Momotarō

Uh, it's a, it's a very nice, uh, neat signature look, uh, for her character to have.

Uh, but our protagonist is Momotaro Kibitsu.

Momotaro is a very, very, very famous, uh, la- legendary Japanese hero, uh, that there's, you know, a number of stories about, but the most famous one is how, uh, he was born from a peach and went to a village that was being attacked by oni, and, uh, defeated the oni.

So Momotaro and, uh, Onigashima are linked in, like, Japanese folklore.

Oh.

So, uh, that's also why, uh, like, uh, Momonosuke is, uh, the c- the name of the character in One Piece when they go, when they, of course, oppose, uh, Kaido and Onigashima and all, and all of that.

Nice little lore.

So, so, uh, we're setting them up as, um, love interests instead.

In the cold winter evenings to the drowsy voice of the grandmother or nurse, who carries her away on the wings of imagination to the wonderful palace of the sea gods, or to the haunts of the terrible oni, monsters with red, distorted faces and fearful horns.

Momotaro, the peach boy, with his wonderful feats in the conquest of the oni, is her hero, until he is supplanted by the more real ones of Japanese history.

There are occasional all-day visits to the theater, too, where, seated on the floor in a box, railed off from those adjoining, our little girl in company with her mother and sisters enjoys, though with paroxysms of horror and fear, the heroic historical plays which are now almost all that is left of the heroic old Japan.

Here she catches the spirit of passionate loyalty that belonged to those days, forms her ideals of what a noble Japanese woman should be willing to do for parents or husband, and comes away taught, as she could be by no other teaching, what the spirit was that animated her ancestors, what spirit must animate her, should she wish to be a worthy descendant of the women of old.

End of footnote In the cold winter evenings to the drowsy voice of the grandmother or nurse, who carries her away on the wings of imagination to the wonderful palace of the sea-gods, or to the haunts of the terrible oni, monsters with red, distorted faces and fearful horns.

Momotaro, the peach boy, with his wonderful feats in the conquest of the oni, is her hero, until he is supplanted by the more real ones of Japanese history.

There are occasional all-day visits to the theatre, too, where, seated on the floor in a box, railed off from those adjoining, our little girl in company with her mother and sisters enjoys, though with paroxysms of horror and fear, the heroic historical plays which are now almost all that is left of the heroic old Japan.

Here she catches the spirit of passionate loyalty that belonged to those days, forms her ideals of what a noble Japanese woman should be willing to do for parents or husband, and comes away taught, as she could be by no other teaching, what the spirit was that animated her ancestors, what spirit must animate her, should she wish to be a worthy descendant of the women of old.

In the cold winter evenings, to the drowsy voice of the grandmother or nurse, who carries her away on the wings of imagination to the wonderful palace of the sea gods, or to the haunts of the terrible oni, monsters with red, distorted faces and fearful horns.

Momotaro, the peach boy, with his wonderful feats in the conquest of the oni, is her hero, until he is supplanted by the more real ones of Japanese history.

There are occasional all-day visits to the theater, too, where, seated on the floor in a box, railed off from those adjoining, our little girl in company with her mother and sisters enjoys, though with paroxysms of horror and fear, the heroic historical plays which are now almost all that is left of the heroic old Japan.

Here she catches the spirit of passionate loyalty that belonged to those days, forms her ideals of what a noble Japanese woman should be willing to do for parents or husband, and comes away taught, as she could be by no other teaching, what the spirit was that animated her ancestors, what spirit must animate her, should she wish to be a worthy descendant of the women of old.

End of footnote In the cold winter evenings to the drowsy voice of the grandmother or nurse, who carries her away on the wings of imagination to the wonderful palace of the sea gods, or to the haunts of the terrible oni, monsters with red, distorted faces and fearful horns.

Momotaro, the peach boy, with his wonderful feats in the conquest of the oni, is her hero, until he is supplanted by the more real ones of Japanese history.

There are occasional all-day visits to the theater, too, where, seated on the floor in a box, railed off from those adjoining, our little girl in company with her mother and sisters enjoys, though with paroxysms of horror and fear, the heroic historical plays which are now almost all that is left of the heroic old Japan.

Here she catches the spirit of passionate loyalty that belonged to those days, forms her ideals of what a noble Japanese woman should be willing to do for parents or husband, and comes away taught, as she could be by no other teaching, what the spirit was that animated her ancestors, what spirit must animate her, should she wish to be a worthy descendant of the women of old.

End of footnote In the cold winter evenings to the drowsy voice of the grandmother or nurse, who carries her away on the wings of imagination to the wonderful palace of the sea-gods, or to the haunts of the terrible oni, monsters with red, distorted faces and fearful horns.

Momotaro, the peach boy, with his wonderful feats in the conquest of the oni, is her hero, until he is supplanted by the more real ones of Japanese history.

There are occasional all-day visits to the theatre, too, where, seated on the floor in a box, railed off from those adjoining, our little girl in company with her mother and sisters enjoys, though with paroxysms of horror and fear, the heroic historical plays which are now almost all that is left of the heroic old Japan.

Here she catches the spirit of passionate loyalty that belonged to those days, forms her ideals of what a noble Japanese woman should be willing to do for parents or husband, and comes away taught, as she could be by no other teaching, what the spirit was that animated her ancestors, what spirit must animate her, should she wish to be a worthy descendant of the women of old.

Japanese Fairy Tales by Y. Theodora Ozaki.

Chapter nineteen, Momotaro, or The Story of the Son of a Peach.

Long, long ago there lived an old man and an old woman.

They were peasants, and had to work hard to earn their daily rice.

Your cry has been heard, and I am sent to be the son of your old age." On hearing this the old man and his wife were very happy.

They had cried night and day for sorrow at having no child to help them in their lonely old age, and now that their prayer was answered they were so lost with joy that they did not know where to put their hands or their feet.

First the old man took the child up in his arms, and then the old woman did the same, and they named him Momotaro, or Son of a Peach, because he had come out of a peach.

The years passed quickly by and the child grew to be fifteen years of age.