Japanese Fairy World Part 11

However, they laughed and talked and excused themselves from eating, saying they had just lunched.

As the demons drank more and more they grew lively, laughed till the cave echoed, and sang uproarious songs. Every time they grinned, they showed their terrible tusks, and teeth like fangs. All of them had horns, though most of these were very short.

The doji became especially hilarious, and drank the health of every one of his four guests in a skull full of wine. To supply him there was a tub full of sake at hand, and his usual drinking-vessel was a dish which seemed to Tsuma to be as large as a full moon.

Raiko now offered to return the courtesies shown them by dancing "the Kioto dance," for which he was famous. Stepping out into the centre of the hall, with his fan in one hand, he danced gracefully and with such wonderful ease, that the onis screamed with delight, and clapped their hands in applause, saying they had never seen anything to equal it. Even the maidens, lost in admiration of the polished courtier, forgot their sorrow, and felt as happy for the time as though they were at home dancing.

The dance finished, Raiko took from his bosom a bottle of sake, and offered it to the chief demon as a gift, saying it was the best wine of Sakai. The delighted doji drank and gave a sip to each of his lords saying, "This is the best liquor I ever tasted, you must drink the health of our friends in it."

Now Raiko had bought, at the most skillful druggists' in the capital, a powerful sleeping potion, and mixed it with the wine, which made it taste very sweet. In a few minutes all the demons had dropped off asleep, and their snores sounded like the rolling thunder of the mountains.

Then Raiko rose up and gave the signal to his comrades. Whispering to the maidens to leave the room quietly, they drew their swords, and with as little noise as possible cut the throats of the demons. No sound was heard but the gurgling of blood that ran out in floods on the floor. The doji lying like a lion on his cus.h.i.+ons was still sleeping, the snores issuing out of his nose like thunder from a cloud. The four warriors approached him and like loyal va.s.sals as they were, they first turned their faces towards Kioto, reverenced the mikado, and prayed for the blessing of the G.o.ds who made j.a.pan. Raiko then drew near, and measuring the width of the doji's neck with his sword found that it would be short.

Suddenly, the blade lengthened of itself. Then lifting his weapon, he smote with all his might and cut the neck clean through.

In an instant, the b.l.o.o.d.y head flew up in the air gnas.h.i.+ng its teeth and rolling its yellow eyes, while the horns sprouted out to a horrible length, the jaws opening and shutting like the edges of an earthquake fissure. It flew up and whirled round the room seven times. Then with a rush it flew at Raiko's head, and bit through the straw hat and into the iron helmet inside. But this final effort exhausted its strength, it's motions ceased and it fell heavily to the floor.

Anxiously the comrades helped their fallen leader to rise, and examined his head. But he was unhurt,--not a scratch was on him. Then the heroes congratulated each other and after despatching the smaller demons, brought out all the treasure and divided it equally. Then they set the castle on fire and buried the bones of the victims, setting up a stone to mark the spot. All the maidens and captives were a.s.sembled together, and in great state and pomp they returned to Kioto. The virgins were restored to their parents, and many a desolate home was made joyful, and many mourning garments taken off. Raiko was honored by the mikado in being made a kuge (court n.o.ble,) and was appointed Chief of the entire garrison of Kioto. Then all the people were grateful for his valor.

THE SAZAYE AND THE TAI.

Sazaye is a sh.e.l.l-fish, which is very proud of its sh.e.l.l. This is high, full of points like towers, and thick like a castle wall. When feeding, enjoying itself or moving around, its long neck and body are stretched out before it, armed with its hard operculum, which is like an iron s.h.i.+eld, or the end of a battering ram. The operculum fits the entrance to its sh.e.l.l like a trap door. As soon as any danger is near it pulls in its head, and slams itself shut with a loud noise.

On account of the hardness and thickness of his sh.e.l.l, the sazaye is the envy of the soft-bodied fishes that covet his security. But on the other hand the sazaye, though a slow moving creature, is apt to be too proud of his defence and trust too much to his fancied security.

One day a Tai (red fish) and a Herring were looking at the strong sh.e.l.l of the sazaye, and becoming quite envious, the Tai said:

"What a mighty strong castle you do live in, Mr. Sazaye. When you once shut up your sh.e.l.l no one need even try to touch you. You are to be envied sir."

The Sazaye was tickled at the flattery, but pretending to be very humble, shook his head and said:

"It is very kind in you, my lords, to say so, but my little hut is nothing but a sh.e.l.l; yet I must say that when I lock my door I do not feel any anxiety, and I really pity you poor fellows who have no sh.e.l.l at all."

He had hardly got the last word out of his grisly throat, when suddenly there was a great splash, and away darted the tai and herring, never resting their fins or tails a moment till safe out of danger.

The Sazaye drew in his flap in the twinkling of an eye, and keeping as quiet as possible, wondered what the noise was. Was it a stone, or a net, or a fish-hook? He wondered if the tai and herring were caught.

"Surely they must be," thought he. "However I'm safe, thanks to my castle sh.e.l.l," he muttered.

So drawing his trap tighter he took a long nap. When he woke up, quite refreshed, he cautiously loosened his trap and peeped out.

"How strange every thing looks, am I dreaming?" said he as he saw piles of fish, clams, prawns and lobsters lying on a board all around him.

"Ugh, what is that?" clapping himself shut as a great black-nosed and long-whiskered dog poked his muzzle near him.

Poor sh.e.l.l-fis.h.!.+ There he lay in a fishmonger's shop, with a slip of paper marked "ten cash," (1-10 of a cent,) on his back. A few hours later, purchased by a laborer's wife for his dinner, he was stewing along with several of his relative's in his own juice. The castle, of which he was so proud, serving first as a dinner-pot, then as a saucer, after which it was thrown away in a heap and burned into lime.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE FISH STALL IN TOKIO.]

SMELLS AND JINGLES.

Yedo people are very fond of broiled eels. A rich merchant, named Kisaburo, who was very miserly with his money, once moved his quarters next door to the shop of one Kichibei, who caught and cooked eels for a living. During the night Mr. Kichibei caught his stock in trade, and in the day-time served them, smoking hot, to his customers. Cut into pieces three or four inches long, they were laid to sizzle on a grid-iron over red hot charcoal, which was kept in a glow by constant fanning.

Kisaburo, wis.h.i.+ng to save money, and having a strong imagination, daily took his seat at meal time close to his neighbor's door. Eating his boiled rice, and snuffing in the odors of the broiled eels, as they were wafted in, he enjoyed with his nose, what he would not pay for to put in his mouth. In this way, as he flattered himself, he saved much money, and his strong box grew daily heavier.

Kichibei, the eel-broiler, on finding this out, thought he would charge his stingy neighbor for the smell of his eels. So, making out his bill he presented it to Kisaburo, who seemed to be much pleased. He called to his wife to bring his iron-bound money box, which was done. Emptying out the s.h.i.+ning ma.s.s of _kobans_ (oval gold pieces, worth five or six dollars), _ichi-bu_ and _ni-bu_ (square silver pieces, worth a quarter and a half dollar respectively) he jingled the coins at a great rate, and then touching the eel-man's bill with his fan, bowed, low and said with a smile:

[Ill.u.s.tration: A JINGLE FOR A SNIFF.]

"All right, neighbor Kichibei, we are square now."

"What!" cried the eel-frier, "are you not going to pay me?"

"Why yes, I have paid you. You have charged me for the smell of your eels, and I have paid you with the sound of my money."

THE LAKE OF THE LUTE AND THE MATCHLESS MOUNTAIN.

Of all the beautiful objects in "the land of the holy G.o.ds," as the j.a.panese call their country, none are more beautiful than Fuji Mountain and Lake Biwa. The one is a great cone of white snow, the other is a sheet of heaven-blue water, in shape like a lute with four strings.

Sweeping from twenty square leagues of s.p.a.ce out of the plain and rising twelve thousand feet in air, Fuji, or Fusi Yama, casts its sunset shadow far out on the ocean, and from fourteen provinces gleams the splendor of its snowy crest. It sits like a king on his throne in the heart of Suruga Province.

One hundred and thirty miles to the west as the crane wings her flight, in the heart of Omi, is Biwa Ko, the lake of the lute. It is sixty miles long and as blue as the sky whose mirror it is. Along its banks rise white-walled castles and stretch mulberry plantations. On its bosom rise wooded islands, white, but not with frost; for thousands of herons nestle on the branches of the trees, like lilies on their stems. Down under the blue depths, say the people, is the Dragon shrine (Riu Gu), where dwell the dragon-helmed Kai Riu O, and his consort, the sh.e.l.l-crowned Queen of the World Under the Sea.

Why do the pilgrims from all over the empire exclaim joyfully, while climbing Fuji's cinder-beds and lava-blocks, "I am a man of Omi"? Why, when quenching their thirst with the melted snow-water of Fuji crater, do they cry out "I am drinking from Lake Biwa"? Why do the children clap their hands, as they row or sail over Biwa's blue surface, and say: "I am on top of Fuji Yama"?

To these questions the j.a.panese legend gives answer.

When Heaven and earth were first created, there was neither Lake of Biwa nor Mountain of Fuji. Suruga and Omi were both plains. Even for long after men inhabited j.a.pan and the Mikados had ruled for centuries there was neither earth so nigh to heaven nor water so close to the Under-world as the peaks of Fuji and the bottom of Biwa. Men drove the plow and planted the rice over the very spot where crater and deepest depth now are.

But one night in the ancient times there was a terrible earthquake. All the world shook, the clouds lowered to the earth, floods of water poured from the sky, and a sound like the fighting of a myriad of dragons filled the air. In the morning all was serene and calm. The sky was blue. The earth was as bright and all was as "white-faced" as when the sun G.o.ddess first came out from her hiding in the cave.

The people of Omi awoke, scarce expecting to find either earth or heaven, when lo! they looked on what had yesterday been tilled land or barren moor, and there was a great sheet of blue. Was it sky? Had a sheet of the "blue field of heaven" fallen down? Was it the ocean? They came near it, tasted it. It was fresh and sweet as a fountain-rill. They looked at it from the hill-tops, and, seeing its outline, called it "the lake of the four-stringed lute." Others, proud of their new possession, named it the Lake of Omi.

Greater still was the surprise of the Suruga people. The sailors, far out at sea, rubbed their eyes and wondered at the strange shape of the towering white cloud. Was it the Iwakura, the eternal throne of Heaven, come down to rest on earth out of the many piled white clouds of heaven?