Japanese Fairy Tales
Then Hidesato called to the Dragon King to come out with him on the
balcony, for the centipede was dead and he had nothing more to fear.
Then all the inhabitants of the palace came out with joy, and Hidesato
pointed to the lake. There lay the body of the dead centipede floating
on the water, which was dyed red with its blood.
The gratitude of the Dragon King knew no bounds. The whole family came
and bowed down before the warrior, calling him their preserver and the
bravest warrior in all Japan.
Another feast was prepared, more sumptuous than the first. All kinds of
fish, prepared in every imaginable way, raw, stewed, boiled and
roasted, served on coral trays and crystal dishes, were put before him,
and the wine was the best that Hidesato had ever tasted in his life. To
add to the beauty of everything the sun shone brightly, the lake
glittered like a liquid diamond, and the palace was a thousand times
more beautiful by day than by night.
His host tried to persuade the warrior to stay a few days, but Hidesato
insisted on going home, saying that he had now finished what he had
come to do, and must return. The Dragon King and his family were all
very sorry to have him leave so soon, but since he would go they begged
him to accept a few small presents (so they said) in token of their
gratitude to him for delivering them forever from their horrible enemy
the centipede.
As the warrior stood in the porch taking leave, a train of fish was
suddenly transformed into a retinue of men, all wearing ceremonial
robes and dragon’s crowns on their heads to show that they were
servants of the great Dragon King. The presents that they carried were
as follows:
First, a large bronze bell.
Second, a bag of rice.
Third, a roll of silk.
Fourth, a cooking pot.
Fifth, a bell.
Hidesato did not want to accept all these presents, but as the Dragon
King insisted, he could not well refuse.
The Dragon King himself accompanied the warrior as far as the bridge,
and then took leave of him with many bows and good wishes, leaving the
procession of servants to accompany Hidesato to his house with the
presents.
The warrior’s household and servants had been very much concerned when
they found that he did not return the night before, but they finally
concluded that he had been kept by the violent storm and had taken
shelter somewhere. When the servants on the watch for his return caught
sight of him they called to every one that he was approaching, and the
whole household turned out to meet him, wondering much what the retinue
of men, bearing presents and banners, that followed him, could mean.
As soon as the Dragon King’s retainers had put down the presents they
vanished, and Hidesato told all that had happened to him.
The presents which he had received from the grateful Dragon King were
found to be of magic power. The bell only was ordinary, and as Hidesato
had no use for it he presented it to the temple near by, where it was
hung up, to boom out the hour of day over the surrounding neighborhood.
The single bag of rice, however much was taken from it day after day
for the meals of the knight and his whole family, never grew less—the
supply in the bag was inexhaustible.
The roll of silk, too, never grew shorter, though time after time long
pieces were cut off to make the warrior a new suit of clothes to go to
Court in at the New Year.
The cooking pot was wonderful, too. No matter what was put into it, it
cooked deliciously whatever was wanted without any firing—truly a very
economical saucepan.
The fame of Hidesato’s fortune spread far and wide, and as there was no
need for him to spend money on rice or silk or firing, he became very
rich and prosperous, and was henceforth known as My Lord Bag of Rice.
THE TONGUE-CUT SPARROW
Long, long ago in Japan there lived an old man and his wife. The old
man was a good, kind-hearted, hard-working old fellow, but his wife was
a regular cross-patch, who spoiled the happiness of her home by her
scolding tongue. She was always grumbling about something from morning
to night. The old man had for a long time ceased to take any notice of
her crossness. He was out most of the day at work in the fields, and as
he had no child, for his amusement when he came home, he kept a tame
sparrow. He loved the little bird just as much as if she had been his
child.
When he came back at night after his hard day’s work in the open air it
was his only pleasure to pet the sparrow, to talk to her and to teach
her little tricks, which she learned very quickly. The old man would
open her cage and let her fly about the room, and they would play
together. Then when supper-time came, he always saved some tit-bits
from his meal with which to feed his little bird.
Now one day the old man went out to chop wood in the forest, and the
old woman stopped at home to wash clothes. The day before, she had made
some starch, and now when she came to look for it, it was all gone; the
bowl which she had filled full yesterday was quite empty.
While she was wondering who could have used or stolen the starch, down
flew the pet sparrow, and bowing her little feathered head—a trick
which she had been taught by her master—the pretty bird chirped and
said:
“It is I who have taken the starch. I thought it was some food put out
for me in that basin, and I ate it all. If I have made a mistake I beg
you to forgive me! tweet, tweet, tweet!”
You see from this that the sparrow was a truthful bird, and the old
woman ought to have been willing to forgive her at once when she asked
her pardon so nicely. But not so.
The old woman had never loved the sparrow, and had often quarreled with
her husband for keeping what she called a dirty bird about the house,
saying that it only made extra work for her. Now she was only too
delighted to have some cause of complaint against the pet. She scolded
and even cursed the poor little bird for her bad behavior, and not
content with using these harsh, unfeeling words, in a fit of rage she
seized the sparrow—who all this time had spread out her wings and bowed
her head before the old woman, to show how sorry she was—and fetched
the scissors and cut off the poor little bird’s tongue.
“I suppose you took my starch with that tongue! Now you may see what it
is like to go without it!” And with these dreadful words she drove the
bird away, not caring in the least what might happen to it and without
the smallest pity for its suffering, so unkind was she!
The old woman, after she had driven the sparrow away, made some more
rice-paste, grumbling all the time at the trouble, and after starching
all her clothes, spread the things on boards to dry in the sun, instead
of ironing them as they do in England.
In the evening the old man came home. As usual, on the way back he
looked forward to the time when he should reach his gate and see his
pet come flying and chirping to meet him, ruffling out her feathers to
show her joy, and at last coming to rest on his shoulder. But to-night
the old man was very disappointed, for not even the shadow of his dear
sparrow was to be seen.
He quickened his steps, hastily drew off his straw sandals, and stepped
on to the veranda. Still no sparrow was to be seen. He now felt sure
that his wife, in one of her cross tempers, had shut the sparrow up in
its cage. So he called her and said anxiously:
“Where is Suzume San (Miss Sparrow) today?”
The old woman pretended not to know at first, and answered:
“Your sparrow? I am sure I don’t know. Now I come to think of it, I
haven’t seen her all the afternoon. I shouldn’t wonder if the
ungrateful bird had flown away and left you after all your petting!”
But at last, when the old man gave her no peace, but asked her again
and again, insisting that she must know what had happened to his pet,
she confessed all. She told him crossly how the sparrow had eaten the
rice-paste she had specially made for starching her clothes, and how
when the sparrow had confessed to what she had done, in great anger she
had taken her scissors and cut out her tongue, and how finally she had
driven the bird away and forbidden her to return to the house again.
Then the old woman showed her husband the sparrow’s tongue, saying:
“Here is the tongue I cut off! Horrid little bird, why did it eat all
my starch?”
“How could you be so cruel? Oh! how could you so cruel?” was all that
the old man could answer. He was too kind-hearted to punish his be
shrew of a wife, but he was terribly distressed at what had happened to
his poor little sparrow.
“What a dreadful misfortune for my poor Suzume San to lose her tongue!”
he said to himself. “She won’t be able to chirp any more, and surely
the pain of the cutting of it out in that rough way must have made her
ill! Is there nothing to be done?”
The old man shed many tears after his cross wife had gone to sleep.
While he wiped away the tears with the sleeve of his cotton robe, a
bright thought comforted him: he would go and look for the sparrow on
the morrow. Having decided this he was able to go to sleep at last.
The next morning he rose early, as soon as ever the day broke, and
snatching a hasty breakfast, started out over the hills and through the
woods, stopping at every clump of bamboos to cry:
“Where, oh where does my tongue-cut sparrow stay? Where, oh where, does
my tongue-cut sparrow stay!”
He never stopped to rest for his noonday meal, and it was far on in the
afternoon when he found himself near a large bamboo wood. Bamboo groves
are the favorite haunts of sparrows, and there sure enough at the edge
of the wood he saw his own dear sparrow waiting to welcome him. He
could hardly believe his eyes for joy, and ran forward quickly to greet
her. She bowed her little head and went through a number of the tricks
her master had taught her, to show her pleasure at seeing her old
friend again, and, wonderful to relate, she could talk as of old. The
old man told her how sorry he was for all that had happened, and
inquired after her tongue, wondering how she could speak so well
without it. Then the sparrow opened her beak and showed him that a new
tongue had grown in place of the old one, and begged him not to think
any more about the past, for she was quite well now. Then the old man
knew that his sparrow was a fairy, and no common bird. It would be
difficult to exaggerate the old man’s rejoicing now. He forgot all his
troubles, he forgot even how tired he was, for he had found his lost
sparrow, and instead of being ill and without a tongue as he had feared
and expected to find her, she was well and happy and with a new tongue,
and without a sign of the ill-treatment she had received from his wife.
And above all she was a fairy.
The sparrow asked him to follow her, and flying before him she led him
to a beautiful house in the heart of the bamboo grove. The old man was
utterly astonished when he entered the house to find what a beautiful
place it was. It was built of the whitest wood, the soft cream-colored
mats which took the place of carpets were the finest he had ever seen,
and the cushions that the sparrow brought out for him to sit on were
made of the finest silk and crape. Beautiful vases and lacquer boxes
adorned the tokonoma[1] of every room.
[1] An alcove where precious objects are displayed.
The sparrow led the old man to the place of honor, and then, taking her
place at a humble distance, she thanked him with many polite bows for
all the kindness he had shown her for many long years.
Then the Lady Sparrow, as we will now call her, introduced all her
family to the old man. This done, her daughters, robed in dainty crape
gowns, brought in on beautiful old-fashioned trays a feast of all kinds