The Stonecutter

Tonight’s story comes from Japan again, a land of mountain after mountain. Andrew Lang, a Scotsman who loved old stories, put this one into a book with a deep red cover more than a hundred and twenty years ago.

Long ago there was a stonecutter. Every day he went up to a great rock on the mountainside and cut slabs of stone for houses and for gravestones. He knew exactly which stone suited which job, and he was careful with his work, so he had plenty of customers. For a long time he was happy and wanted nothing more.

In the mountain lived a spirit who sometimes appeared and helped people. But the stonecutter had never seen it, and whenever anyone mentioned it, he just shook his head. He didn’t believe a word.

One day he took a slab of stone to a rich man’s house. There he saw all sorts of beautiful things he had never even dreamed of. Suddenly his everyday work felt heavy and hard. He sighed, “If only I were a rich man and could sleep in a bed with silk curtains and golden tassels, how happy I would be!”

A voice answered, “Your wish is heard. A rich man you shall be!”

He looked round and saw nobody, so he thought he had imagined it. But when he got home, he stopped dead. His wooden hut had become a splendid house, and best of all was the bed, exactly like the one he had wished for. He was overjoyed, and he soon forgot all about his old life.

Then summer came. One morning it was so hot he could hardly breathe, so he stayed indoors. Peeping through the blinds, he saw a carriage go by. In it sat a prince, with a servant holding a golden umbrella over him to keep off the sun. “If only I were a prince, riding in a carriage with a golden umbrella over my head, how happy I would be!”

“Your wish is heard. A prince you shall be!”

And a prince he was. Soldiers rode in front of him and behind him, and a golden umbrella was held over his head. But it still wasn’t enough. He saw that the sun still scorched the grass in his garden, and his face still grew browner, umbrella or not. He cried out angrily, “The sun is stronger than I am! If only I were the sun!”

“Your wish is heard. The sun you shall be!”

And the sun he was. He shone down everywhere, scorching the grass in the fields and burning the faces of princes and poor people alike. But soon he grew bored. Then a cloud floated in front of his face and hid the earth from him. He was furious. “That cloud can hold back my sunshine, so it’s stronger than me? If only I were a cloud!”

“Your wish is heard. A cloud you shall be!”

And a cloud he was. He blocked the sun, and the earth grew green again and flowers bloomed. But it still wasn’t enough. He poured down rain, day after day, until the rivers burst their banks, the rice fields flooded and villages were swept away. Only the great rock on the mountainside stayed exactly where it was. He was amazed. “The rock is stronger than me? If only I were the rock!”

“Your wish is heard. The rock you shall be!”

And the rock he was. He stood tall and proud, and neither sun nor rain could move him. “This is the best of all!” he thought.

But one day he heard a strange noise at his feet. Looking down, he saw a stonecutter driving a chisel into him. A shudder ran right through him, and a great slab broke off and fell to the ground. He cried, “A little human being is stronger than a rock! If only I were a man!”

“Your wish is heard. A man once more you shall be!”

And he was a stonecutter again. Once more he worked hard on the mountainside. His bed was hard and his food was plain, but now he had learned to be happy with what he had, and he no longer wished to be anyone or anything else.

And from that day on, he never heard the voice of the mountain spirit again.