The Boy Who Drew Cats and Other Japanese Fairy Tales Read online

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  DOVER CHILDREN’S THRIFT CLASSICS

  EDITOR OF THIS VOLUME: SUSAN L. RATTINER

  Copyright Copyright © 1998 by Dover Publications, Inc. All rights reserved.

  Bibliographical Note

  The Boy Who Drew Cats and Other Japanese Fairy Tales, first published by Dover Publications, Inc., in 1998, is a new selection of eleven stories originally published in Japanese Fairy Tales, Boni and Liveright, Inc., New York, in 1924. The illustrations have been specially prepared for this edition.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  The boy who drew cats and other Japanese fairy tales / Lafcadio Hearn and others; illustrated by Yuko Green.

  p. cm. — (Dover children’s thrift classics)

  A new selection of eleven stories originally published in Japanese fairy tales by Boni and Liveright, Inc. in 1924. Illustrations have been specially prepared for this ed.

  Contents: Chin-chin kobakama—The goblin-spider—The old woman who lost her dumplings—The boy who drew cats—The silly jelly-fish

  —The fountain of youth—The hare of Inaba—My lord bag-o’-rice—The wooden bowl—The tea-kettle—The Matsuyama mirror.

  9780486159546

  1. Fairy tates—Japan. [1. Fairy tales. 2. Folklore—Japan.]

  I. Hearn, Lafcadio, 1850-1904. Japanese fairy tales. II. Green, Yuko, ill.

  III. Series.

  PZ8.B6455 1998

  398.2’0952—dc21

  98-23379

  CIP

  AC

  Manufactured in the United States by Courier Corporation

  40348304

  www.doverpublications.com

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chin-Chin Kobakama

  The Goblin-Spider

  The Old Woman Who Lost Her Dumplings

  The Boy Who Drew Cats

  The Silly Jelly-Fish

  The Fountain of Youth

  The Hare of Inaba

  My Lord Bag-o’-Rice

  The Wooden Bowl

  The Tea-Kettle

  The Matsuyama Mirror

  A little Japanese girl takes very good care of her doll.

  Chin-Chin Kobakama

  THE FLOOR of a Japanese room is covered with beautiful thick soft mats of woven reeds. They fit very closely together, so that you can just slip a knife-blade between them. They are changed once every year, and are kept very clean. The Japanese never wear shoes in the house, and do not use chairs or furniture such as English people use. They sit, sleep, eat, and sometimes even write upon the floor. So the mats must be kept very clean indeed, and Japanese children are taught, just as soon as they can speak, never to spoil or dirty the mats.

  Now Japanese children are really very good. All travelers, who have written pleasant books about Japan, declare that Japanese children are much more obedient than English children and much less mischievous. They do not spoil and dirty things, and they do not even break their own toys. A little Japanese girl does not break her doll. No, she takes great care of it, and keeps it even after she becomes a woman and is married. When she becomes a mother, and has a daughter, she gives the doll to that little daughter. And the child takes the same care of the doll that her mother did, and preserves it until she grows up, and gives it at last to her own children, who play with it just as nicely as their grandmother did. So 1,—who am writing this little story for you,—have seen in Japan, dolls more than a hundred years old, looking just as pretty as when they were new. This will show you how very good Japanese children are; and you will be able to understand why the floor of a Japanese room is nearly always kept clean,—not scratched and spoiled by mischievous play.

  You ask me whether all, all Japanese children are as good as that? Well—no, there are a few, a very few naughty ones. And what happens to the mats in the houses of these naughty children? Nothing very bad—because there are fairies who take care of the mats. These fairies tease and frighten children who dirty or spoil the mats. At least—they used to tease and frighten such mischievous children. I am not quite sure whether those little fairies still live in Japan,—because the new railways and the telegraph-poles have frightened a great many fairies away. But here is a little story about them:

  Once there was a little girl who was very pretty, but also very lazy. Her parents were rich and had a great many servants; and these servants were very fond of the little girl, and did everything for her which she ought to have been able to do for herself. Perhaps this was what made her so lazy. When she grew up into a beautiful woman, she still remained lazy; but as the servants always dressed and undressed her, and arranged her hair, she looked very charming, and nobody thought about her faults.

  At last she was married to a brave warrior, and went away with him to live in another house where there were but few servants. She was sorry not to have as many servants as she had had at home, because she was obliged to do several things for herself, which other folks had always done for her. It was such trouble to her to dress herself, and take care of her own clothes, and keep herself looking neat and pretty to please her husband. But as he was a warrior, and often had to be far away from home with the army, she could sometimes be just as lazy as she wished. Her husband’s parents were very old and good-natured, and never scolded her.

  Well, one night while her husband was away with the army, she was awakened by queer little noises in her room. By the light of a big paper-lantern she could see very well; and she saw strange things. What?

  Hundreds of little men, dressed just like Japanese warriors, but only about one inch high, were dancing all around her pillow. They wore the same kind of dress her husband wore on holidays (Kamishimo, a long robe with square shoulders), and their hair was tied up in knots, and each wore two tiny swords. They all looked at her as they danced, and laughed, and they all sang the same song, over and over again:

  “Chin-chin Kobakama,

  Yomo fuké sro,

  Oshizumare, Hime-gimi!

  Ya ton ton!”

  Hundreds of little men, only about one inch high,

  were dancing all around her pillow.

  Which meant: “We are the Chin-chin Kobakama; the hour is late; sleep, honorable noble darling!”

  The words seemed very polite; but she soon saw that the little men were only making cruel fun of her. They also made ugly faces at her.

  She tried to catch some of them; but they jumped about so quickly that she could not. Then she tried to drive them away; but they would not go, and they never stopped singing and laughing at her. Then she knew they were little fairies,
and became so frightened that she could not even cry out. They danced around her until morning; then they all vanished suddenly.

  “Chin-chin Kobakama,”

  She was ashamed to tell anybody what had happened—because, as she was the wife of a warrior, she did not wish anybody to know how frightened she had been.

  Next night, again the little men came and danced, and they came also the night after that, and every night—always at the same hour, which the old Japanese used to call the “Hour of the Ox”; that is, about two o’clock in the morning by our time. At last she became very sick, through want of sleep and through fright. But the little men would not leave her alone.

  Her husband, coaxing her gently, asked her what had happened.

  When her husband came back home, he was very sorry to find her sick in bed. At first she was afraid to tell him what had made her ill, for fear that he would laugh at her. But he was so kind, and coaxed her so gently, that after a while she told him what happened every night.

  He did not laugh at her at all, but looked very serious for a time. Then he asked:

  “At what time do they come?”

  She answered: “Always at the same hour—the ‘Hour of the Ox.’ ”

  “Very well,” said her husband, “to-night I shall hide and watch for them. Do not be frightened.”

  So that night the warrior hid himself in a closet in the sleeping room, and kept watch through a chink between the sliding doors.

  He waited and watched until the “Hour of the Ox.” Then, all at once, the little men came up through the mats, and began their dance and their song:—

  “Chin-chin Kobakama,

  Yomo fuké sro. ”

  They looked so queer, and danced in such a funny way, that the warrior could scarcely keep from laughing. But he saw his young wife’s frightened face; and then remembering that nearly all Japanese ghosts and goblins are afraid of a sword, he drew his blade, and rushed out of the closet, and struck at the little dancers. Immediately they all turned into—what do you think?

  Toothpicks!

  There were no more little warriors—only a lot of old toothpicks scattered over the mats.

  The young wife had been too lazy to put her toothpicks away properly; and every day, after having used a new toothpick, she would stick it down between the mats on the floor, to get rid of it. So the little fairies who take care of the floor-mats became angry with her, and tormented her.

  Her husband scolded her, and she was so ashamed that she did not know what to do. A servant was called, and the toothpicks were taken away and burned. After that the little men never came back again.

  There is also a story told about a lazy little girl, who used to eat plums, and afterward hide the plum-stones between the floor-mats. For a long time she was able to do this without being found out. But at last the fairies got angry and punished her.

  For every night, tiny, tiny women—all wearing bright red robes with very long sleeves,—rose up from the floor at the same hour, and danced, and made faces at her and prevented her from sleeping.

  Her mother one night sat up to watch, and saw them, and struck at them,—and they all turned into plum-stones! So the naughtiness of that little girl was found out. After that she became a very good girl indeed.

  The Goblin-Spider

  IN VERY ancient books it is said that there used to be many goblin-spiders in Japan.

  Some folks declare there are still some goblin-spiders. During the daytime they look just like common spiders; but very late at night, when everybody is asleep, and there is no sound, they become very, very big, and do awful things. Goblin-spiders are supposed also to have the magical power of taking human shape—so as to deceive people. And there is a famous Japanese story about such a spider.

  There was once, in some lonely part of the country, a haunted temple. No one could live in the building because of the goblins that had taken possession of it. Many brave samurai went to that place at various times for the purpose of killing the goblins. But they were never heard of again after they had entered the temple.

  At last one who was famous for his courage and his prudence, went to the temple to watch during the night. And he said to those who accompanied him there: “If in the morning I am still alive, I shall drum upon the drum of the temple.” Then he was left alone, to watch by the light of a lamp.

  As the night advanced he crouched down under the altar, which supported a dusty image of Buddha. He saw nothing strange and heard no sound till after midnight. Then there came a goblin, having but half a body and one eye, and said: “Hitokusai!” (There is the smell of a man.) But the samurai did not move. The goblin went away.

  Then there came a goblin, having but half a body and one eye,

  and said: “Hitokusai!”

  Then there came a priest and played upon a samisen so wonderfully that the samurai felt sure it was not the playing of a man. So he leaped up with his sword drawn. The priest, seeing him, burst out laughing, and said: “So you thought I was a goblin? Oh no! I am only the priest of this temple; but I have to play to keep off the goblins. Does not this samisen sound well? Please play a little.”

  And he offered the instrument to the samurai who grasped it very cautiously with his left hand. But instantly the samisen changed into a monstrous spiderweb, and the priest into a goblin-spider; and the warrior found himself caught fast in the web by the left hand. He struggled bravely, and struck at the spider with his sword, and wounded it; but he soon became entangled still more in the net, and could not move.

  However, the wounded spider crawled away, and the sun rose. In a little while the people came and found the samurai in the horrible web, and freed him. They saw tracks of blood upon the floor, and followed the tracks out of the temple to a hole in the deserted garden. Out of the hole issued a frightful sound of groaning. They found the wounded goblin in the hole, and killed it.

  The Old Woman Who Lost Her Dumplings

  LONG, LONG ago there was a funny old woman, who liked to laugh and to make dumplings of rice-flour.

  One day, while she was preparing some dumplings for dinner, she let one fall; and it rolled into a hole in the earthen floor of her little kitchen and disappeared. The old woman tried to reach it by putting her hand down the hole, and all at once the earth gave way, and the old woman fell in.

  She fell quite a distance, but was not a bit hurt; and when she got up on her feet again, she saw that she was standing on a road, just like the road before her house. It was quite light down there; and she could see plenty of rice-fields, but no one in them. How all this happened, I cannot tell you. But it seems that the old woman had fallen into another country.

  The road she had fallen upon sloped very much: so, after having looked for her dumpling in vain, she thought that it must have rolled farther away down the slope. She ran down the road to look, crying:

  “My dumpling, my dumpling! Where is that dumpling of mince?”

  After a little while she saw a stone Jiz standing by the roadside, and she said:

  “O Lord Jiz, did you see my dumpling?” Jiz answered:

  “Yes, I saw your dumpling rolling by me down the road. But you had better not go any farther, because there is a wicked Oni living down there, who eats people.”

  But the old woman only laughed, and ran on further down the road, crying: “My dumpling, my dumpling! Where is that dumpling of mine?” And she came to another statue of Jiz, and asked it:

  “O kind Lord Jiz, did you see my dumpling?”

  And Jiz said:

  “Yes, I saw your dumpling go by a little while ago. But you must not run any further, because there is a wicked Oni down there, who eats people.”

  But she only laughed, and ran on, still crying out: “My dumpling, my dumpling! Where is that dumpling of mine?” And she came to a third Jiz, and asked it:

  “O dear Lord Jiz, did you see my dumpling?”

  But Jiz said:

  “Don’t talk about your dumpling now. Here is the Oni
coming. Squat down here behind my sleeve, and don’t make any noise.”

  Presently the Oni came very close, and stopped and bowed to Jiz, and said:

  “Good-day, Jiz San!”

  Jiz said good-day, too, very politely.

  Then the Oni suddenly snuffed the air two or three times in a suspicious way, and cried out: “Jiz San, Jiz San! I smell a smell of mankind somewhere—don’t you?”

  “Oh!” said Jiz, “perhaps you are mistaken.”

  “No, no!” said the Oni after snuffing the air again, “I smell a smell of mankind.”

  Then the old woman could not help laughing—“Te-he-he! ”—and the Oni immediately reached down his big hairy hand behind Jiz’s sleeve, and pulled her out, still laughing, “Te-he-he!”

  “Ah! ha!” cried the Oni.

  The Oni reached down his big hairy hand and pulled

  the old woman out, still laughing, “Te-he-he!”

  Then Jiz said:

  “What are you going to do with that good old woman? You must not hurt her.”

  “I won’t,” said the Oni. “But I will take her home with me to cook for us.”

  “Te-he-he!” laughed the old woman.

  “Very well,” said Jiz; “but you must really be kind to her. If you are not, I shall be very angry.”

  “I won’t hurt her at all,” promised the Oni; “and she will only have to do a little work for us every day. Good-by, Jiz San.”

  Then the Oni took the old woman far down the road, till they came to a wide deep river, where there was a boat. He put her into the boat, and took her across the river to his house. It was a very large house. He led her at once into the kitchen, and told her to cook some dinner for himself and the other Oni who lived with him. And he gave her a small wooden rice-paddle, and said: