Some thought they had lost their reckoning; but were a.s.sured when they recognized familiar landmarks on sh.o.r.e. Many a cottager woke up to find his house, which lay in a valley the day before, was now far up on the slope, with the distant villages and the sea visible; while far, far above shone the snowy head of a mountain, whose crown lay in the blue sky. At night the edges of the peak, like white fingers, seemed to pluck the stars from the Milky Way.
"What shall we call this new-born child of the G.o.ds?" said the people.
And various names were proposed.
"There is no other mountain so beautiful in all the earth, there"s not its equal anywhere; therefore call it Fuji, (no two such), the peerless, the matchless mountain," said one.
"It is so tall, so comely, so grand, call it Fuji, (rich scholar, the lordly mountain)," said another.
"Call it Fuji, (never dying, the immortal mountain)," said a third.
"Call it, after the festal flower of joy, Fuji" (Wistaria) said another, as he decked the peak of his hat with the drooping cl.u.s.ters of the tender blue blossom. "It looks blue and purple in the distance, just like the fuji flower." Various as the meanings of the name were, they sounded all alike to the ear. So, without any quarreling, all agreed to call it Fuji and each to choose his own meaning. To this day, though many a learned dispute and the scratching of the written character on the sand with walking stick, or on paper with pencil, or on the palm of the hand with forefinger takes place, all p.r.o.nounce the name alike as they rave on the beauties of Fuji Yama.
So went forth into the countries bounding "the four seas" the belief that there was a white mountain of perfect form in j.a.pan, and that whoever ascended it would live long and even attain immortality; and that somewhere on the mountain was hidden the elixir of immortality, which if any one drank he would live forever. Now in one of the kingdoms of far-off China there lived a rich old king, who had abundance of treasures, health, and many children. But he did not wish to die, and, hence, spent his days in studying the lore and arts of the alchemists, who believed they would finally attain to the trans.m.u.tation of lead into gold, find the universal solvent of all things, the philosophers" stone, the elixir of life, and all the wondrous secrets which men in Europe long afterward labored to discover.
Among the king"s sages was one old man of mighty wisdom, who had heard of the immortal mountain of j.a.pan, and, learning of the manner of its appearance, concluded that the j.a.pan Archipelago contained the Fortunate Isles and in it was the true elixir of life. He divulged his secret to the king, and advised him to make the journey to the Land of the Rising Sun.
Overjoyed at the good news and the faithfulness of his loyal sage, the king loaded him with gifts and honors. He selected five hundred of the most beauteous youths and virgins of his kingdom, and, fitting out a fleet, sailed away to the Happy Isles of the East. Coasting along the sh.o.r.e until they recognized the glorious form of the mountain, they landed and began the ascent. Alas! for the poor king. The rough sea and severe storms had worn on his aged frame and the fatigues of the ascent were so great, that before reaching the top he fainted away, and before the head of the procession had set foot on the crater edge the monarch was dead. Sadly they gave up the search for the elixir of life, and, descending the mountain, buried their master in the Province of Kii.
Then, in their exuberance of youth and joy, thinking little of the far future and wishing to enjoy the present, they separated in couples, married, and, disposing of their ship and cargo, settled in the country, and colonized the eastern part of j.a.pan.
Long afterward, when Buddhist believers came to j.a.pan, one of them, climbing Fuji, noticed that around its sunken crater were eight peaks, like the petals of their sacred lotus flower. Thus, it seemed to them, Great Buddha had honored j.a.pan, by bestowing the sacred symbol of Nirvana, or Heaven, on the proudest and highest part of j.a.pan. So they also named it Fuji, "the sacred mountain"; and to this day all the world calls this sacred mountain Fuji, or Fusi Yama, while the j.a.panese people believe that the earth which sunk in Omi is the same which, piled to the clouds, is the lordly mountain of Suruga.
THE WATERFALL OF YORO, OR THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH.
Long, long, ago, when the oldest stork was young, there lived an aged woodcutter and his son on the slopes of the mountain Tagi, in the province of Mino. They gained a frugal livelihood by cutting brushwood on the hill-side, and carrying it in bundles on their back to sell in the nearest market town; for they were too poor to own an ox. With the money thus received they bought rice and radishes, their daily food.
Only once or twice a year, at New Year"s and on the mikado"s birthday, could they afford to treat themselves to a mess of bean-curd or fresh fish. Yet the old man was very fond of rice-wine, and every week bought a gourd full to keep his old blood warm.
As the years rolled on the aged father"s limbs became so stiff that he was unable any longer to climb the mountains. So his son, now grown to be a st.u.r.dy man, cut nearly double the quant.i.ty of wood and thus kept the family larder full. The old man was so proud of his son that he daily stood at sunset in front of his rustic gate to welcome him back. And to see the old daddy and the young stripling remove their headkerchiefs, and bow with hands on knees in polite fashion, bending their backs and sucking in their breath, out of respect to each other, and to hear them inquiring after one another"s health, showering mutual compliments all the time, one would have thought they had not seen each other for eight years, instead of eight hours.
One winter the snow fell long and thick, until all the ground in field and forest was covered several feet over. The bamboo branches bent with their weight of white, the pine boughs broke under their load, and even the stone idols along the wayside were covered up. At first, even with the hardest work, the young woodcutter could scarcely get and sell wood to buy enough food to keep them both alive. He often went hungry himself, so that his father might have his warm wine.
One day he went by another path up one of the mountain dells with his rope basket strapped to his back, and the empty gourd-bottle at his belt.
While gloomily grieving over his hard luck, the faint odor of rice-wine seemed borne on the breeze.
He snuffed the air. It was no mistake. "Here"s luck, surely," said he, throwing down his bundle.
Hurrying forward he saw a foaming waterfall tumbling over the rocks in a thick stream.
As he drew near, some of the spray fell on his tongue. He tasted it, smacked his lips and throwing down his cord and basket to the ground, filled his gourd and hastened home to his father.
Every day, till the end of his father"s life, did he come to this wonderful cascade of wine, and thus the old man was nourished for many a long year.
The news of this fountain of youth spread abroad until it reached the court. The mikado, hearing of it, made a journey to Mino to see the wonderful waterfall. In honor of this event, and as a reward of filial piety, the name of the year-period was changed to Yoro, (Nourishing Old Age).
To this day, many people young and old go out to enjoy picnic parties at the foot of the waterfall; which now, however, runs honest water only, which makes the cheeks red; and not the wonderful wine that once tipped the old daddy"s nose with perpetual vermilion.
THE EARTHQUAKE FISH.
Mukashi, mukashi, (as most j.a.panese stories begin), long, long ago, when the G.o.ds came down from heaven to subdue the earth for the mikados, and civilize the country, there were a great many earthquakes, and nothing to stop them. The world continually rocked, and men"s houses and lives were never safe.
Now the two G.o.ds who were charged with the work of subduing the northeastern part of the world were Kashima and Katori. Having done their work well, and quieted all the enemies of the Sun-G.o.ddess, they came to the province of Hitachi. Kashima, sticking his sword into the earth, ran it through to the other side, leaving the hilt above the ground. In the course of centuries this mighty sword shrunk and turned to stone, and the people gave it the name of _Kaname ishi_, (The rock of Kaname).
Now Kaname means the rivet in a fan, that holds all the sticks together, and they gave the name "rivet-rock," because it is the rivet that binds the earth together. No one could ever lift this rock except Kashima the mighty one who first set it in the earth.
Yet even Kashima never raises it, except to stop an earthquake of unusual violence. When the earth quivers, it is because the great earthquake-fish or _jishin-uwo_ is restless or angry. This _jishin-uwo_ is a great creature something like a catfish. It is about seven hundred miles long, and holds the world on its back. Its tail is at Awomori in the north, and the base of its head is at Kioto, so that all j.a.pan lies on top of it. To his mouth are attached huge twirling feelers, which are just like the hideous moustaches which the hairy-faced men from beyond the _Tai-kai_ (Pacific Ocean) wear on their lips. As soon as these begin to move, it is a sign that the monster is in wrath. When he gets angry, and flaps his tail or b.u.mps his head, there is an earthquake. When he flounders about or rolls over, there is terrible destruction of life and property on the surface of the earth above.
In order to keep the earthquake-fish quiet, the great giant Kashima is appointed to watch him. His business is to stand near by, and when the monster becomes violent Kashima must jump up and straddle him, and hold his gills, put his foot on his fin; and when necessary lift up the great rock of Kaname and hold him down with its weight. Then he becomes perfectly quiet, and the earthquake ceases. Hence the people sing this earthquake verse:
"No monster can move the Kaname rock Though he tug at it never so hard, For over it stands, resisting the shock, The Kashima Kami on guard."
Another verse they sing as follows:
"These are things An earthquake brings; At nine of the bell they sickness fortell, At five and seven betoken rain, At four the sky is cleared thereby, At six and eight comes wind again."
THE DREAM STORY OF GOJIRO.
Only a few years ago there was a gentleman in f.u.kui, j.a.pan, who had a son, a bright lad of twelve, who was very diligent at school and had made astonishing progress in his studies. He was especially quick at learning Chinese characters, of which every j.a.panese gentleman who wishes to be called educated must know at least two thousand. For, although the Chinese and j.a.panese are two very different languages, yet the j.a.panese, Coreans and Chinese use the same letters to write with, just as English, Germans, French and Spaniards all employ one and the same alphabet.
Now Gojiro"s father had promised him that when he read through five volumes of the Nihongi, or Ancient History of j.a.pan, he would give him for a present a book of wonderful Chinese stories. Gojiro performed his task, and his father kept his promise. One day on his return from a journey to Kioto, he presented his son with sixteen volumes, all neatly silk-bound, well ill.u.s.trated with wood-cuts, and printed clearly on thin, silky mulberry paper, from the best wooden blocks. It will be remembered that several volumes of j.a.panese literature make but one of ours, as they are much lighter and thinner than ours.
Gojiro was so delighted with the wonderful stories of heroes and warriors, travelers and sailors, that he almost felt himself in China. He read far into the night, with the lamp inside of his musquito curtain; and finally fell asleep, still undressed, but with his head full of all sorts of Chinese wonders.
He dreamed he was far away in China, walking along the banks of the great Yellow River. Everything was very strange. The people talked an entirely different language from his own; had on different clothes; and, instead of the nice shaven head and top-knot of the j.a.panese, every one wore a long pigtail of hair, that dangled at his heels. Even the boats were of a strange form, and on the fishing smacks perched on projecting rails, sat rows of cormorants, each with a ring around his neck. Every few minutes one of them would dive under the water, and after a while come struggling up with a fish in its mouth, so big that the fishermen had to help the bird into the boat. The game was then flung into a basket, and the cormorant was treated to a slice of raw fish, by way of encouragement and to keep the bird from the bad habit of eating the live fish whole.
This the ravenous bird would sometimes try to do, even though the ring was put around his neck for the express purpose of preventing him from gulping down a whole fish at once.
It was springtime, and the buds were just bursting into flower. The river was full of fish, especially of carp, ascending to the great rapids or cascades. Here the current ran at a prodigious rate of swiftness, and the waters rippled and boiled and roared with frightful noise. Yet, strange to say, many of the fish were swimming up the stream as if their lives depended on it. They leaped and floundered about; but every one seemed to be tossed back and left exhausted in the river, where they panted and gasped for breath in the eddies at the side. Some were so bruised against the rocks that, after a few spasms, they floated white and stiff, belly up, on the water, dead, and were swept down the stream. Still the shoal leaped and strained every fin, until their scales flashed in the sun like a host of armored warriors in battle. Gojiro, enjoying it as if it were a real conflict of wave and fishes, clapped his hands with delight.
Then Gojiro inquired, by means of writing, of an old white-bearded sage standing by and looking on: "What is the name of this part of the river?"
"We call it Lung Men," said the sage.
"Will you please write the characters for it," said Gojiro, producing his ink-case and brush-pen, with a roll of soft mulberry paper.