Japanese Folktales

by Yei Theodora Ozaki

  “Now begin! the monkey and the hare shall open the sports and the deer shall be umpire. Now, Mr. Deer, you are to be umpire!”

  Then the monkey and the hare hopped out.

  “He, he!” answered the deer. “I will be umpire. Now, Mr. Monkey and Mr. Hare, if you are both ready, please walk out and take your places on the platform.”

  Then the monkey and the hare both hopped out, quickly and nimbly, to the wrestling platform. The deer, as umpire, stood between the two and called out:

  “Red-back! Red-back!” (this to the monkey, who has a red back in Japan). “Are you ready?”

  Then he turned to the hare:

  “Long-ears! Long-ears! are you ready?”

  Both the little wrestlers faced each other while the deer raised a leaf on high as signal. When he dropped the leaf the monkey and the hare rushed upon each other, crying “Yoisho, yoisho!”

  While the monkey and the hare wrestled, the deer called out encouragingly or shouted warnings to each of them as the hare or the monkey pushed each other near the edge of the platform and were in danger of falling over.

  “Red-back! Red-back! stand your ground!” called out the deer.

  “Long-ears! Long-ears! be strong, be strong—don’t let the monkey beat you!” grunted the bear.

  So the monkey and the hare, encouraged by their friends, tried their very hardest to beat each other. The hare at last gained on the monkey. The monkey seemed to trip up, and the hare giving him a good push sent him flying off the platform with a bound.

  The poor monkey sat up rubbing his back, and his face was very long as he screamed angrily, “Oh, oh! how my back hurts—my back hurts me!”

  Seeing the monkey in this plight on the ground, the deer holding his leaf on high said:

  “This round is finished—the hare has won.”

  Kintarō then opened his luncheon box and taking out a rice dumpling, gave it to the hare saying:

  “Here is your prize, and you have earned it well!”

  Now the monkey got up looking very cross, and as they say in Japan “his stomach stood up,” for he felt that he had not been fairly beaten. So he said to Kintarō and the others who were standing by:

  “I have not been fairly beaten. My foot slipped and I tumbled. Please give me another chance and let the hare wrestle with me for another round.”

  Then Kintarō consenting, the hare and the monkey began to wrestle again. Now, as everyone knows, the monkey is a cunning animal by nature, and he made up his mind to get the best of the hare this time if it were possible. To do this, he thought that the best and surest way would be to get hold of the hare’s long ear. This he soon managed to do. The hare was quite thrown off his guard by the pain of having his long ear pulled so hard, and the monkey seizing his opportunity at last, caught hold of one of the hare’s legs and sent him sprawling in the middle of the daïs. The monkey was now the victor and received a rice dumpling from Kintarō, which pleased him so much that he quite forgot his sore back.

  The deer now came up and asked the hare if he felt ready for another round, and if so whether he would try a round with him, and the hare consenting, they both stood up to wrestle. The bear came forward as umpire.

  The deer with long horns and the hare with long ears, it must have been an amusing sight to those who watched this queer match. Suddenly the deer went down on one of his knees, and the bear with the leaf on high declared him beaten. In this way, sometimes the one, sometimes the other, conquering, the little party amused themselves till they were tired.

  At last Kintarō got up and said:

  “This is enough for today. What a nice place we have found for wrestling; let us come again tomorrow. Now, we will all go home. Come along!” So saying, Kintarō led the way while the animals followed.

  After walking some little distance they came out on the banks of a river flowing through a valley. Kintarō and his four furry friends stood and looked about for some means of crossing. Bridge there was none. The river rushed “don, don” on its way. All the animals looked serious, wondering how they could cross the stream and get home that evening.

  Kintarō, however, said:

  “Wait a moment. I will make a good bridge for you all in a few minutes.”

  The bear, the deer, the monkey and the hare looked at him to see what he would do now.

  Kintarō went from one tree to another that grew along the river bank. At last he stopped in front of a very large tree that was growing at the water’s edge. He took hold of the trunk and pulled it with all his might, once, twice, thrice! At the third pull, so great was Kintarō’s strength that the roots gave way, and “mèri, mèri” (crash, crash), over fell the tree, forming an excellent bridge across the steam.

  “There,” said Kintarō, “what do you think of my bridge? It is quite safe, so follow me,” and he stepped across first. The four animals followed. Never had they seen anyone so strong before, and they all exclaimed:

  “How strong he is! how strong he is!”

  While all this was going on by the river a woodcutter, who happened to be standing on a rock overlooking the stream, had seen all that passed beneath him. He watched with great surprise Kintarō and his animal companions. He rubbed his eyes to be sure that he was not dreaming when he saw this boy pull over a tree by the roots and throw it across the stream to form a bridge.

  The woodcutter, for such he seemed to be by his dress, marveled at all he saw, and said to himself:

  “This is no ordinary child. Whose son can he be? I will find out before this day is done.”

  He hastened after the strange party and crossed the bridge behind them. Kintarō knew nothing of all this, and little guessed that he was being followed. On reaching the other side of the river he and the animals separated, they to their lairs in the woods and he to his mother, who was waiting for him.

  As soon as he entered the cottage, which stood like a match-box in the heart of the pinewoods, he went to greet his mother, saying:

  “Okkasan (mother), here I am!”

  “O, Kimbo!” said his mother with a bright smile, glad to see her boy home safe after the long day. “How late you are today. I feared that something had happened to you. Where have you been all the time?”

  “I took my four friends, the bear, the deer, the monkey, and the hare, up into the hills, and there I made them try a wrestling match, to see which was the strongest. We all enjoyed the sport, and are going to the same place tomorrow to have another match.”

  “Now tell me who is the strongest of all?” asked his mother, pretending not to know.

  “Oh, mother,” said Kintarō, “don’t you know that I am the strongest? There was no need for me to wrestle with any of them.”

  “But next to you then, who is the strongest?”

  “The bear comes next to me in strength,” answered Kintarō.

  “And after the bear?” asked his mother again.

  “Next to the bear it is not easy to say which is the strongest, for the deer, the monkey, and the hare all seem to be as strong as each other,” said Kintarō.

  Suddenly Kintarō and his mother were startled by a voice from outside.

  “Listen to me, little boy! Next time you go, take this old man with you to the wrestling match. He would like to join the sport too!”

  It was the old woodcutter who had followed Kintarō from the river. He slipped off his clogs and entered the cottage. Yamauba and her son were both taken by surprise. They looked at the intruder wonderingly, and saw that he was someone they had never seen before.

  “Who are you?” they both exclaimed.

  Then the woodcutter laughed and said:

  “It does not matter who I am yet, but let us see who has the strongest arm—this boy or myself?”

  Then Kintarō, who had lived all his life in the forest, answered the old man without any ceremony, saying:

  “We will have a try if you wish it, but you must not be angry whomever is beaten.”

  Then Kintarō and the
woodcutter both put out their right arms and grasped each other’s hands. For a long time Kintarō and the old man wrestled together in this way, each trying to bend the other’s arm, but the old man was very strong, and the strange pair were evenly matched. At last the old man desisted, declaring it a drawn game.

  “You are, indeed, a very strong child. There are few men who can boast of the strength of my right arm!” said the woodcutter. “I saw you first on the banks of the river a few hours ago, when you pulled up that large tree to make a bridge across the torrent. Hardly able to believe what I saw I followed you home. Your strength of arm, which I have just tried, proves what I saw this afternoon. When you are full-grown you will surely be the strongest man in all Japan. It is a pity that you are hidden away in these wild mountains.”

  Then he turned to Kintarō’s mother:

  “And you, mother, have you no thought of taking your child to the Capital, and of teaching him to carry a sword as befits a samurai (a Japanese knight)?”

  The kind general gradually unfolded his plan.

  “You are very kind to take so much interest in my son,” replied the mother; “but he is as you see, wild and uneducated, and I fear it would be very difficult to do as you say. Because of his great strength as an infant I hid him away in this unknown part of the country, for he hurt everyone that came near him. I have often wished that I could, one day, see my boy a knight wearing two swords, but as we have no influential friend to introduce us at the Capital, I fear my hope will never come true.”

  “You need not trouble yourself about that. To tell you the truth I am no woodcutter! I am one of the great generals of Japan. My name is Sadamitsu, and I am a vassal of the powerful Lord Minamoto-no-Raiko. He ordered me to go round the country and look for boys who give promise of remarkable strength, so that they may be trained as soldiers for his army. I thought that I could best do this by assuming the disguise of a woodcutter. By good fortune, I have thus unexpectedly come across your son. Now if you really wish him to be a samurai (a knight), I will take him and present him to the Lord Raiko as a candidate for his service. What do you say to this?”

  As the kind general gradually unfolded his plan the mother’s heart was filled with a great joy. She saw that here was a wonderful chance of the one wish of her life being fulfilled—that of seeing Kintarō a samurai before she died.

  Bowing her head to the ground, she replied:

  “I will then entrust my son to you if you really mean what you say.”

  Kintarō had all this time been sitting by his mother’s side listening to what was said. When his mother finished speaking, he exclaimed:

  “Oh, joy! joy! I am to go with the general and one day I shall be a samurai!”

  Thus Kintarō’s fate was settled, and the general decided to start for the Capital at once, taking Kintarō with him. It need hardly be said that Yama-uba was sad at parting with her boy, for he was all that was left to her. But she hid her grief with a strong face, as they say in Japan. She knew that it was for her boy’s good that he should leave her now, and she must not discourage him just as he was setting out. Kintarō promised never to forget her, and said that as soon as he was a knight wearing two swords he would build her a home and take care of her in her old age.

  All the animals, those he had tamed to serve him, the bear, the deer, the monkey, and the hare, as soon as they found out that he was going away, came to ask if they might attend him as usual. When they learned that he was going away for good they followed him to the foot of the mountain to see him off.

  “Kimbo,” said his mother, “mind and be a good boy.”

  “Mr. Kintarō,” said the faithful animals, “we wish you good health on your travels.”

  Then they all climbed a tree to see the last of him, and from that height they watched him and his shadow gradually grow smaller and smaller, till he was lost to sight.

  The general Sadamitsu went on his way rejoicing at having so unexpectedly found such a prodigy as Kintarō.

  Having arrived at their destination the general took Kintaro at once to his Lord, Minamoto-no-Raiko, and told him all about Kintaro and how he had found the child. Lord Raiko was delighted with the story, and having commanded Kintaro to be brought to him, made him one of his vassals at once.

  Lord Raiko’s army was famous for its band called “The Four Braves.” These warriors were chosen by himself from amongst the bravest and strongest of his soldiers, and the small and well-picked band was distinguished throughout the whole of Japan for the dauntless courage of its men.

  When Kintarō grew up to be a man his master made him the Chief of the Four Braves. He was by far the strongest of them all. Soon after this event, news was brought to the city that a cannibal monster had taken up his abode not far away and that people were stricken with fear. Lord Raiko ordered Kintarō to the rescue. He immediately started off, delighted at the prospect of trying his sword.

  Surprising the monster in its den, he made short work of cutting off its great head, which he carried back in triumph to his master.

  Kintarō now rose to be the greatest hero of his country, and great was the power and honor and wealth that came to him. He now kept his promise and built a comfortable home for his old mother, who lived happily with him in the Capital to the end of her days.

  Is not this the story of a great hero?

  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 Toyonari 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 when very young, and had lived together happily ever since. They had, however, one cause for great sorrow, for as the years went by no child was born to them. This 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 rites when they were dead. The Prince and his lovely wife, after long consultation and much thought, determined to make a pilgrimage to the temple of Hase-no-Kwannon (Goddess of Mercy at Hase), for they believed, according to the beautiful tradition of their religion, that the Mother of Mercy, Kwannon, 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 Toyonari and his wife went to the temple of Kwannon at Hase and stayed there for a long time, both daily offering incense and praying to Kwannon, the Heavenly Mother, to grant them the desire of their whole lives. And their prayer was answered.

  A daughter was born at last to the Princess Murasaki, and great was the joy of her heart. On presenting the child to her husband they both decided to call her Hase-Hime, or the Princess of Hase, because she was the gift of the Kwannon 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 fell 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:

  “Hase-Hime, do you know that your mother cannot live any longer? Though I die, you must grow up a good girl. Do your best not to give trouble to your nurse or any other of your family. Perhaps your father will marry again and someone will fill my place as your mother. If so do not grieve for me, but look upon your father’s second wife as your true mother, and be obedient and filial to both her and your father. Remember when you are grown up 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.”

  Hase-H
ime 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 Hase-Hime 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 Terute. 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:

  Hase-hime listened in an attitude of respect.

  “This is not my child! this is not my child!”

  But Hase-Hime 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 the Lady Terute 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 (Japanese harp), 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 Hase should perform before him on the koto, and that her mother Princess Terute should accompany her on the flute.

  The Emperor sat on a raised daïs, 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 no ordinary subject was allowed to look upon his sacred face.

  Hase-Hime 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 Terute, 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 so well at the Palace.