Two Untitled Poems by José Thiesen (in Portuguese)

Sempre que tento fugir d'estar só,
encontro solidão e dor - sempre.
Melhor, então, só ficar e contente,
sonhar um amor sempre feliz.

**ª

Amanhece tarde
um sol vermelho.
O frio da manhã
que tarda, bate em
meus olhos e choro.
Corvos crocitam
na tardia manhã fria
e o sol vermelho
esparrama sombras
pelo mundo grande.

"Lighthouse of the Posessed" by Don McGregor (in English)

 art Tom Sutton - Vampire Tales #4 - Marvel, January 1974.

 

"O Sacerdote Orgilhoso" by Unknown Writer (in Portuguese)

Em velhos dias, havia na Irlanda grandes escolas, nas quais toda sorte de conhecimentos eram ministrados ao povo, e mesmo os mais pobres tinham mais instrução naquela época do que têm hoje os cavalheiros.

            Mas, no que se refere aos sacerdotes, sua instrução era das muito altas, de forma que a fama da Irlanda correu todo o mundo, e vários reis de terras estrangeiras costumavam mandar seus filhos até a Irlanda para serem educados nas escolas irlandesas.

            Naquele tempo havia um meninozinho que freqüentava uma dessas escolas, e era uma maravilha para quantos o conheciam, pela sua inteligência.

            Seus pais não passavam de pobres trabalhadores. Apesar de jovem e pobre, nem filho de rei nem filho de senhor poderia competir com ele em instrução. Os próprios mestres sentiam-se envergonhados, pois quando estavam tentando ensinar-lhe, o menino dizia-lhes coisas que eles jamais tinham ouvido antes, mostrando assim a ignorância deles.

            Um de seus grandes sucessos era a argumentação. Ele insistia até provar que o preto era branco, o que levava o interlocutor a desistir, pois ninguém conseguia derrotá-lo na conversa.

            Depois ele dava voltas, e mostrava que o branco era preto, ou mesmo que no mundo não havia cor alguma. Quando cresceu, seus pobres pais tornaram-se tão orgulhosos dele que resolveram fazê-lo sacerdote. Conseguiram-no finalmente, embora quase morressem de fome para arranjar o dinheiro.

            Não havia na Irlanda outro homem assim instruído, e continuava a ser grande argumentador, como sempre, de forma que ninguém podia enfrentá-lo. Mesmo os bispos tentaram conversar com ele, mas imediatamente o sacerdote mostrou-lhes que eles nada sabiam.

            Naquele tempo não havia professores leigos, e eram os sacerdotes que instruíam o povo. Sendo aquele homem o mais inteligente da Irlanda, todos os reis estrangeiros mandaram-lhe seus filhos.

            Assim, o homem fez-se muito orgulhoso, e começou a esquecer de quão baixo viera, e — pior do que tudo — a esquecer mesmo Deus, que fizera dele o que era.

            A vaidade de argumentar dominou-o, de forma que, passando de uma coisa para outra, chegou ele a provar que não havia Purgatório, e portanto não havia Inferno, e portanto não havia Céu, e portanto não havia Deus.

            Por fim, declarou que os homens não tinham alma, não eram mais do que um cão ou uma vaca, e terminavam quando morriam.

            — Quem já viu uma alma? — dizia ele. — Se alguém puder mostrar-me uma, eu acreditarei.

            Ninguém poderia dar resposta a tais palavras. Por fim, terminaram todos por acreditar que não havia outro mundo, e que toda a gente podia fazer aqui quanto entendesse.

            Ele mesmo deu o exemplo, pois tomou uma bela jovem por esposa. Mas, como não encontrou em todo o país sacerdote ou bispo que o casasse, foi obrigado a oficiar o seu próprio casamento. Foi aquilo um grande escândalo, entretanto ninguém ousou dizer uma palavra, pois todos os filhos de reis estavam do lado dele, e teriam matado quem quer que tentasse impedir aqueles atos errados.

            Pobres rapazes! Acreditavam nele, e supunham que todas as suas palavras fossem verdadeiras. Dessa maneira, aqueles pontos de vista começaram a espalhar-se.

            O mundo todo ia pelo mau caminho, quando uma noite um anjo desceu do Céu e disse ao padre que lhe restavam apenas vinte e quatro horas de vida.

            Ele começou a tremer, e pediu mais um bocadinho de tempo. Mas o anjo foi rígido, e disse-lhe que tal coisa não poderia ser.

— Para que desejas tempo, pecador? — perguntou ele.

— Oh! Senhor, tem piedade de minha pobre alma! — insistiu o sacerdote.

— Oh! não! Então tens uma alma? — perguntou o anjo. — Dize-me, por favor: como foi que descobriste isso?

— Ela tem estado adejando em mim, desde que apareceste. Que louco fui em não pensar antes nisso.

— Realmente, um louco — respondeu o anjo. — De que adiantava toda a tua instrução, se não sabias que eras dono de uma alma?

— Ah! meu senhor, se tenho que morrer, dize-me quando chegarei ao Céu.

— Nunca! Negaste a existência de um Céu.

— Então, meu senhor, poderei ir para o Purgatório?

— Também negaste a existência de um Purgatório. Deves ir diretamente para o Inferno.

— Mas, meu senhor, também neguei a existência do Inferno — respondeu o sacerdote — e dessa forma para ali também não me podes mandar.

            O anjo ficou um tantinho perplexo.

— Bem — disse ele — vou contar-te o que posso fazer por ti. Poderás agora viver na Terra durante cem anos, gozando de todos os prazeres, e depois ser atirado ao Inferno, pela eternidade. Ou podes morrer dentro de vinte e quatro horas, entre os mais horríveis tormentos, e passar através do Purgatório, ali ficando até o Dia do Julgamento. Isso, se puderes encontrar uma pessoa que acredite. Através dessa crença, a misericórdia te será concedida, e tua alma se salvará.

            O sacerdote não levou cinco minutos a resolver.

— Prefiro a morte dentro de vinte e quatro horas — disse ele — para que assim minha alma seja finalmente salva.

            Ouvindo isso, o anjo instruiu-o sobre o que devia fazer, e deixou-o.

            Imediatamente o sacerdote entrou numa grande sala, onde todos os letrados e os filhos de reis estavam reunidos, e disse-lhes:

— Dizei-me a verdade, e não temais contradizer-me. Dizei-me qual é a vossa crença: os homens têm almas?

— Mestre — responderam eles — houve um tempo em que acreditávamos que os homens tivessem alma, mas graças aos teus ensinamentos, já não cremos nisso. Não há Inferno, não há Céu e não há Deus. Esta é a nossa crença, pois foi assim que nos ensinaste.

            Então o sacerdote ficou lívido de pavor, e exclamou:

— Ouçam! Eu vos ensinei uma mentira! Há um Deus, e o homem tem uma alma imortal. Acredito agora em tudo que antes neguei.

            Mas as gargalhadas elevaram-se, dominando a voz do sacerdote, pois pensaram que ele apenas os estivesse provocando, para que argumentassem sobre o assunto.

— Prova isso, mestre — exclamaram. — Prova isso. Quem jamais viu Deus? Quem jamais viu a alma?

            E o aposento estremecia com as risadas. O sacerdote levantou-se para responder-lhes, mas não conseguiu dizer uma só palavra. Toda a sua eloqüência, todo o seu poder de argumentação o haviam abandonado, e ele nada mais pôde fazer senão torcer as mãos e gritar:

— Há um Deus! Há um Deus! O Senhor tenha piedade de minha alma!

            Todos começaram a zombar dele e a repetir as próprias palavras que o sacerdote lhes ensinara antes:

— Mostra-nos, mostra-nos teu Deus.

            Ele fugiu dali, gemendo de angústia, pois sabia que ninguém era crente. Assim, como poderia salvar sua alma? Pensou em seguida na sua esposa.

— Ela acreditará — disse consigo mesmo. — As mulheres nunca abandonam Deus.

E foi ao encontro dela. Mas a esposa disse-lhe que só acreditava naquilo que ele próprio lhe ensinara, e que uma boa esposa devia acreditar primeiro em seu marido, acima e antes de todas as coisas do Céu ou da Terra.

            Então ele desesperou-se e correu para fora de sua casa, começando a perguntar a todos que encontrava se eles acreditavam. A mesma resposta, porém, veio de cada qual:

— Acreditamos apenas naquilo que nos ensinaste.

            A sua doutrina se havia espalhado amplamente pela região.

Então ele ficou meio louco de medo, pois as horas iam passando, e atirou-se ao chão, num ponto deserto, chorando e gemendo de terror, já que o tempo corria e ele teria de morrer. Foi então que uma criancinha aproximou-se dele.

— Deus vos salve — disse-lhe a criança.

            O padre teve um sobressalto.

— Acreditas em Deus? — perguntou ele.

— Vim de um país longínquo para me instruir sobre Ele — disse o menino. — Quererá o senhor indicar-me qual a melhor escola que existe nesta região?

— A melhor escola e o melhor professor estão aqui perto — disse o padre, dando seu próprio nome.

— Oh! Esse homem, não! Sei que ele nega Deus, o Céu, o Inferno, e até mesmo que o homem tenha alma, pois não se pode vê-la. Mas eu hei de vencê-lo bem depressa.

            O padre olhou ansiosamente para ele.

— E como?

— Bem, eu lhe perguntarei se acredita que tem vida, e pedirei que me mostre a sua vida.

— Mas ele não poderá fazer isso, meu menino. A vida não pode ser vista. Nós a possuímos, mas ela é invisível.

— Então, se temos vida, embora não a possamos ver, podemos também ter alma, embora ela seja invisível.

            Quando o padre ouviu a criança falar daquela maneira, tombou de joelhos diante dela, chorando de alegria, pois agora sabia que sua alma estava segura. Encontrara finalmente alguém que acreditava.

            Contou ao menino toda a sua história, toda a sua maldade, orgulho e blasfêmias contra o grande Deus, e como o anjo viera ter com ele e dissera-lhe qual a única forma de salvação, através da fé e das orações de alguém que acreditasse.

            — Agora — disse ele ao menino — toma este canivete e enterra-o no meu peito, e continua a golpear minha carne até que vejas o livor da morte em meu rosto. Então observa, pois verás algo de vivo que se destacará de meu corpo quando eu morrer, e saberás que minha alma subiu à presença de Deus. Quando vires isso, apressa-te e corre até minha escola, chama meus alunos para que vejam como a alma de seu mestre deixou o corpo, e que tudo quanto eu lhes ensinei era mentira, pois que há um Deus que castiga o pecado, e um Céu e um Inferno, e que o homem tem uma alma imortal, destinada à felicidade eterna ou à eterna desgraça.

— Rezarei — disse a criança — para ter a coragem de executar esse trabalho.

            Ajoelhou-se e orou. Então levantou-se, tomou o canivete e enterrou-o no peito do sacerdote, e enterrou-o e enterrou-o outras vezes, até dilacerar-lhe a carne. O sacerdote ainda vivia, embora a agonia fosse horrível, pois não podia morrer antes que expirassem as vinte e quatro horas.

            Por fim a agonia pareceu cessar, e a imobilidade da morte instalou-se no rosto dele. Então a criança, que estava observando, viu uma bela criatura viva, com quatro asas de uma brancura de neve, sair do corpo morto daquele homem e ficar flutuando em torno da cabeça dele. Correu e trouxe os estudantes, e quando eles viram aquilo, ficaram sabendo que se tratava da alma de seu mestre. E observaram, com espanto e temeroso respeito, até que ela desaparecesse a seus olhos, confundindo-se com as nuvens.

            Mas as escolas da Irlanda, depois dessa ocasião, ficaram bastante despovoadas, pois o povo dizia:

— Que adianta ir para tão longe, estudar, quando o homem mais sábio da Irlanda não sabia que é dono de uma alma, até o momento em que estava para perdê-la, e só foi salvo através da singela crença de uma criancinha?

“The Story of Urashima Taro, the Fisher Lad” by Yei Theodora Ozaki (in English)

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; “Mr. Tortoise, with your kind permission I will get on your back. Dokoisho!” he exclaimed as he jumped on.

            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.