THE STORY OF URASHIMA TARO, THE FISHER LAD

Long, long ago in the province of Tango there lived on the

shore of Japan in the little fishing village of Mizu-no-ye a young
fisherman named Urashima Taro. His father had been a
fisherman before him, and his skill had more than doubly
descended to his son, for Urashima was the most skillful fisher
in all that country side, and could catch more Bonito and Tai in
a day than his comrades could in a week.

But in the little fishing village, more than for being a

clever fisher of the sea was he known for his kind heart. In his
whole life he had never hurt anything, either great or small,
and when a boy, his companions had always laughed at him,
for he would never join with them in teasing animals, but
always tried to keep them from this cruel sport.

One soft summer twilight he was going home at the end

of a day’s fishing when he came upon a group of children. They
were all screaming and talking at the tops of their voices, and
seemed to be in a state of great excitement about something,
and on his going up to them to see what was the matter he saw
that they were tormenting a tortoise. First one boy pulled it
this way, then another boy pulled it that way, while a third
child beat it with a stick, and the fourth hammered its shell
with a stone.

Now Urashima felt very sorry for the poor tortoise and
made up his mind to rescue it. He spoke to the boys:

“Look here, boys, you are treating that poor tortoise so

badly that it will soon die!”
 The boys, who were all of an age when children seem to
delight in being cruel to animals, took no notice of Urashima’s
gentle reproof, but went on teasing it as before. One of the
older boys answered:

“Who cares whether it lives or dies? We do not. Here,

boys, go on, go on!”

And they began to treat the poor tortoise more cruelly

than ever. Urashima waited a moment, turning over in his
mind what would be the best way to deal with the boys. He
would try to persuade them to give the tortoise up to him, so
he smiled at them and said:

“I am sure you are all good, kind boys! Now won’t you
give me the tortoise? I should like to have it so much!”

“No, we won’t give you the tortoise,” said one of the boys.
“Why should we? We caught it ourselves.”

“What you say is true,” said Urashima, “but I do not ask

you to give it to me for nothing. I will give you some money for
it—in other words, the Ojisan (Uncle) will buy it of you. Won’t
that do for you, my boys?” He held up the money to them,
strung on a piece of string through a hole in the center of each
coin. “Look, boys, you can buy anything you like with this
money. You can do much more with this money than you can
with that poor tortoise. See what good boys you are to listen to
me.”

The boys were not bad boys at all, they were only
mischievous, and as Urashima spoke they were won by his
kind smile and gentle words and began “to be of his spirit,” as
they say in Japan. Gradually they all came up to him, the
ringleader of the little band holding out the tortoise to him.

“Very well, Ojisan, we will give you the tortoise if you will
give us the money!” And Urashima took the tortoise and gave
the money to the boys, who, calling to each other, scampered
away and were soon out of sight.

Then Urashima stroked the tortoise’s back, saying as he

did so:

“Oh, you poor thing! Poor thing!—there, there! you are

safe now! They say that a stork lives for a thousand years, but
the tortoise for ten thousand years. You have the longest life of
any creature in this world, and you were in great danger of
having that precious life cut short by those cruel boys. Luckily
I was passing by and saved you, and so life is still yours. Now I
am going to take you back to your home, the sea, at once. Do
not let yourself be caught again, for there might be no one to
save you next time!”

All the time that the kind fisherman was speaking he was
walking quickly to the shore and out upon the rocks; then
putting the tortoise into the water he watched the animal
disappear, and turned homewards himself, for he was tired and
the sun had set.

The next morning Urashima went out as usual in his boat.

The weather was fine and the sea and sky were both blue and
soft in the tender haze of the summer morning. Urashima got
into his boat and dreamily pushed out to sea, throwing his line
as he did so. He soon passed the other fishing boats and left
them behind him till they were lost to sight in the distance,
and his boat drifted further and further out upon the blue
waters. Somehow, he knew not why, he felt unusually happy
that morning; and he could not help wishing that, like the
tortoise he set free the day before, he had thousands of years
to live instead of his own short span of human life.

He was suddenly startled from his reverie by hearing his

own name called:

“Urashima, Urashima!”

Clear as a bell and soft as the summer wind the name

floated over the sea.

He stood up and looked in every direction, thinking that

one of the other boats had overtaken him, but gaze as he
might over the wide expanse of water, near or far there was no
sign of a boat, so the voice could not have come from any
human being.

Startled, and wondering who or what it was that had

called him so clearly, he looked in all directions round about
him and saw that without his knowing it a tortoise had come to
the side of the boat. Urashima saw with surprise that it was
the very tortoise he had rescued the day before.

“Well, Mr. Tortoise,” said Urashima, “was it you who

called my name just now?”

The tortoise nodded its head several times and said:

 “Yes, it was I. Yesterday in your honorable shadow (o
kage sama de) my life was saved, and I have come to offer you
my thanks and to tell you how grateful I am for your kindness
to me.”

“Indeed,” said Urashima, “that is very polite of you. Come

up into the boat. I would offer you a smoke, but as you are a
tortoise doubtless you do not smoke,” and the fisherman
laughed at the joke.

“He-he-he-he!” laughed the tortoise; “sake (rice wine) is

my favorite refreshment, but I do not care for tobacco.”

“Indeed,” said Urashima, “I regret very much that I have

no “sake” in my boat to offer you, but come up and dry your
back in the sun—tortoises always love to do that.”

So the tortoise climbed into the boat, the fisherman

helping him, and after an exchange of complimentary speeches
the tortoise said:

“Have you ever seen Rin Gin, the Palace of the Dragon
King of the Sea, Urashima?”

The fisherman shook his head and replied; “No; year after
year the sea has been my home, but though I have often heard
of the Dragon King’s realm under the sea I have never yet set
eyes on that wonderful place. It must be very far away, if it
exists at all!”

“Is that really so? You have never seen the Sea King’s
Palace? Then you have missed seeing one of the most
wonderful sights in the whole universe. It is far away at the
bottom of the sea, but if I take you there we shall soon reach
the place. If you would like to see the Sea King’s land I will be
your guide.”

“I should like to go there, certainly, and you are very kind

to think of taking me, but you must remember that I am only a
poor mortal and have not the power of swimming like a sea
creature such as you are—”

Before the fisherman could say more the tortoise stopped

him, saying:

“What? You need not swim yourself. If you will ride on my

back I will take you without any trouble on your part.”

“But,” said Urashima, “how is it possible for me to ride on

your small back?”

“It may seem absurd to you, but I assure you that you can
do so. Try at once! Just come and get on my back, and see if it
is as impossible as you think!”

As the tortoise finished speaking, Urashima looked at its

shell, and strange to say he saw that the creature had
suddenly grown so big that a man could easily sit on its back.

“This is strange indeed!” said Urashima; “then. Mr.

Tortoise, with your kind permission I will get on your back.
Dokoisho!”[2] he exclaimed as he jumped on.

[2] “All right” (only used by lower classes).

The tortoise, with an unmoved face, as if this strange

proceeding were quite an ordinary event, said:
 “Now we will set out at our leisure,” and with these
words he leapt into the sea with Urashima on his back. Down
through the water the tortoise dived. For a long time these two
strange companions rode through the sea. Urashima never
grew tired, nor his clothes moist with the water. At last, far
away in the distance a magnificent gate appeared, and behind
the gate, the long, sloping roofs of a palace on the horizon.

“Ya,” exclaimed Urashima. “That looks like the gate of

some large palace just appearing! Mr. Tortoise, can you tell
what that place is we can now see?”

“That is the great gate of the Rin Gin Palace, the large
roof that you see behind the gate is the Sea King’s Palace
itself.”

“Then we have at last come to the realm of the Sea King

and to his Palace,” said Urashima.

“Yes, indeed,” answered the tortoise, “and don’t you think

we have come very quickly?” And while he was speaking the
tortoise reached the side of the gate. “And here we are, and
you must please walk from here.”

The tortoise now went in front, and speaking to the

gatekeeper, said:

“This is Urashima Taro, from the country of Japan. I have

had the honor of bringing him as a visitor to this kingdom.
Please show him the way.”

Then the gatekeeper, who was a fish, at once led the way
through the gate before them.
 The red bream, the flounder, the sole, the cuttlefish, and
all the chief vassals of the Dragon King of the Sea now came
out with courtly bows to welcome the stranger.

“Urashima Sama, Urashima Sama! welcome to the Sea

Palace, the home of the Dragon King of the Sea. Thrice
welcome are you, having come from such a distant country.
And you, Mr. Tortoise, we are greatly indebted to you for all
your trouble in bringing Urashima here.” Then, turning again
to Urashima, they said, “Please follow us this way,” and from
here the whole band of fishes became his guides.

Urashima, being only a poor fisher lad, did not know how
to behave in a palace; but, strange though it was all to him, he
did not feel ashamed or embarrassed, but followed his kind
guides quite calmly where they led to the inner palace. When
he reached the portals a beautiful Princess with her attendant
maidens came out to welcome him. She was more beautiful
than any human being, and was robed in flowing garments of
red and soft green like the under side of a wave, and golden
threads glimmered through the folds of her gown. Her lovely
black hair streamed over her shoulders in the fashion of a
king’s daughter many hundreds of years ago, and when she
spoke her voice sounded like music over the water. Urashima
was lost in wonder while he looked upon her, and he could not
speak. Then he remembered that he ought to bow, but before
he could make a low obeisance the Princess took him by the
hand and led him to a beautiful hall, and to the seat of honor at
the upper end, and bade him be seated.
 “Urashima Taro, it gives me the highest pleasure to
welcome you to my father’s kingdom,” said the Princess.
“Yesterday you set free a tortoise, and I have sent for you to
thank you for saving my life, for I was that tortoise. Now if you
like you shall live here forever in the land of eternal youth,
where summer never dies and where sorrow never comes, and
I will be your bride if you will, and we will live together happily
forever afterwards!”

And as Urashima listened to her sweet words and gazed

upon her lovely face his heart was filled with a great wonder
and joy, and he answered her, wondering if it was not all a
dream:

“Thank you a thousand times for your kind speech. There

is nothing I could wish for more than to be permitted to stay
here with you in this beautiful land, of which I have often
heard, but have never seen to this day. Beyond all words, this
is the most wonderful place I have ever seen.”

While he was speaking a train of fishes appeared, all

dressed in ceremonial, trailing garments. One by one, silently
and with stately steps, they entered the hall, bearing on coral
trays delicacies of fish and seaweed, such as no one can dream
of, and this wondrous feast was set before the bride and
bridegroom. The bridal was celebrated with dazzling splendor,
and in the Sea King’s realm there was great rejoicing. As soon
as the young pair had pledged themselves in the wedding cup
of wine, three times three, music was played, and songs were
sung, and fishes with silver scales and golden tails stepped in
from the waves and danced. Urashima enjoyed himself with all
his heart. Never in his whole life had he sat down to such a
marvelous feast.

When the feast was over the Princes asked the

bridegroom if he would like to walk through the palace and see
all there was to be seen. Then the happy fisherman, following
his bride, the Sea King’s daughter, was shown all the wonders
of that enchanted land where youth and joy go hand in hand
and neither time nor age can touch them. The palace was built
of coral and adorned with pearls, and the beauties and
wonders of the place were so great that the tongue fails to
describe them.

But, to Urashima, more wonderful than the palace was

the garden that surrounded it. Here was to be seen at one time
the scenery of the four different seasons; the beauties of
summer and winter, spring and autumn, were displayed to the
wondering visitor at once.

First, when he looked to the east, the plum and cherry

trees were seen in full bloom, the nightingales sang in the pink
avenues, and butterflies flitted from flower to flower.

Looking to the south all the trees were green in the

fullness of summer, and the day cicala and the night cricket
chirruped loudly.

Looking to the west the autumn maples were ablaze like a

sunset sky, and the chrysanthemums were in perfection.
 Looking to the north the change made Urashima start, for
the ground was silver white with snow, and trees and bamboos
were also covered with snow and the pond was thick with ice.

And each day there were new joys and new wonders for
Urashima, and so great was his happiness that he forgot
everything, even the home he had left behind and his parents
and his own country, and three days passed without his even
thinking of all he had left behind. Then his mind came back to
him and he remembered who he was, and that he did not
belong to this wonderful land or the Sea King’s palace, and he
said to himself:

“O dear! I must not stay on here, for I have an old father

and mother at home. What can have happened to them all this
time? How anxious they must have been these days when I did
not return as usual. I must go back at once without letting one
more day pass.” And he began to prepare for the journey in
great haste.

Then he went to his beautiful wife, the Princess, and

bowing low before her he said:

“Indeed, I have been very happy with you for a long time,
Otohime Sama” (for that was her name), “and you have been
kinder to me than any words can tell. But now I must say good-
by. I must go back to my old parents.”

Then Otohime Sama began to weep, and said softly and

sadly:
 “Is it not well with you here, Urashima, that you wish to
leave me so soon? Where is the haste? Stay with me yet
another day only!”

But Urashima had remembered his old parents, and in

Japan the duty to parents is stronger than everything else,
stronger even than pleasure or love, and he would not be
persuaded, but answered:

“Indeed, I must go. Do not think that I wish to leave you.

It is not that. I must go and see my old parents. Let me go for
one day and I will come back to you.”

“Then,” said the Princess sorrowfully, “there is nothing to

be done. I will send you back to-day to your father and mother,
and instead of trying to keep you with me one more day, I shall
give you this as a token of our love—please take it back with
you;” and she brought him a beautiful lacquer box tied about
with a silken cord and tassels of red silk.

Urashima had received so much from the Princess

already that he felt some compunction in taking the gift, and
said:

“It does not seem right for me to take yet another gift
from you after all the many favors I have received at your
hands, but because it is your wish I will do so,” and then he
added:

“Tell me what is this box?”

“That,” answered the Princess “is the tamate-bako (Box of

the Jewel Hand), and it contains something very precious. You
must not open this box, whatever happens! If you open it
something dreadful will happen to you! Now promise me that
you will never open this box!”

And Urashima promised that he would never, never open

the box whatever happened.

Then bidding good-by to Otohime Sama he went down to

the seashore, the Princess and her attendants following him,
and there he found a large tortoise waiting for him.

He quickly mounted the creature’s back and was carried

away over the shining sea into the East. He looked back to
wave his hand to Otohime Sama till at last he could see her no
more, and the land of the Sea King and the roofs of the
wonderful palace were lost in the far, far distance. Then, with
his face turned eagerly towards his own land, he looked for the
rising of the blue hills on the horizon before him.

At last the tortoise carried him into the bay he knew so

well, and to the shore from whence he had set out. He stepped
on to the shore and looked about him while the tortoise rode
away back to the Sea King’s realm.

But what is the strange fear that seizes Urashima as he

stands and looks about him? Why does he gaze so fixedly at
the people that pass him by, and why do they in turn stand and
look at him? The shore is the same and the hills are the same,
but the people that he sees walking past him have very
different faces to those he had known so well before.
 Wondering what it can mean he walks quickly towards his
old home. Even that looks different, but a house stands on the
spot, and he calls out:

“Father, I have just returned!” and he was about to enter,

when he saw a strange man coming out.

“Perhaps my parents have moved while I have been away,

and have gone somewhere else,” was the fisherman’s thought.
Somehow he began to feel strangely anxious, he could not tell
why.

“Excuse me,” said he to the man who was staring at him,

“but till within the last few days I have lived in this house. My
name is Urashima Taro. Where have my parents gone whom I
left here?”

A very bewildered expression came over the face of the

man, and, still gazing intently on Urashima’s face, he said:

“What? Are you Urashima Taro?”

“Yes,” said the fisherman, “I am Urashima Taro!”

“Ha, ha!” laughed the man, “you must not make such
jokes. It is true that once upon a time a man called Urashima
Taro did live in this village, but that is a story three hundred
years old. He could not possibly be alive now!”

When Urashima heard these strange words he was

frightened, and said:

“Please, please, you must not joke with me, I am greatly

perplexed. I am really Urashima Taro, and I certainly have not
lived three hundred years. Till four or five days ago I lived on
this spot. Tell me what I want to know without more joking,
please.”

But the man’s face grew more and more grave, and he
answered:

“You may or may not be Urashima Taro, I don’t know. But

the Urashima Taro of whom I have heard is a man who lived
three hundred years ago. Perhaps you are his spirit come to
revisit your old home?”

“Why do you mock me?” said Urashima. “I am no spirit! I

am a living man—do you not see my feet;” and “don-don,” he
stamped on the ground, first with one foot and then with the
other to show the man. (Japanese ghosts have no feet.)

“But Urashima Taro lived three hundred years ago, that is

all I know; it is written in the village chronicles,” persisted the
man, who could not believe what the fisherman said.

Urashima was lost in bewilderment and trouble. He stood

looking all around him, terribly puzzled, and, indeed,
something in the appearance of everything was different to
what he remembered before he went away, and the awful
feeling came over him that what the man said was perhaps
true. He seemed to be in a strange dream. The few days he
had spent in the Sea King’s palace beyond the sea had not
been days at all: they had been hundreds of years, and in that
time his parents had died and all the people he had ever
known, and the village had written down his story. There was
no use in staying here any longer. He must get back to his
beautiful wife beyond the sea.

He made his way back to the beach, carrying in his hand

the box which the Princess had given him. But which was the
way? He could not find it alone! Suddenly he remembered the
box, the tamate-bako.

“The Princess told me when she gave me the box never to

open it—that it contained a very precious thing. But now that I
have no home, now that I have lost everything that was dear to
me here, and my heart grows thin with sadness, at such a
time, if I open the box, surely I shall find something that will
help me, something that will show me the way back to my
beautiful Princess over the sea. There is nothing else for me to
do now. Yes, yes, I will open the box and look in!”

And so his heart consented to this act of disobedience,

and he tried to persuade himself that he was doing the right
thing in breaking his promise.

Slowly, very slowly, he untied the red silk cord, slowly and
wonderingly he lifted the lid of the precious box. And what did
he find? Strange to say only a beautiful little purple cloud rose
out of the box in three soft wisps. For an instant it covered his
face and wavered over him as if loath to go, and then it floated
away like vapor over the sea.

Urashima, who had been till that moment like a strong

and handsome youth of twenty-four, suddenly became very,
very old. His back doubled up with age, his hair turned snowy
white, his face wrinkled and he fell down dead on the beach.
 Poor Urashima! because of his disobedience he could
never return to the Sea King’s realm or the lovely Princess
beyond the sea.

Little children, never be disobedient to those who are

wiser than you for disobedience was the beginning of all the
miseries and sorrows of life.

THE BAMBOO-CUTTER AND THE MOON-CHILD

Long, long ago, there lived an old bamboo wood-cutter.

He was very poor and sad also, for no child had Heaven sent to
cheer his old age, and in his heart there was no hope of rest
from work till he died and was laid in the quiet grave. Every
morning he went forth into the woods and hills wherever the
bamboo reared its lithe green plumes against the sky. When he
had made his choice, he would cut down these feathers of the
forest, and splitting them lengthwise, or cutting them into
joints, would carry the bamboo wood home and make it into
various articles for the household, and he and his old wife
gained a small livelihood by selling them.

One morning as usual he had gone out to his work, and

having found a nice clump of bamboos, had set to work to cut
some of them down. Suddenly the green grove of bamboos was
flooded with a bright soft light, as if the full moon had risen
over the spot. Looking round in astonishment, he saw that the
brilliance was streaming from one bamboo. The old man, full of
wonder, dropped his ax and went towards the light. On nearer
approach he saw that this soft splendor came from a hollow in
the green bamboo stem, and still more wonderful to behold, in
the midst of the brilliance stood a tiny human being, only three
inches in height, and exquisitely beautiful in appearance.

“You must be sent to be my child, for I find you here

among the bamboos where lies my daily work,” said the old
man, and taking the little creature in his hand he took it home
to his wife to bring up. The tiny girl was so exceedingly
beautiful and so small, that the old woman put her into a
basket to safeguard her from the least possibility of being hurt
in any way.

The old couple were now very happy, for it had been a
lifelong regret that they had no children of their own, and with
joy they now expended all the love of their old age on the little
child who had come to them in so marvelous a manner.

From this time on, the old man often found gold in the
notches of the bamboos when he hewed them down and cut
them up; not only gold, but precious stones also, so that by
degrees he became rich. He built himself a fine house, and was
no longer known as the poor bamboo woodcutter, but as a
wealthy man.

Three months passed quickly away, and in that time the

bamboo child had, wonderful to say, become a full-grown girl,
so her foster-parents did up her hair and dressed her in
beautiful kimonos. She was of such wondrous beauty that they
placed her behind the screens like a princess, and allowed no
one to see her, waiting upon her themselves. It seemed as if
she were made of light, for the house was filled with a soft
shining, so that even in the dark of night it was like daytime.
Her presence seemed to have a benign influence on those
there. Whenever the old man felt sad, he had only to look upon
his foster-daughter and his sorrow vanished, and he became as
happy as when he was a youth.

At last the day came for the naming of their new-found

child, so the old couple called in a celebrated name-giver, and
he gave her the name of Princess Moonlight, because her body
gave forth so much soft bright light that she might have been a
daughter of the Moon God.

For three days the festival was kept up with song and
dance and music. All the friends and relations of the old couple
were present, and great was their enjoyment of the festivities
held to celebrate the naming of Princess Moonlight. Everyone
who saw her declared that there never had been seen any one
so lovely; all the beauties throughout the length and breadth of
the land would grow pale beside her, so they said. The fame of
the Princess’s loveliness spread far and wide, and many were
the suitors who desired to win her hand, or even so much as to
see her.

Suitors from far and near posted themselves outside the

house, and made little holes in the fence, in the hope of
catching a glimpse of the Princess as she went from one room
to the other along the veranda. They stayed there day and
night, sacrificing even their sleep for a chance of seeing her,
but all in vain. Then they approached the house, and tried to
speak to the old man and his wife or some of the servants, but
not even this was granted them.

Still, in spite of all this disappointment they stayed on day

after day, and night after night, and counted it as nothing, so
great was their desire to see the Princess.

At last, however, most of the men, seeing how hopeless

their quest was, lost heart and hope both, and returned to
their homes. All except five Knights, whose ardor and
determination, instead of waning, seemed to wax greater with
obstacles. These five men even went without their meals, and
took snatches of whatever they could get brought to them, so
that they might always stand outside the dwelling. They stood
there in all weathers, in sunshine and in rain.

Sometimes they wrote letters to the Princess, but no

answer was vouchsafed 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 Princes 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 this 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 roofless 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 lovely foster-daughter married to
one of them. So he went in to Princess Moonlight and said
reverently:

“Although you have always seemed 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 to 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 say 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 this 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 further 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, and 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 whosoever 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 Knight

that she requested him to bring her the stone bowl which had
belonged to Buddha in India.

The Second Knight 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 Knight was told to go to China and search for

the fire-rat and to bring her its skin.

The Fourth Knight 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 Knight 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 tasks given them and returned to their
own homes in despair.
 But after a 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 Knight 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 Knight should have

returned so soon. She took the bowl from its gold wrapping,
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 it at once and refused to see
him. The Knight threw the bowl away and returned to his
home in despair. He gave up now all hopes of ever winning the
Princess.

The Second Knight told his parents that he needed

change of air for his health, for he was ashamed to tell them
that love for the Princess Moonlight 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 half-way, 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 lacquer 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 Knight, 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
Knight, 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 a 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 Knight, who
had now approached the house, and asked where he had 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 at 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 on 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 in the ground. The
wonders of that strange land are 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
raiment, 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
Knight, 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 Knight, but as yet they had received
nothing in payment. So this Knight’s deception was thus found
out, and the Princess, glad of an escape from one more
importunate 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 Knight 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 Knight 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 had 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 Knight and, as

usual, carried it in to her and tried to coax her to see the
Knight 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 crape
wrapper and opened the box, and then threw the skin into 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
Knight failed also.

Now the Fourth Knight was no more enterprising than the

rest. Instead of starting out on the quest of the dragon bearing
on its head the five-color-radiating jewel, he called all his
servants together and gave them the order to seek for it far
and wide in Japan and in 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 Knight 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 Knight 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
Knight 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 that, by the time its fury
abated, the Knight 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 all 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 Knight failed in his quest—he
could not find the swallow’s shell.

By this time the fame of Princess Moonlight’s beauty had

reached the ears of the Emperor, and he sent one of the Court
ladies to see if she were really as lovely as report 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
Princess Moonlight 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
outride. 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 any one 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 radiance. 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
honor 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 a bamboo-cutter’s cottage.

But the Princess stopped him. She said that if she were
forced to go to the Palace she would turn at 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 good-by, 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 any one 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 attendants 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 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.

The 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 inner 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 Emperors 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 for 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 where the thousand men-at-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 round the moon—and while they looked this cloud
began to roll earthwards. Nearer and nearer it came, and
every one saw with dismay that its course lay towards the
house.

In a short time the sky was entirely obscured, till at 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
looked like a king and appeared to be the chief stepped out of
the chariot, and, poised in air, called to the old man to come
out.

“The time has come,” he said, “for Princess Moonlight to

return to the moon from whence 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 bamboos 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 here 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 phial full of the Elixir of Life
which was given the Princess to drink. She swallowed a little
and 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 little. I must not forget my good friend the

Emperor. I must write him once more to say good-by while still
in this human form.”

In spite of the impatience of the messengers and

charioteers she kept them waiting while she wrote. She placed
the phial 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 there is smoke to
be seen rising from the top of Mount Fuji to the clouds.