her and your father. Remember when you are grown to be submissive to those who are your superiors, and to be kind to all those who are under you. Don't forget this. I die with the hope that you will grow up a model woman. Hasehime listened in an attitude of respect while her mother spoke and promised to do all that she was told. There is a proverb which says, as the soul is at three, so it is at one hundred. And so Hasehime grew up as her mother had wished. A good and obedient little princess, though she was now too young to understand how great was the loss of her mother. Not long after the death of his first wife, Prince Toyonari married again, a lady of noble birth, named Princess Teruche, very different in character, alas, to the good and wise Princess Murasaki. This woman had a cruel, bad heart. She did not love her stepdaughter at all, and was often very unkind to the little motherless girl saying to herself, this is not my child, this is not my child. But Hasehime bore every unkindness with patience, and even waited upon her stepmother kindly, and obeyed her in every way, and never gave any trouble, just as she had been trained by her own good mother, so that Lady Teruche had no cause for complaint against her. The little princess was very diligent, and her favorite studies were music and poetry. She would spend several hours practicing every day, and her father had the most proficient of masters he could find to teach her the koto. The art of writing letters and verse. When she was twelve years of age, she could play so beautifully that she and her stepmother were summoned to the palace to perform before the emperor. It was the festival of the cherry flowers, and there were great festivities at the court. The emperor threw himself into the enjoyment of the season, and commanded that Princess Haseh should perform before him on the koto, and that her mother, Princess Teruche, should accompany her on the flute. The emperor sat on a raised dais, before which was hung a curtain of finely sliced bamboo and purple tassels, so that his majesty might see all and not be seen, for an ordinary subject was allowed to look upon his sacred face. Princess Heme was a skilled musician though so young, and often astonished her masters by her wonderful memory and talent. On this momentous occasion she played well. But Princess Teruche, her stepmother, who was a lazy woman and never took the trouble to practice daily, broke down in her accompaniment and had to request one of the court ladies to take her place. This was a great disgrace, and she was furiously jealous to think that she had failed where her stepdaughter succeeded. And to make matters worse, the emperor sent many beautiful gifts to the little princess to reward her for playing solo at the palace. There was also now another reason why Princess Teruche hated her stepdaughter, for she had had the good fortune to have a son born to her, and in her inmost heart she kept saying, If only Hesihime were not here, my son would have all the love of his father. And never having learned to control herself, she allowed this wicked thought to grow into the awful desire of taking her stepdaughter's life. So one day she secretly ordered some poison and poisoned some sweet wine. This poisoned wine she put into another similar bottle she poured some good wine. It was the occasion of the boys' festival on the 5th of May, and Hesihime was playing with her little brother. All these toys of warriors and heroes were spread out and she was telling him wonderful stories about each of them. They were both enjoying themselves and laughing merrily with their tendons when his mother entered with the two bottles of wine and some delicious cakes. You are both so good and happy, said the wicked Princess Teruche with a smile, that I have bought you some sweet wine as a reward, and here are some nice cakes for my good children. And she filled two cups from the different bottles. Hesihime, never dreaming of the dreadful part her stepmother was acting, took one of the cups of wine and gave to her little stepbrother the other that had been poured out for him. So wicked woman had carefully marked a poison bottle, but on coming into the room she had grown nervous and pouring out the wine hurriedly had unconsciously given the poison cup to her own child. All this time she was anxiously watching the little princess, but to her amazement no change whatever took place in the young girl's face. Suddenly the little boy screamed and threw himself on the floor, doubled up with pain. His mother flew to him, taking the precaution to upset the two tiny jars of wine which she had brought into the room, and lifted him up. The attendants rushed for the doctor, but nothing could save the child. He died within the hour in his mother's arms. This did not know much in those ancient times, and it was thought that the wine had disagreed with the boy, causing convulsions of which he had died. Thus was the wicked woman punished in losing her own child which she had tried to do away with her stepdaughter, but instead of blaming herself she began to hate Hesihime more than ever in the bitterness and wretchedness of her own heart, and she eagerly watched for an opportunity to do her harm, which was, however, long in coming. When Hesihime was thirteen years of age, she had already become mentioned as a poetess of some merit. This was an accomplishment very much cultivated by the women of all Japan, and one held in high esteem. It was the rainy season at Nara, and floods were reported every day as doing damage in the neighborhood. The river Tatsuta, which flowed through the imperial palace grounds, was swollen to the top of its banks, and the roaring of the torrents of water rushing along a narrow bed so disturbed the emperor's rest day and night that a serious nervous disorder was the result. An imperial edict was sent forth to all the Buddhist temples, commanding the priests to offer up continuous prayers to heaven to stop the noise of the flood, but this was of no avail. Then it was whispered in court circles that the Princess Hase, the daughter of Prince Toyonari Fujiwara, second minister at court, was the most gifted poetess of the day, though still so young, and her masters confirmed the report. Long ago a beautiful and gifted maiden poetess had moved heaven by praying in verse, had brought down rain upon a land famished with drought, so said the ancient biographers of the poetess Ononoko Machi. If the Princess Hase were to write a poem and offer it in prayer, might it not stop the noise of the rushing river and remove the cause of the imperial illness? What the court said last reached the ears of the emperor himself, and he sent an order to the minister Prince Toyonari to this effect. Great indeed was Hasehime's fear and astonishment when her father sent for her and told her what was required of her. Heavy indeed was the duty that was laid on her young shoulders, that of saving the emperor's life by the merit of her verse. At last a day came when her poem was finished. It was written on a leaflet of paper heavily flecked with gold dust. With her father in attendance, and some of the court officials, she proceeded to the bank of the roaring torrent, and raising up her heart to heaven, she read the poem she had composed aloud, lifting it heavenwards in her two hands. Strange indeed it seemed to all those standing around. The waters ceased the roaring, and the river was quiet and direct answer to her prayer. After this the emperor soon recovered his health. His majesty was highly pleased and sent for her to the palace and rewarded her with the rank of Sinjo, that of Lieutenant General, to distinguish her. From that time she was called Sinjo Hime, or the Lieutenant General Princess, and respected and loved by all. There was only one person who was not pleased at Hasehime'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 stepdaughter, 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. She were the lies she cared to her husband about Hasehime, but all to no purpose. He would listen to none of her tales, telling her sharply that she was quite mistaken. At last the stepmother, ceasing the opportunity of her husband's absence, ordered one of her old servants to take the innocent girls of the Habery 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 these graves 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 Hasehime in a palanquin, and accompanied her to the most solitary place you could find in the wild district. The poor child knew there was no good in protesting to her unkind stepmother 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 stepmother had invented to him as reasons for her outrageous orders, and he determined to save her life. As 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. Princess Toyunari 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. Everyone in the house told the same story, that Hasehime had suddenly disappeared, none of them knew why or with her. For fear of scandal he kept the matter quiet 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. There were soon ready and mounted, waiting for 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 everyone, 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, Hasehime. She was so intent on what she was saying that she neither heard nor saw her father till he spoke. Hasehime! he cried, it is you, my Hasehime! 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 wanting to him, she cut hold of his sick 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 barring himself to the ground before his master, poured out a long tale of wrong, telling him all that had happened, and now 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 princess'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 Hasehime, and in a few years the marriage took place. Hasehime 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 needlework in one of the Buddhist temples of Kyoto. 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 Haseh. Chapter 8 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 Noshiko. 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 splendor of his court, the wisdom of his counsellors and the glory of his reign, he was miserable, because he knew that one day he must die and leave it all. When Shin Noshiko 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, Joffku by name, said that far away across the seas there was a country called Horizon and that certain hermits lived there who possessed the secret of the elixir of life. Whoever drank this wonderful draft lived forever. The emperor ordered Joffku to set out for the land of Horizon to find the hermits and to bring him back a file of the magic elixir. He gave Joffku one of his best junks, fitted it out for him and loaded it with great quantities of treasures and precious stones for Joffku to take as presents to the hermits. Joffku sailed for the land of Horizon, but he never returned to the waiting emperor. But ever since that time Mount Fuji has been said to be the fabled Horizon and the home of hermits who had the secret of the elixir and Joffku has been worshipped as their patron god. Now Centaur 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 travelled 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 Centaur, 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. He said that he is chief of a band of two hundred followers. This odd answer irritated Centaur 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 Jovku, who is worshipped as the patron god of the hermits in the south of Japan. Centaur reached the shrine and prayed for seven days, in treating Jovku 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, a Centaur knelt in the temple. The door of the innermost shrine flew open, and Jovku appeared in a luminous cloud, and calling to Centaur to come nearer spoke thus. Your desire is a very selfish one and cannot be easily granted. Do 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 a 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, Centaur, 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, Joff-Coup put into Centaur's hand a little crane made of paper, telling him to sit on its back and it would carry him there. Centaur 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. Centaur 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, doubtless did not require any nourishment. And, strange to say, neither did Centaur. After several days they'd reached an island. The crane flew some distance inland and then alighted. As soon as Centaur got down from the bird's back, the crane folded up of its own accord and flew into his pocket. Now Centaur 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 Centaur 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 Centaur's sojourn there. He even found a house for his guest, and in this way Centaur 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 Centaur 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 Centaur soon found out by talking to the islanders. He found himself, according to his ideas, in the land of Topsy-Turvidum. Everything was upside down. He had wished to escape from dying. He had come to the island 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. Veinly 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. Centador was astonished to find that the poisonous globefish 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 anyone ill after eating these horrible things, nor did he ever see anyone with as much as a cold. Centador 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? Centador, in his wish to escape from the country of perpetual life, recollected Jovku, 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. Centador 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 that 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. Centador fell with it. Very much frightened at the thought of being drowned, he cried out loudly to Jovku to save him. He looked round, but there was no ship in sight. He swallowed a quantity of seawater 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. Centador was all but paralyzed with fear now that he felt his end so near and screamed out as loudly as ever he could to Jovku to come and rescue him. Lo and behold, Centador 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 Centador. I am sent to you by Jovku, 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. Jovku, 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 Centaro 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. End of Chapter 8 The Story of the Man Who Did Not Wish to Die Chapter 9 of Japanese Fairy Tales This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Alan Davis Drake. Japanese Fairy Tales by Yayi Theodora Ozaki Chapter 9 The Bamboo Cutter and the Moonschild Long, long ago there lived an old bamboo woodcutter. 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 light 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. He 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 he 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 axe 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 up the little creature in his hand he took at 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 where he hewn 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 cutter, 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 had placed her behind the screens like a princess and allowed no one to see her, waiting upon her themselves. It seems 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 the newfound child, so the old couple called 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 anyone so lovely. All the beauties throughout the length and breath 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 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 ardour 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 rain. Sometimes they wrote letters to the princess, but no answer was vouched safe to them. Then, when letters failed to draw any reply, they wrote poems to her, telling her of the hopeless love which kept them from sleep, from food, from rest, and even from their homes. Still, Princess Moonlight gave no sign of having received their verses. In this hopeless state the winter passed, the snow and frost and the cold winds gradually gave place to the gentle warmth of spring. Then the summer came, and the sun burned white and scorching in the heavens above and on the earth beneath, and still these faithful knights kept watch and waited. At the end of these long months they called out to the old bamboo cutter, and entreated him to have some mercy upon them and to show them the princess. But he answered only that as he was not her real father he could not insist on her obeying him against her wishes. The five knights on receiving the stern answer returned to their several homes, and pondered over the best means of touching the proud princess's heart. Even so much as to grant them a hearing. They took their rosaries in hand and knelt before their household shrines, and burned precious incense praying to Buddha to give them their heart's desire. Thus several days passed, but even so they could not rest in their homes. So again they set out for the bamboo cutter's house. This time the old man came out to see them, and they asked him to let them know if it was the princess's resolution never to see any man whatsoever. And they implored him to speak for them and to tell her the greatness of their love, and how long they had waited through the cold of winter and the heat of summer, sleepless and ruthless through all weathers, without food and without rest, in the ardent hope of winning her. And they were willing to consider this long vigil as pleasure if she would but give them one chance of pleading their cause with her. The old man lent a willing ear to their tale of love, for in his inmost heart he felt sorry for these faithful suitors, and would have liked to see his foster daughter married to one of them. So we went in to Princess Moonlight and said reverently, Although you have always seen to me to be a heavenly being, yet I have had the trouble of bringing you up as my own child, and you have been glad of the protection of my roof, will you refuse to do as I wish? Then Princess Moonlight replied that there was nothing she would not do for him, that she honored and loved him as her own father, and that as for herself she could not remember the time before she came to earth. The old man listened with great joy as she spoke these dutiful words, then he told her how anxious he was to see her safely and happily married before he died. I am an old man, over seventy years of age, and my end may come any time now. It is necessary and right that you should see these five suitors and choose one of them. Oh, why, said the Princess in distress, must I do this? I have no wish to marry now. I found you, answered the old man many years ago, when you were a little creature three inches high, in the midst of a great white light, the light streamed from the bamboo in which you were hid, and led me to you. So I have always thought that you were more than mortal woman. While I am alive it is right for you to remain as you are, if you wish to do so, but some day I shall cease to be, and who will take care of you then? Therefore I pray you meet these five brave men one at a time, and make up your mind to marry one of them. Then the Princess answered that she felt sure that she was not as beautiful as perhaps report made her out to be, and that even if she consented to marry any one of them, not really knowing her before, his heart might change afterwards. So as she did not feel sure of them, even though her father told her they were worthy knights, she did not feel it wise to see them. All you said is very reasonable, said the old man, but what kind of men will you consent to see? I do not call these five men who have waited on you for months light-hearted. They have stood outside the house through the winter and the summer, often denying themselves food and sleep so that they may win you. What more can you demand? Then Princess Moonlight said she must make for the trial of their love before she would grant their request to interview her. The five warriors were to prove their love by each bringing her from distant countries something that she desired to possess. That same evening the suitors arrived and began to play their flutes in turn, to sing their self-composed songs telling of their great and tireless love. The bamboo cutter went out to them and offered them his sympathy for all they had endured, and all the patience they had shown in their desire to win his foster daughter. Then he gave them her message, that she would consent to marry whomsoever was successful in bringing her what she wanted. This was to test them. The five all accepted the trial and thought it an excellent plan, for it would prevent jealousy between them. Princess Moonlight then sent word to the first night, that she requested him to bring her the stone bowl which had belonged to Buddha in India. The second night was asked to go to the mountain of Horai, said to be situated in the eastern sea, and to bring her a branch of the wonderful tree that grew on its summit. The roots of this tree were of silver, the trunk of gold, and the branches bore as fruit white jewels. The third night was told to go to China, and search for the fire rat, and to bring her its skin. The fourth night was told to search for the dragon that carried on its head the stone radiating five colors, and to bring the stone to her. The fifth night was to find the swallow which carried a shell in its stomach, and to bring the shell to her. The old man thought these very hard tasks, and hesitated to carry the messages, but the princess would make no other conditions. So her commands were issued word for word to the five men, who, when they heard what was required of them, were all disheartened and disgusted at what seemed to them the impossibility of the task given them, and returned to their own homes in despair. But after time, when they thought of the princess, the love in their hearts revived for her, and they resolved to make an attempt to get what she desired of them. The first night sent word to the princess that he was starting out that day on the quest of Buddha's bowl, and he hoped soon to bring it to her. But he had not the courage to go all the way to India, for in those days traveling was very difficult and full of danger. So he went to one of the temples in Kyoto, and took a stone bowl from the altar there, paying the priest a large sum of money for it. He then wrapped it in a cloth of gold, and waiting quietly for three years, returned and carried it to the old man. Princess Moonlight wondered that the night should have returned so soon, expecting it to make the room full of light, but it did not shine at all. So she knew that it was a sham thing, and not the true bowl of Buddha. She returned at once and refused to see him. The night threw the bowl away, and returned to his home in despair. He gave up now all hopes of ever winning the princess. The second night told his parents that he needed change of air for his health, for he was ashamed to tell them that love for the princess was the real cause of his leaving them. He then left his home, at the same time sending word to the princess that he was setting out for Mount Horai in the hope of getting her a branch of the gold and silver tree, which she so much wished to have. He only allowed his servants to accompany him halfway, and then sent them back. He reached the seashore and embarked on a small ship, and after sailing away for three days, he landed and employed several carpenters to build him a house contrived in such a way that no one could get access to it. He then shut himself up with six skilled jewelers and endeavored to make such a gold and silver branch as he thought would satisfy the princess as having come from the wonderful tree growing on Mount Horai. Every one whom he had asked declared that Mount Horai belonged to the land of fable, and not to fact. When the branch was finished, he took his journey home and tried to make himself look as if he were wearied and worn out with travel. He put the jeweled branch into a lacquered box and carried it to the bamboo cutter, begging him to present it to the princess. The old man was quite deceived by the travel-stained appearance of the night, and thought that he had only just returned from his long journey with the branch. So he tried to persuade the princess to consent to see the man, but she remained silent and looked very sad. The old man began to take out the branch and praised it as a wonderful treasure to be found nowhere in the whole land. Then he spoke of the night, how handsome and how brave he was to have undertaken a journey to so remote a place as the Mount of Horai. Princess Moonlight took the branch in her hand and looked at it carefully. She then told her foster parent that she knew it was impossible for the man to have obtained the branch from the gold and silver tree growing on Mount Horai so quickly or so easily, and she was sorry to say she believed it artificial. The old man then went out to the expectant night, who had now approached the house and asked where he found the branch. Then the man did not scruple to make up a long story. Two years ago I took a ship and started in search of Mount Horai. After going before the wind for some time I reached the far eastern sea. Then a great storm arose and I was tossed about for many days, losing all count of the points of the compass. And finally we were blown ashore on an unknown island. Here I found the place inhabited by demons, who had one time threatened to kill and eat me. However I managed to make friends with these horrible creatures, and they helped me and my sailors to repair the boat. And I set sail again. Our food gave out, and we suffered much from sickness on board. At last, on the five hundredth day from the day of starting, I saw far off in the horizon what looked like the peak of a mountain. On nearer approach this proved to be an island, in the center of which rose a high mountain. I landed, and after wandering about for two or three days I saw a shining being coming towards me on the beach, holding in his hands a golden bowl. I went up to him and asked him if I had by good chance found the island of Mount Horai, and he answered, Yes, this is Mount Horai. With much difficulty I climbed to the summit, here stood the golden tree growing with silver roots on the ground. The wonders of that strange land were many, and if I began to tell you about them I could never stop. In spite of my wish to stay there long, on breaking off the branch I hurried back. With utmost speed it has taken me four hundred days to get back, and as you see my clothes are still damp from exposure on the long sea voyage. I have not even waited to change my rain-ment, so anxious was I to bring the branch to the princess quickly. Just at this moment the six jewelers who had been employed on the making of the branch, but not yet paid by the night, arrived at the house, and sent in a petition to the princess to be paid for their labor. They said that they had worked for over a thousand days making the branch of gold, with its silver twigs and its jeweled fruit. That was now presented to her by the night, but as yet they had received nothing in payment. So this night's deception was thus found out, and the princess, glad of an escape from one more important suitor, was only too pleased to send back the branch. She called in the workmen and had them paid liberally, and they went away happy. But on the way home they were overtaken by the disappointed man, who beat them till they were nearly dead for letting out the secret, and they barely escaped with their lives. The night then returned home, raging in his heart, and in despair of ever winning the princess, gave up society and retired to a solitary life among the mountains. Now the third night had a friend in China, so he wrote to him to get the skin of the fire rat. The virtue of any part of this animal was that no fire could harm it. He promised his friend any amount of money he liked to ask if only he could get him the desired article. As soon as the news came that the ship on which his friend sailed home had come into port, he rode seven days on horseback to meet him. He handed his friend a large sum of money and received the fire rat's skin. When he reached home he put it carefully in a box and sent it in to the princess while he waited outside for her answer. The bamboo cutter took the box from the night, and as usual carried it to her and tried to coax her to see the night at once, but Princess Moonlight refused, saying that she must first put the skin to test by putting it into the fire. If it were the real thing it would not burn. So she took off the crepe wrapper and opened the box, and then threw the skin to the fire. The skin crackled and burnt up at once, and the princess knew that this man also had not fulfilled his word. So the third night failed also. Now the fourth night was no more enterprising than the rest. Instead of starting out on the quest of the dragon bearing on its head the five-color radiant jewel, he called all of his servants together and gave them the order to seek for it far and wide in Japan and China, and he strictly forbade any of them to return till they had found it. His numerous retainers and servants started out in different directions, with no intention however of obeying what they considered an impossible order. They simply took a holiday, went to pleasant country places together, and grumbled at their master's unreasonableness. The night meanwhile thinking that his retainers could not fail to find the jewel, repaired to his house, and fitted it up beautifully for the reception of the princess, he felt so sure of winning her. One year passed away in weary waiting, and still his men did not return with the dragon jewel. The night became desperate. He could wait no longer. So taking with him only two men, he hired a ship and commanded the captain to go in search of the dragon. The captain and the sailors refused to undertake what they said was an absurd search, but the night compelled them at last to put out to sea. When they had been but a few days out, they encountered a great storm which lasted so long. By the time its fury abated, the night had determined to give up the hunt of the dragon. They were at last blown on shore, for navigation was primitive in those days, worn out with his travels and anxiety. The fourth suitor gave himself up to rest. He had caught a very heavy cold, and had to go to bed with a swollen face. The governor of the place, hearing of his plight, sent messengers with a letter inviting him to his house. While he was there, thinking over his troubles, his love for the princess turned to anger, and he blamed her for all the hardships he had undergone. He thought that it was quite probable she had wished to kill him, so that she might be rid of him, and in order to carry out her wish, had sent him upon his impossible quest. At this point all the servants he had sent out to find the jewel came to see him, and were surprised to find praise instead of displeasure awaiting them. Their master told them that he was heartily sick of adventure, and said that he never intended to go near the princess's house again in the future. Like all the rest the fifth night failed in his quest. He could not find the swallow's tail. By this time the fame of Princess Moonlight's beauty had reached the ears of the emperor. And he sent one of his court ladies to see if she was really as lovely as reports said. If so he would summon her to the palace, and make her one of the ladies in waiting. When the court lady arrived in spite of her father's entreaties, Princess Moonlight refused to see her. The imperial messenger insisted, saying it was the emperor's order. Then the princess told the old man that if she was forced to go to the palace in obedience to the emperor's order, she would vanish from the earth. When the emperor was told of her persistence in refusing to obey his summons, and that if pressed to obey she would disappear altogether from sight, he determined to go and see her. So he planned to go on a hunting excursion in the neighborhood of the bamboo cutter's house, and see the princess himself. He sent word to the old man of his intention, and he received consent to the scheme. The next day the emperor set out with his retinue, which he soon managed to out-ride. He found the bamboo cutter's house and dismounted. He then entered the house and went straight to where the princess was, sitting with her attendant maidens. Never had he seen anyone so wonderfully beautiful, and he could not but look at her. For she was more lovely than any human being, as she shone in her own soft radiant. When Princess Moonlight became aware that a stranger was looking at her, she tried to escape from the room, but the emperor caught her and begged her to listen to what he had to say. Her only answer was to hide her face in her sleeves. The emperor fell deeply in love with her and begged her to come to the court, where he would give her a position of honour and everything she could wish for. He was about to send for one of the imperial palanquins to take her back with him at once, saying that her grace and beauty should adorn a court, and not be hidden in the bamboo cutter's cottage. But the princess stopped him. She said that if she were forced to go to the palace, she would turn it once into a shadow, and even as she spoke she began to lose her form. Her figure faded from his sight while he looked. The emperor then promised to leave her free if only she would resume her former shape, which she did. It was now time for him to return, for his retinue would be wondering what had happened to their royal master when they missed him for so long. So he bade her goodbye and left the house with a sad heart. Princess Moonlight was for him the most beautiful woman in the world. All others were dark beside her, and he thought of her night and day. His majesty now spent much of his time in writing poems, telling her of his love and devotion, and sent them to her. And though she refused to see him again, she answered with many verses of her own composing, which told him gently and kindly that she could never marry anyone on this earth. These little songs always gave him pleasure. At this time her foster parents noticed that night after night the princess would sit on her balcony and gaze for hours at the moon, in a spirit of the deepest dejection, ending always in a burst of tears. One night the old man found her thus weeping, as if her heart were broken, and he besought her to tell him the reason of her sorrow. With many tears she told him that he had guessed rightly when he supposed her not to belong to this world, that she had in truth come from the moon, and that her time on earth would soon be over. On the fifteenth day of that very month of August her friends from the moon would come to fetch her, and she would have to return. Her parents were both there, but having spent a lifetime on the earth she had forgotten them, and also the moon world to which she belonged. It made her weep, she said, to think of leaving her kind foster parents, and the home where she had been happy for so long. When her parents heard this they were very sad, and could not eat or drink for sadness at the thought that the princess was so soon to leave them. The emperor as soon as the news was carried to him sent messengers to the house to find out if the report were true or not. The old bamboo cutter went out to meet the imperial messengers. The last few days of sorrow had told upon the old man he had aged greatly and looked much more than his seventy years. Weeping bitterly he told them that the report was only too true, but he had intended however to make prisoners of the envoys from the moon, and to do all he could to prevent the princess from being carried back. Their men returned and told his majesty all that had passed. On the fifteenth day of that month the emperor sent a guard of two thousand warriors to watch the house. One thousand stationed themselves on the roof, another thousand kept watch round all the entrances of the house. All were well-trained archers with bows and arrows. The bamboo cutter and his wife hid princess moonlight in an interior room. The old man gave orders that no one was to sleep that night. All in the house were to keep a strict watch and be ready to protect the princess. With these precautions and the help of the emperor's men at arms he hoped to withstand the moon messengers. But the princess told him that all these measures to keep her would be useless and that when her people came for her nothing whatever could prevent them from carrying out their purpose. Even the emperor's men would be powerless. Then she added with tears that she was very, very sorry to leave him and his wife whom she had learned to love as her parents, that if she could do as she liked she would stay with them in their old age and try to make some return of all the love and kindness they had showered upon her during all her earthly life. The night wore on. The yellow harvest moon rose high in the heavens flooding the world asleep with her golden light. Silence reigned over the pine and the bamboo forests and on the roof were the thousand men of arms waited. Then the night grew gray towards the dawn and all hoped that the danger was over that princess moonlight would not have to leave them after all. Then suddenly the watchers saw a cloud form around the moon and while they looked this cloud began to roll earthward nearer and nearer it came and everyone saw with the smay that its course lay towards the house. In a short time the sky was entirely obscured till it last the cloud lay over the dwelling only ten feet off the ground. In the midst of the cloud there stood a flying chariot and in the chariot a band of luminous beings one amongst them who had looked like a king and appeared to be the chief stepped out of the chariot and pointed in there called to the old man to come out. The time has come he said for princess moonlight to return to the moon from when she came she committed a grave fault and as a punishment was sent to live down here for a time. We know what good care you have taken of the princess and we have rewarded you for this and have sent you wealth and prosperity. We put the gold in the bamboo for you to find. I have brought up this princess for twenty years and never once has she done a wrong thing. Therefore the lady you are seeking cannot be this one said the old man. I pray you to look elsewhere. Then the messenger called aloud saying princess moonlight come out from this lowly dwelling rest not hear another moment at these words the screens of the princess's room slid open of their own accord revealing the princess shining in her own radiance bright and wonderful and full of beauty. The messenger led her forth and placed her in the chariot. She looked back and saw with pity the deep sorrow of the old man. She spoke to him many comforting words and told him that it was not her will to leave him and that he must always think of her when looking at the moon. The bamboo cutter implored to be allowed to accompany her but this was not allowed. The princess took off her embroidered outer garment and gave it to him as a keepsake. One of the moon beings in the chariot held a wonderful coat of wings. Another had a vile full of the elixir of life which was given to the princess to drink. She swallowed a little was about to give the rest to the old man but she was prevented from doing so. The robe of wings was about to be put upon her shoulders but she said, wait a minute I must not forget my good friend the emperor. I must write him once more to say goodbye while still in this human form. In spite of the impatience of the messengers and the charioteers she kept them waiting while she wrote. She placed the vile of the elixir of life with the letter and giving them to the old man she asked him to deliver them to the emperor. Then the chariot began to roll heavenwards towards the moon and as they all gazed with tearful eyes at the receding princess the dawn broke. And in the rosy light of day the moon chariot and all in it were lost amongst the fleecy clouds that were now wafted across the sky on the wings of the morning wind. Princess Moonlight's letter was carried to the palace. His majesty was afraid to touch the elixir of life so he sent it with the letter to the top of the most sacred mountain in the land Mount Fuji and there the royal emissaries burnt it on the summit at sunrise. So to this day people say that there is smoke to be seen rising from the top of Mount Fuji to the clouds. End of The Bamboo Cutter and the Moon Child This recording is in the public domain. Chapter 10 of Japanese Fairy Tales This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Clark Bell Japanese Fairy Tales by Ye Theodora Ozaki Chapter 10 The Mirror of Matsuyama The Mirror of Matsuyama A Story of Old Japan Long years ago in old Japan there lived in the province of Ishigo a very remote part of Japan even in these days a man and his wife. When this story begins they had been married for some years and were blessed with one little daughter. She was the joy and pride of both their lives and in her they stored an endless source of happiness for their old age. What golden letter days in their memory were these that had marked her growing up from their babyhood? The visit to the temple when she was just 30 days old, her proud mother carrying her robed in ceremonial kimono to be put under the patronage of the family's household god. Then her first dolls festival when her parents gave her a set of dolls and their miniature belongings to be added to as year succeeded year. And perhaps the most important occasion of all on her third birthday when her first obi, a broad brocade sash of scarlet and gold, was tied round her small waist a sign that she had crossed the threshold of girlhood and left infancy behind. Now that she was seven years of age she had learned to talk and to wait upon her parents in those several little ways so dear to the hearts of fond parents. Their cup of happiness seemed full. There could not be found in the whole of the island empire a happier little family. One day there was much excitement in the home, for the father had been suddenly summoned to the capital on business. In these days of railways and gin rickshaws and other rapid modes of traveling it is difficult to realize what such a journey as that from Matsuyama to Kyoto meant. The roads were rough and bad and ordinary people had to walk every step of the way, whether the distance were one hundred or several hundred miles. Indeed in those days it was as great an undertaking to go up to the capital as it is for a Japanese to make a voyage to Europe now. So the wife was very anxious while she helped her husband get ready for the long journey, knowing what an arduous task laid before him. Vainly she wished that she could accompany him, but the distance was too great for the mother and child to go, and besides that it was the wife's duty to take care of the home. All was ready at last, and the husband stood in the porch with his little family round him. Do not be anxious. I will come back soon, said the man, while I am away take care of everything and especially of our little daughter. Yes, we shall be all right, but you you must take care of yourself and delay not a day in coming back to us, said the wife, while the tears fell like rain from her eyes. The little girl was the only one to smile, for she was ignorant of the sorrow of parting and did not know that going to the capital was at all different from walking to the next village, which your father did very often. She ran to his side and caught hold of his long sleeve to keep him a moment. Father, I will be very good while I am waiting for you to come back, so please bring me a present. As the father turned to take a last look at his weeping wife and smiling eager child, he felt as if someone were pulling him back by the hair. So hard was it for him to leave them behind, for they had never been separated before, but he knew that he must go, for the call was imperative. With a great effort he ceased to think and resolutely turning away, he went quickly down the little garden and out through the gate. His wife, catching up the little child in her arms, ran as far as the gate and watched him as he went down the road between the pines till he was lost in the haze of the distance, and all she could see was his quaint peaked hat, and at last that vanished too. Now, Father has gone. You and I must take care of everything till he comes back, said the mother, as she made her way back to the house. Yes, I will be very good, said the child, nodding her head, and when Father comes home, please tell him how good I have been, and then perhaps he will give me a present. Father is sure to bring you something that you want very much, I know, for I asked him to bring you a doll. You must think of Father every day, and pray for a safe journey till he comes back. Oh yes, when he comes home again, how happy I shall be, said the child, clapping her hands, and her face growing bright with joy at the glad thought. It seemed to the mother, as she looked at the child's face, that her love for her grew deeper and deeper. Then she set to work to make the winter clothes for the three of them. She set up her simple wooden spinning wheel, and spun the thread before she began to weave the stuffs. In the intervals of her work, she directed the little girl's games, and taught her to read the old stories of her country. Thus did the wife find consolation in work during the lonely days of her husband's absence. While the time was thus slipping quickly by in the quiet home, the husband finished his business and returned. It would have been difficult for anyone who did not know the man well to recognize him. He had traveled day after day, exposed to all weathers, for about a month altogether, and was sunburned to bronze. But his fond wife and child knew him at a glance, and flew to meet him from either side, each catching hold of one of his sleeves in their eager greeting. Both the man and his wife rejoiced to find each other well. It seemed a very long time to all, till the mother and child helping, his straw sandals were untied, his large umbrella hat taken off, and he was again in their midst in the old familiar sitting-room that had been so empty while he was away. As soon as they sat down on the white mats, the father opened a bamboo basket that he had brought with him, and took out a beautiful doll and a lacquer box full of cakes. Here, he said to the little girl, is a present for you. It is a prize for taking care of mother and the house so well while I was away. Thank you, said the child, and she bowed her head to the ground, and then put out her hand just like a little maple leaf with its eager wide-spread fingers, to take the doll and the box, both of which, coming from the capital, were prettier than anything she had ever seen. No words can tell how delighted this little girl was. Her face seemed as if it would melt with joy, and she had no eyes and no thought for anything else. Again the husband dived into the basket, and brought out this time a square wooden box, carefully tied up with red and white string, and handing it to his wife, said, and this is for you. The wife took the box, and opening it carefully took out a metal disc with a handle attached. One side was bright and shining like a crystal, and the other was covered with raised figures of pine trees and storks, which had been carved out of its smooth surface in lifelike reality. Never had she seen such a thing in her life, for she had been born and bred in the rural province of Ishego. She gazed into the shining disc, and looked up with surprise and wonder, pictured on her face. She said, I see somebody looking at me in this round thing. What is that you have given me? What is that you have given me? The husband laughed and said, Why it is your own face that you see. What I have brought you is called a mirror, and whoever looks into its clear surface can see their own form reflected there. Although there are none to be found in this out-of-the-way place, yet they have been in use in the capital from the most ancient times. There the mirror is considered a very necessary requisite for a woman to possess. There is an old proverb that, as the sword is the soul of the samurai, so is the mirror the soul of a woman. And according to popular tradition, a woman's mirror is an index to her own heart. If she keeps it bright and clear, so is her heart pure and good. It is also one of the treasures that form the insignia of the emperor, so you must lay great store to your mirror. And use it carefully. The wife listened to all that her husband told her, and was pleased at learning so much that was new to her. She was still more pleased at the precious gift, his token of remembrance, while he had been away. If the mirror represents my soul, I shall certainly treasure it as a valuable possession. And never will I use it carelessly. Saying so, she lifted it as high as her forehead in grateful acknowledgment of the gift, and then shut it up in its box and put it away. The wife saw that her husband was very tired, and set about serving the evening meal and making everything as comfortable as she could for him. It seemed to the little family as if they had not known what true happiness was before. So glad were they to be together again. And this evening the father had much to tell of his journey, and of all he had seen at the great capital. Time passed away in the peaceful home, and the parents saw their fondest hopes realized as their daughter grew from childhood into a beautiful girl of sixteen. As a gem of priceless value is held in its proud owner's hand, so had they reared her with unceasing love and care. And now their pains were more than doubly rewarded. What a comfort she was to her mother, as she went about the house taking her part in the housekeeping, and how proud her father was of her, for she daily reminded him of her mother when he had first married her. But alas! In this world nothing lasts forever. Even the moon is not always perfect in shape, but loses its roundness with time, and flowers bloom and then fade. So at last the happiness of this family was broken up by a great sorrow. The good and gentle wife and mother was one day taken ill. In the first days of her illness the father and daughter thought that it was only a cold, and were not particularly anxious. But the days went by and still the mother did not get better. She only grew worse. And the doctor was puzzled, for in spite of all he did, the poor woman grew weaker day by day. The father and daughter were stricken with grief, and day or night the girl never left her mother's side. But in spite of all their efforts the woman's life was not to be saved. One day as the girl sat near her mother's bed, trying to hide with a cheery smile the gnawing trouble in her heart, the mother roused herself, and taking her daughter's hand, gazed earnestly and lovingly into her eyes. Her breath was labored, and she spoke with difficulty. My daughter, I am sure that nothing can save me now. When I am dead promise me to take care of your dear father, and try to be a good and dutiful woman. Oh mother said the girl as the tears rushed to her eyes. You must not say such things. All you have to do is make haste and get well. That will bring the greatest happiness to father and myself. Yes, I know. And it is a comfort to me in my last days to know how greatly you long for me to get better. But it is not to be. Do not look so sorrowful, for it was so ordained in my previous state of existence that I should die in this life just at this time. Knowing this I am quite resigned to my fate. And now I have something to give you, whereby to remember me while I am gone. Putting her hand out, she took from the side of the pillow a square wooden box tied up with a silken cord and tassels. Undoing this very carefully she took out of the box the mirror that her husband had given her years ago. When you were still a little child, your father went up to the capital and brought me back as a present this treasure. It is called a mirror. This I give you before I die. If, after I have ceased to be in this life, you are lonely and long to see me sometimes, then take out this mirror and in the clear and shining surface you will always see me. So will you be able to meet with me often and tell me all your heart? And though I shall not be able to speak, I shall understand and sympathize with you, whatever may be happening to you in the future. With these words the dying woman handed the mirror to her daughter. The mind of the good mother seemed to be now at rest and sinking back without another word her spirit passed quietly away that day. The bereaved father and daughter were wild with grief and they abandoned themselves to their bitter sorrow. They felt it to be impossible to take leave of the loved woman who till now had filled their whole lives and to commit her body to the earth. But this frantic burst of grief passed and then they took possession of their own hearts again, crushed though they were in resignation. In spite of this the daughter's life seemed to be desolate. Her love for her dead mother did not grow less with time and so keen was her remembrance that everything in daily life, even the falling of the rain and the blowing of the wind, reminded her of her mother's death and all that they had loved and shared together. One day, when her father was out, and she was fulfilling her household duties alone, her loneliness and sorrow seemed more than she could bear. She threw herself down in her mother's room and wept as if her heart would break. Poor child, she longed just for one glimpse of the loved face, one sound of the voice calling her pet name, or for one moment's forgetfulness of the aching void in her heart. Suddenly she sat up. Her mother's last words had rung through her memory, hitherto dulled by her grief. Oh! my mother told me when she gave me the mirror as a parting gift, that whenever I looked into it I should be able to meet her, to see her. I had nearly forgotten her last words. How stupid I am! I will get the mirror now and see if it can possibly be true. She dried her eyes quickly, and going to the cupboard took out the box that contained the mirror, her heart beating with expectation as she lifted the mirror out and gazed into its smooth face. Behold! her mother's words were true. In the round mirror before her she saw her mother's face. But oh! the joyful surprise! it was not her mother's fin and wasted by illness. But the young and beautiful woman, as she remembered her, far back in the days of her own earliest childhood. It seemed to the girl that the face in the mirror must soon speak, almost that she heard the voice of her mother, telling her again to grow up to be a good woman and a dutiful daughter. So earnestly did the eyes in the mirror look back into her own. It is certainly my mother's soul that I see. She knows how miserable I am without her, and she has come to comfort me. Whenever I long to see her she will meet me here. How grateful I ought to be! And from this time the weight of sorrow was greatly lightened for her young heart. Every morning to gather strength for the day's duties before her, and every evening, for consolation before she lay down to rest, did the young girl take out the mirror and gaze at the reflection which in the simplicity of her innocent heart she believed to be her mother's soul. Daily she grew in the likeness of her dead mother's character, and was gentle and kind to all, and a dutiful daughter to her father. A year spent in mourning had thus passed away in the little household when by the advice of his relations the man married again, and the daughter now found herself under the authority of a stepmother. It was a trying position, but her days spent in the recollection of her own beloved mother and of trying to be what that mother would wish her to be had made the young girl docile and patient, and she now determined to be filial and dutiful to her father's wife in all respects. Everything went on apparently smoothly in the family for some time under the new regime. There were no winds or waves of discord to ruffle the surface of everyday life, and her father was content. But it is a woman's danger to be petty and mean, and stepmothers are proverbial all the world over, and this one's heart was not, as her first smiles were. As the days and weeks grew into months the stepmother began to treat the motherless girl unkindly and to try and come between the father and the child. Sometimes she went to her husband and complained of her stepdaughter's behavior, but the father, knowing that this was to be expected, took no notice of her ill-natured complaints. Instead of lessening his affection for his daughter as the woman desired, her grumblings only made him think of her the more. The woman soon saw that he began to show more concern for his lonely child than before. This did not please her at all, and she began to turn over in her mind how she could by some means or other drive her stepchild out of the house. So crooked did the woman's heart become. She watched the girl carefully, and one day, peeping into her room in the early morning, she thought she discovered a grave enough sin of which to accuse the child to her father. The woman herself was a little frightened to it what she had seen. So she went at once to her husband and wiping away some false tears she said in a sad voice. Please give me permission to leave you to-day. The man was completely taken by surprise at the suddenness of her request, and wondered whatever was the matter. Do you find it so disagreeable he asked in my house that you can stay no longer? No. No, it has nothing to do with you. Even in my dreams I have never thought that I wish to leave your side, but if I go on living here I am in danger of losing my life, so I think it best for all concerned that you should allow me to go home. And the woman began to weep afresh. Her husband distressed to see her so unhappy, and thinking that he could not have heard a right, said, Tell me what you mean. How is your life in danger here? I will tell you, since you ask me. Your daughter dislikes me as her stepmother. For some time past she has shut herself up in her room, morning and evening, and looking in as I pass by, I am convinced that she has made an image of me and is trying to kill me by magic art, cursing me daily. It is not safe for me to stay here. Such being the case, indeed, indeed I must go away. We cannot live under the same roof any more. The husband listened to the dreadful tale, but he could not believe his gentle daughter guilty of such an evil act. He knew that by popular superstition people believed that one person could cause the gradual death of another by making an image of the hated one and cursing it daily. But where had his young daughter learned such knowledge? The thing was impossible. Yet he remembered having noticed that his daughter stayed much in her room of late, and kept herself away from everyone, even when visitors came to the house. Putting this fact together with his wife's alarm, he thought that there might be something to account for this strange story. His heart was torn between doubting his wife and trusting his child, and he knew not what to do. He decided to go at once to his daughter and try to find out the truth. Comforting his wife and assuring her that her fears were groundless, he glided quietly to his daughter's room. The girl had for a long time passed been very unhappy. She had tried by amiability and obedience to show her good will and to mollify the new wife, and to break down that wall of prejudice and misunderstanding that she knew generally stood between step-parents and their step-children. But she soon found that her efforts were in vain. The stepmother never trusted her, and seemed to misinterpret all her actions, and the poor child knew very well that she often carried unkind and untrue tales to her father. She could not help comparing her present, unhappy condition with the time when her own mother was alive only a little more than a year ago. So great a change in this short time. Morning and evening she wept over the remembrance. Whenever she could she went to her room and sliding the screens to took out the mirror and gazed as she thought at her mother's face. It was the only comfort that she had in these wretched days. Her father found her occupied in this way. Pushing aside the Fusama he saw her bending over something or other very intently. Looking over her shoulder to see who was entering her room, the girl was surprised to see her father, for he generally sent for her when he wished to speak to her. She was also confused at being found looking at the mirror, for she had never told any one of her mother's last promise, but had kept it as a sacred secret in her heart. So before turning to her father she slipped the mirror into her long sleeve. Her father noting her confusion and her act of hiding something said in a severe manner. Daughter, what are you doing here? And what is it that you have hidden in your sleeve? The girl was frightened by her father's severity. Never had he spoken to her in such a tone. Her confusion changed to apprehension. Her color from scarlet to white. She sat dumb and shaped-faced, unable to reply. Appearances were certainly against her. The young girl looked guilty, and the father thinking that perhaps after all what his wife had told him was true spoke angrily. Then it is really true that you are daily cursing your stepmother and praying for her death? Have you forgotten what I told you, that although she is your stepmother you must be obedient and loyal to her? What evil spirit has taken possession of your heart that you should be so wicked? You have certainly changed my daughter. What has made you so disobedient and unfaithful? And the father's eyes filled with sudden tears to think that he should have to up braid his daughter in this way. She, on her part, did not know what he meant, for she had never heard of the superstition that by praying over an image it is possible to cause the death of a hated person. But she saw that she must speak and clear herself somehow. She loved her father dearly, and could not bear the idea of his anger. She put out her hand on his knee, depreciatingly. Father, do not say such dreadful things to me. I am still your obedient child. Indeed I am, however stupid I may be. I should never be able to curse anyone who belong to you, much less pray for the death of one you love. Surely someone has been telling you lies, and you are dazed, and you know not what you say, or some evil spirit has taken possession of your heart. As for me, I do not know, no, not so much as a dew-drop of the evil thing of which you accuse me. But the father remembered she had hidden something away when he first entered the room, and even this earnest protest did not satisfy him. He wished to clear up all his doubts once and for all. Then why are you always alone in your room these days? And tell me, what is that that you have hidden in your sleeve? Show it to me at once. Then the daughter, though shy of confessing how she had cherished her mother's memory, saw that she must tell her father all in order to clear herself. So she slipped the mirror out from her long sleeve and laid it before him. This, she said, is what you saw me looking at just now. Why, he said in great surprise, this is the mirror that I brought as a gift to your mother when I went up to the capital many years ago, and so you have kept it all this time? Now why do you spend so much of your time before this mirror? Then she told him of her mother's last words, and of how she had promised to meet her child whenever she looked into the glass. But still the father could not understand the simplicity of his daughter's character in not knowing that what she saw reflected in the mirror was in reality her own face, and not that of her mother. What do you mean, he asked, I do not understand how you can meet the soul of your lost mother by looking in this mirror. It is indeed true, said the girl, and if you do not believe what I say, look for yourself. And she placed the mirror before her. There, looking back from the smooth metal disc, was her own sweet face. She pointed to the reflection seriously. Do you doubt me still, she asked earnestly looking up into his face? With an exclamation of sudden understanding, the father smote his two hands together. How stupid I am! At last I understand. Your face is as like your mother's as the two sides of a melon. Thus you have looked at the reflection of your face all this time, thinking that you were brought face to face with your lost mother. You are truly a faithful child. It seems at first a stupid thing to have done. But it is not really so. It shows how deep has been your filial piety, and how innocent your heart. Living in constant remembrance of your lost mother has helped you to grow like her in character. How clever it was of her to tell you to do this. I admire and respect you, my daughter, and I am ashamed to think that for one instant I believed your suspicious step-mother's story and suspected you of evil and came with the intention of scolding you severely, while all this time you have been so true and good. Before you I have no countenance left, and I beg you to forgive me. And here the father wept. He thought of how lonely the poor girl must have been, and of all that she must have suffered under her step-mother's treatment. His daughter steadfastly keeping her faith and simplicity in the midst of such adverse circumstances, bearing all her troubles with so much patience and amiability, made him compare her to the lotus which rears its blossom of dazzling beauty out of the slime and mud of the motes and ponds, fitting emblem of the heart which keeps itself unsullied while passing through the world. The step-mother, anxious to know what would happen, had all this while been standing outside the room. She had grown interested and had gradually pushed the sliding screen back till she could see all that went on. At this moment she suddenly entered the room. And dropping to the mats, she bowed her head over her outspread hands before her step-daughter. I am ashamed. I am ashamed, she exclaimed in broken tones. I did not know what a filial child you were. Through no fault of yours, but with a step-mother's jealous heart, I have disliked you all the time. Hating you so much myself, it was but natural that I should think you reciprocated the feeling. And thus, when I saw you retire so often to your room, I followed you. And when I saw you gaze daily into the mirror for long intervals, I concluded that you had found out how I disliked you, and that you were out of revenge trying to take my life by magic art. As long as I live I shall never forget the wrong I have done you, in so misjudging you, and in causing your father to suspect you. From this day I throw away my old and wicked heart, and in its place I put a new one, clean and full of repentance. I shall think of you as a child that I have borne myself. I shall love and cherish you with all my heart, and thus try to make up for all the unhappiness I have caused you. Therefore please throw into the water all that has gone before, and give me I beg of you some of the filial love that you have hitherto given to your own lost mother. Thus did the unkind stepmother humble herself, and ask forgiveness of the girl she had so wronged. Such was the sweetness of the girl's disposition that she willingly forgave her stepmother, and never bore a moment's resentment of malice toward her afterwards. The father saw by his wife's face that she was truly sorry for the past, and was greatly relieved to see the terrible misunderstanding wiped out of remembrance by both the wrongdoer and the wronged. From this time on the three lived together as happily as fish in water. No such trouble ever darkened the home again, and the young girl gradually forgot that year of unhappiness in the tender love and care that her stepmother now bestowed on her. Her patience and goodness were rewarded at last.