THE TONGUE-CUT SPARROW

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 of delicious foods, till

the old man began to think he must be dreaming. In the middle of the dinner

some of the sparrow’s daughters performed a wonderful dance, called the

“suzume-odori” or the “Sparrow’s dance,” to amuse

the guest.

Never had the old man enjoyed himself so much. The hours flew by too quickly in

this lovely spot, with all these fairy sparrows to wait upon him and to feast

him and to dance before him.

But the night came on and the darkness reminded him that he had a long way to

go and must think about taking his leave and return home. He thanked his kind

hostess for her splendid entertainment, and begged her for his sake to forget

all she had suffered at the hands of his cross old wife. He told the Lady

Sparrow that it was a great comfort and happiness to him to find her in such a

beautiful home and to know that she wanted for nothing. It was his anxiety to

know how she fared and what had really happened to her that had led him to seek

her. Now he knew that all was well he could return home with a light heart. If

ever she wanted him for anything she had only to send for him and he would come

at once.

The Lady Sparrow begged him to stay and rest several days and enjoy the change,

but the old man said he must return to his old wife—who would probably be

cross at his not coming home at the usual time—and to his work, and

there-fore, much as he wished to do so, he could not accept her kind

invitation. But now that he knew where the Lady Sparrow lived he would come to

see her whenever he had the time.

When the Lady Sparrow saw that she could not persuade the old man to stay

longer, she gave an order to some of her servants, and they at once brought in

two boxes, one large and the other small. These were placed before the old man,

and the Lady Sparrow asked him to choose whichever he liked for a present,

which she wished to give him.

The old man could not refuse this kind proposal, and he chose the smaller box,

saying:

“I am now too old and feeble to carry the big and heavy box. As you are

so kind as to say that I may take whichever I like, I will choose the small

one, which will be easier for me to carry.”

Then the sparrows all helped him put it on his back and went to the gate to see

him off, bidding him good-by with many bows and entreating him to come again

whenever he had the time. Thus the old man and his pet sparrow separated quite

happily, the sparrow showing not the least ill-will for all the unkindness she

had suffered at the hands of the old wife. Indeed, she only felt sorrow for the

old man who had to put up with it all his life.

When the old man reached home he found his wife even crosser than usual, for it

was late on in the night and she had been waiting up for him for a long time.

“Where have you been all this time?” she asked in a big voice.

“Why do you come back so late?”

The old man tried to pacify her by showing her the box of presents he had

brought back with him, and then he told her of all that had happened to him,

and how wonderfully he had been entertained at the sparrow’s house.

“Now let us see what is in the box,” said the old man, not giving

her time to grumble again. “You must help me open it.” And they

both sat down before the box and opened it.

To their utter astonishment they found the box filled to the brim with gold and

silver coins and many other precious things. The mats of their little cottage

fairly glittered as they took out the things one by one and put them down and

handled them over and over again. The old man was overjoyed at the sight of the

riches that were now his. Beyond his brightest expectations was the

sparrow’s gift, which would enable him to give up work and live in ease

and comfort the rest of his days.

He said: “Thanks to my good little sparrow! Thanks to my good little

sparrow!” many times.

But the old woman, after the first moments of surprise and satisfaction at the

sight of the gold and silver were over, could not suppress the greed of her

wicked nature. She now began to reproach the old man for not having brought

home the big box of presents, for in the innocence of his heart he had told her

how he had refused the large box of presents which the sparrows had offered

him, preferring the smaller one because it was light and easy to carry home.

“You silly old man,” said she, “Why did you not bring the

large box? Just think what we have lost. We might have had twice as much silver

and gold as this. You are certainly an old fool!” she screamed, and then

went to bed as angry as she could be.

The old man now wished that he had said nothing about the big box, but it was

too late; the greedy old woman, not contented with the good luck which had so

unexpectedly befallen them and which she so little deserved, made up her mind,

if possible, to get more.

Early the next morning she got up and made the old man describe the way to the

sparrow’s house. When he saw what was in her mind he tried to keep her

from going, but it was useless. She would not listen to one word he said. It is

strange that the old woman did not feel ashamed of going to see the sparrow

after the cruel way she had treated her in cutting off her tongue in a fit of

rage. But her greed to get the big box made her forget everything else. It did

not even enter her thoughts that the sparrows might be angry with her—as,

indeed, they were—and might punish her for what she had done.

Ever since the Lady Sparrow had returned home in the sad plight in which they

had first found her, weeping and bleeding from the mouth, her whole family and

relations had done little else but speak of the cruelty of the old woman.

“How could she,” they asked each other, “inflict such a heavy

punishment for such a trifling offense as that of eating some rice-paste by

mistake?” They all loved the old man who was so kind and good and patient

under all his troubles, but the old woman they hated, and they determined, if

ever they had the chance, to punish her as she deserved. They had not long to

wait.

After walking for some hours the old woman had at last found the bamboo grove

which she had made her husband carefully describe, and now she stood before it

crying out:

“Where is the tongue-cut sparrow’s house? Where is the tongue-cut

sparrow’s house?”

At last she saw the eaves of the house peeping out from amongst the bamboo

foliage. She hastened to the door and knocked loudly.

When the servants told the Lady Sparrow that her old mistress was at the door

asking to see her, she was somewhat surprised at the unexpected visit, after

all that had taken place, and she wondered not a little at the boldness of the

old woman in venturing to come to the house. The Lady Sparrow, however, was a

polite bird, and so she went out to greet the old woman, remembering that she

had once been her mistress.

The old woman intended, however, to waste no time in words, she went right to

the point, without the least shame, and said:

“You need not trouble to entertain me as you did my old man. I have come

myself to get the box which he so stupidly left behind. I shall soon take my

leave if you will give me the big box—that is all I want!”

The Lady Sparrow at once consented, and told her servants to bring out the big

box. The old woman eagerly seized it and hoisted it on her back, and without

even stopping to thank the Lady Sparrow began to hurry homewards.

The box was so heavy that she could not walk fast, much less run, as she would

have liked to do, so anxious was she to get home and see what was inside the

box, but she had often to sit down and rest herself by the way.

While she was staggering along under the heavy load, her desire to open the box

became too great to be resisted. She could wait no longer, for she supposed

this big box to be full of gold and silver and precious jewels like the small

one her husband had received.

At last this greedy and selfish old woman put down the box by the wayside and

opened it carefully, expecting to gloat her eyes on a mine of wealth. What she

saw, however, so terrified her that she nearly lost her senses. As soon as she

lifted the lid, a number of horrible and frightful looking demons bounced out

of the box and surrounded her as if they intended to kill her. Not even in

nightmares had she ever seen such horrible creatures as her much-coveted box

contained. A demon with one huge eye right in the middle of its forehead came

and glared at her, monsters with gaping mouths looked as if they would devour

her, a huge snake coiled and hissed about her, and a big frog hopped and

croaked towards her.

The old woman had never been so frightened in her life, and ran from the spot

as fast as her quaking legs would carry her, glad to escape alive. When she

reached home she fell to the floor and told her husband with tears all that had

happened to her, and how she had been nearly killed by the demons in the box.

Then she began to blame the sparrow, but the old man stopped her at once,

saying:

“Don’t blame the sparrow, it is your wickedness which has at last

met with its reward. I only hope this may be a lesson to you in the

future!”

The old woman said nothing more, and from that day she repented of her cross,

unkind ways, and by degrees became a good old woman, so that her husband hardly

knew her to be the same person, and they spent their last days together

happily, free from want or care, spending carefully the treasure the old man

had received from his pet, the tongue-cut sparrow.

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.