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diff --git a/1210-0.txt b/1210-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2df2915 --- /dev/null +++ b/1210-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4314 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1210 *** + +KWAIDAN: +Stories and Studies of Strange Things + +By Lafcadio Hearn + + + + +A Note from the Digitizer + + +On Japanese Pronunciation + +Although simplified, the following general rules will help the reader +unfamiliar with Japanese to come close enough to Japanese +pronunciation. + +There are five vowels: a (as in fAther), i (as in machIne), u (as in +fOOl), e (as in fEllow), and o (as in mOle). Although certain vowels +become nearly “silent” in some environments, this phenomenon can be +safely ignored for the purpose at hand. + +Consonants roughly approximate their corresponding sounds in English, +except for r, which is actually somewhere between r and l (this is why +the Japanese have trouble distinguishing between English r and l), and +f, which is much closer to h. + +The spelling “KWAIDAN” is based on premodern Japanese pronunciation; +when Hearn came to Japan, the orthography reflecting this pronunciation +was still in use. In modern Japanese the word is pronounced KAIDAN. + +There are many ellipses in the text. Hearn often used them in this +book; they do not represent omissions by the digitizer. + +Author’s original notes are in brackets, those by the digitizer are in +parentheses. + + + + +Contents + + + INTRODUCTION + + KWAIDAN + THE STORY OF MIMI-NASHI-HŌÏCHI + OSHIDORI + THE STORY OF O-TEI + UBAZAKURA + DIPLOMACY + OF A MIRROR AND A BELL + JIKININKI + MUJINA + ROKURO-KUBI + A DEAD SECRET + YUKI-ONNA + THE STORY OF AOYAGI + JIU-ROKU-ZAKURA + THE DREAM OF AKINOSUKÉ + RIKI-BAKA + HI-MAWARI + HŌRAI + + INSECT STUDIES + BUTTERFLIES + MOSQUITOES + ANTS + + Notes + + + + +Illustrations + + BLOWING HER BREATH UPON HIM + BUTTERFLY DANCE + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +The publication of a new volume of Lafcadio Hearn’s exquisite studies +of Japan happens, by a delicate irony, to fall in the very month when +the world is waiting with tense expectation for news of the latest +exploits of Japanese battleships. Whatever the outcome of the present +struggle between Russia and Japan, its significance lies in the fact +that a nation of the East, equipped with Western weapons and girding +itself with Western energy of will, is deliberately measuring strength +against one of the great powers of the Occident. No one is wise enough +to forecast the results of such a conflict upon the civilization of the +world. The best one can do is to estimate, as intelligently as +possible, the national characteristics of the peoples engaged, basing +one’s hopes and fears upon the psychology of the two races rather than +upon purely political and statistical studies of the complicated +questions involved in the present war. The Russian people have had +literary spokesmen who for more than a generation have fascinated the +European audience. The Japanese, on the other hand, have possessed no +such national and universally recognized figures as Turgenieff or +Tolstoy. They need an interpreter. + +It may be doubted whether any oriental race has ever had an interpreter +gifted with more perfect insight and sympathy than Lafcadio Hearn has +brought to the translation of Japan into our occidental speech. His +long residence in that country, his flexibility of mind, poetic +imagination, and wonderfully pellucid style have fitted him for the +most delicate of literary tasks. He has seen marvels, and he has told +of them in a marvelous way. There is scarcely an aspect of contemporary +Japanese life, scarcely an element in the social, political, and +military questions involved in the present conflict with Russia which +is not made clear in one or another of the books with which he has +charmed American readers. + +He characterizes Kwaidan as “stories and studies of strange things.” A +hundred thoughts suggested by the book might be written down, but most +of them would begin and end with this fact of strangeness. To read the +very names in the table of contents is like listening to a Buddhist +bell, struck somewhere far away. Some of his tales are of the long ago, +and yet they seem to illumine the very souls and minds of the little +men who are at this hour crowding the decks of Japan’s armored +cruisers. But many of the stories are about women and children,—the +lovely materials from which the best fairy tales of the world have been +woven. They too are strange, these Japanese maidens and wives and +keen-eyed, dark-haired girls and boys; they are like us and yet not +like us; and the sky and the hills and the flowers are all different +from ours. Yet by a magic of which Mr. Hearn, almost alone among +contemporary writers, is the master, in these delicate, transparent, +ghostly sketches of a world unreal to us, there is a haunting sense of +spiritual reality. + +In a penetrating and beautiful essay contributed to the “Atlantic +Monthly” in February, 1903, by Paul Elmer More, the secret of Mr. +Hearn’s magic is said to lie in the fact that in his art is found “the +meeting of three ways.” “To the religious instinct of India—Buddhism in +particular,—which history has engrafted on the aæsthetic sense of +Japan, Mr. Hearn brings the interpreting spirit of occidental science; +and these three traditions are fused by the peculiar sympathies of his +mind into one rich and novel compound,—a compound so rare as to have +introduced into literature a psychological sensation unknown before.” +Mr. More’s essay received the high praise of Mr. Hearn’s recognition +and gratitude, and if it were possible to reprint it here, it would +provide a most suggestive introduction to these new stories of old +Japan, whose substance is, as Mr. More has said, “so strangely mingled +together out of the austere dreams of India and the subtle beauty of +Japan and the relentless science of Europe.” + +_March_, 1904. + + + + +Most of the following _Kwaidan_, or Weird Tales, have been taken from +old Japanese books,—such as the _Yasō-Kidan_, _Bukkyō-Hyakkwa-Zenshō_, +_Kokon-Chomonshū_, _Tama-Sudaré_, and _Hyaku-Monogatari_. Some of the +stories may have had a Chinese origin: the very remarkable “Dream of +Akinosuké,” for example, is certainly from a Chinese source. But the +story-teller, in every case, has so recolored and reshaped his +borrowing as to naturalize it... One queer tale, “Yuki-Onna,” was told +me by a farmer of Chōfu, Nishitama-gōri, in Musashi province, as a +legend of his native village. Whether it has ever been written in +Japanese I do not know; but the extraordinary belief which it records +used certainly to exist in most parts of Japan, and in many curious +forms... The incident of “Riki-Baka” was a personal experience; and I +wrote it down almost exactly as it happened, changing only a +family-name mentioned by the Japanese narrator. + +L. H. + +TŌKYŌ, JAPAN, January 20th, 1904. + + + + +KWAIDAN + + + + +THE STORY OF MIMI-NASHI-HŌÏCHI + + +More than seven hundred years ago, at Dan-no-ura, in the Straits of +Shimonoséki, was fought the last battle of the long contest between the +Heiké, or Taira clan, and the Genji, or Minamoto clan. There the Heiké +perished utterly, with their women and children, and their infant +emperor likewise—now remembered as Antoku Tennō. And that sea and shore +have been haunted for seven hundred years... Elsewhere I told you about +the strange crabs found there, called Heiké crabs, which have human +faces on their backs, and are said to be the spirits of the Heiké +warriors[1]. But there are many strange things to be seen and heard +along that coast. On dark nights thousands of ghostly fires hover about +the beach, or flit above the waves,—pale lights which the fishermen +call _Oni-bi_, or demon-fires; and, whenever the winds are up, a sound +of great shouting comes from that sea, like a clamor of battle. + +In former years the Heiké were much more restless than they now are. +They would rise about ships passing in the night, and try to sink them; +and at all times they would watch for swimmers, to pull them down. It +was in order to appease those dead that the Buddhist temple, Amidaji, +was built at Akamagaséki[2]. A cemetery also was made close by, near +the beach; and within it were set up monuments inscribed with the names +of the drowned emperor and of his great vassals; and Buddhist services +were regularly performed there, on behalf of the spirits of them. After +the temple had been built, and the tombs erected, the Heiké gave less +trouble than before; but they continued to do queer things at +intervals,—proving that they had not found the perfect peace. + +Some centuries ago there lived at Akamagaséki a blind man named Hōïchi, +who was famed for his skill in recitation and in playing upon the +_biwa_[3]. From childhood he had been trained to recite and to play; +and while yet a lad he had surpassed his teachers. As a professional +_biwa-hōshi_ he became famous chiefly by his recitations of the history +of the Heiké and the Genji; and it is said that when he sang the song +of the battle of Dan-no-ura “even the goblins [_kijin_] could not +refrain from tears.” + +At the outset of his career, Hōïchi was very poor; but he found a good +friend to help him. The priest of the Amidaji was fond of poetry and +music; and he often invited Hōïchi to the temple, to play and recite. +Afterwards, being much impressed by the wonderful skill of the lad, the +priest proposed that Hōïchi should make the temple his home; and this +offer was gratefully accepted. Hōïchi was given a room in the +temple-building; and, in return for food and lodging, he was required +only to gratify the priest with a musical performance on certain +evenings, when otherwise disengaged. + +One summer night the priest was called away, to perform a Buddhist +service at the house of a dead parishioner; and he went there with his +acolyte, leaving Hōïchi alone in the temple. It was a hot night; and +the blind man sought to cool himself on the verandah before his +sleeping-room. The verandah overlooked a small garden in the rear of +the Amidaji. There Hōïchi waited for the priest’s return, and tried to +relieve his solitude by practicing upon his biwa. Midnight passed; and +the priest did not appear. But the atmosphere was still too warm for +comfort within doors; and Hōïchi remained outside. At last he heard +steps approaching from the back gate. Somebody crossed the garden, +advanced to the verandah, and halted directly in front of him—but it +was not the priest. A deep voice called the blind man’s name—abruptly +and unceremoniously, in the manner of a samurai summoning an inferior:— + +“Hōïchi!” + +Hōïchi was too much startled, for the moment, to respond; and the voice +called again, in a tone of harsh command,— + +“Hōïchi!” + +“_Hai!_”(1) answered the blind man, frightened by the menace in the +voice,—“I am blind!—I cannot know who calls!” + +“There is nothing to fear,” the stranger exclaimed, speaking more +gently. “I am stopping near this temple, and have been sent to you with +a message. My present lord, a person of exceedingly high rank, is now +staying in Akamagaséki, with many noble attendants. He wished to view +the scene of the battle of Dan-no-ura; and to-day he visited that +place. Having heard of your skill in reciting the story of the battle, +he now desires to hear your performance: so you will take your biwa and +come with me at once to the house where the august assembly is +waiting.” + +In those times, the order of a samurai was not to be lightly disobeyed. +Hōïchi donned his sandals, took his biwa, and went away with the +stranger, who guided him deftly, but obliged him to walk very fast. The +hand that guided was iron; and the clank of the warrior’s stride proved +him fully armed,—probably some palace-guard on duty. Hōïchi’s first +alarm was over: he began to imagine himself in good luck;—for, +remembering the retainer’s assurance about a “person of exceedingly +high rank,” he thought that the lord who wished to hear the recitation +could not be less than a daimyō of the first class. Presently the +samurai halted; and Hōïchi became aware that they had arrived at a +large gateway;—and he wondered, for he could not remember any large +gate in that part of the town, except the main gate of the Amidaji. +“_Kaimon!_”[4] the samurai called,—and there was a sound of unbarring; +and the twain passed on. They traversed a space of garden, and halted +again before some entrance; and the retainer cried in a loud voice, +“Within there! I have brought Hōïchi.” Then came sounds of feet +hurrying, and screens sliding, and rain-doors opening, and voices of +women in converse. By the language of the women Hōïchi knew them to be +domestics in some noble household; but he could not imagine to what +place he had been conducted. Little time was allowed him for +conjecture. After he had been helped to mount several stone steps, upon +the last of which he was told to leave his sandals, a woman’s hand +guided him along interminable reaches of polished planking, and round +pillared angles too many to remember, and over widths amazing of matted +floor,—into the middle of some vast apartment. There he thought that +many great people were assembled: the sound of the rustling of silk was +like the sound of leaves in a forest. He heard also a great humming of +voices,—talking in undertones; and the speech was the speech of courts. + +Hōïchi was told to put himself at ease, and he found a kneeling-cushion +ready for him. After having taken his place upon it, and tuned his +instrument, the voice of a woman—whom he divined to be the _Rōjo_, or +matron in charge of the female service—addressed him, saying,— + +“It is now required that the history of the Heiké be recited, to the +accompaniment of the biwa.” + +Now the entire recital would have required a time of many nights: +therefore Hōïchi ventured a question:— + +“As the whole of the story is not soon told, what portion is it +augustly desired that I now recite?” + +The woman’s voice made answer:— + +“Recite the story of the battle at Dan-no-ura,—for the pity of it is +the most deep.”[5] + +Then Hōïchi lifted up his voice, and chanted the chant of the fight on +the bitter sea,—wonderfully making his biwa to sound like the straining +of oars and the rushing of ships, the whirr and the hissing of arrows, +the shouting and trampling of men, the crashing of steel upon helmets, +the plunging of slain in the flood. And to left and right of him, in +the pauses of his playing, he could hear voices murmuring praise: “How +marvelous an artist!”—“Never in our own province was playing heard like +this!”—“Not in all the empire is there another singer like Hōïchi!” +Then fresh courage came to him, and he played and sang yet better than +before; and a hush of wonder deepened about him. But when at last he +came to tell the fate of the fair and helpless,—the piteous perishing +of the women and children,—and the death-leap of Nii-no-Ama, with the +imperial infant in her arms,—then all the listeners uttered together +one long, long shuddering cry of anguish; and thereafter they wept and +wailed so loudly and so wildly that the blind man was frightened by the +violence and grief that he had made. For much time the sobbing and the +wailing continued. But gradually the sounds of lamentation died away; +and again, in the great stillness that followed, Hōïchi heard the voice +of the woman whom he supposed to be the Rōjo. + +She said:— + +“Although we had been assured that you were a very skillful player upon +the biwa, and without an equal in recitative, we did not know that any +one could be so skillful as you have proved yourself to-night. Our lord +has been pleased to say that he intends to bestow upon you a fitting +reward. But he desires that you shall perform before him once every +night for the next six nights—after which time he will probably make +his august return-journey. To-morrow night, therefore, you are to come +here at the same hour. The retainer who to-night conducted you will be +sent for you... There is another matter about which I have been ordered +to inform you. It is required that you shall speak to no one of your +visits here, during the time of our lord’s august sojourn at +Akamagaséki. As he is traveling incognito,[6] he commands that no +mention of these things be made... You are now free to go back to your +temple.” + +After Hōïchi had duly expressed his thanks, a woman’s hand conducted +him to the entrance of the house, where the same retainer, who had +before guided him, was waiting to take him home. The retainer led him +to the verandah at the rear of the temple, and there bade him farewell. + +It was almost dawn when Hōïchi returned; but his absence from the +temple had not been observed,—as the priest, coming back at a very late +hour, had supposed him asleep. During the day Hōïchi was able to take +some rest; and he said nothing about his strange adventure. In the +middle of the following night the samurai again came for him, and led +him to the august assembly, where he gave another recitation with the +same success that had attended his previous performance. But during +this second visit his absence from the temple was accidentally +discovered; and after his return in the morning he was summoned to the +presence of the priest, who said to him, in a tone of kindly reproach:— + +“We have been very anxious about you, friend Hōïchi. To go out, blind +and alone, at so late an hour, is dangerous. Why did you go without +telling us? I could have ordered a servant to accompany you. And where +have you been?” + +Hōïchi answered, evasively,— + +“Pardon me kind friend! I had to attend to some private business; and I +could not arrange the matter at any other hour.” + +The priest was surprised, rather than pained, by Hōïchi’s reticence: he +felt it to be unnatural, and suspected something wrong. He feared that +the blind lad had been bewitched or deluded by some evil spirits. He +did not ask any more questions; but he privately instructed the +men-servants of the temple to keep watch upon Hōïchi’s movements, and +to follow him in case that he should again leave the temple after dark. + +On the very next night, Hōïchi was seen to leave the temple; and the +servants immediately lighted their lanterns, and followed after him. +But it was a rainy night, and very dark; and before the temple-folks +could get to the roadway, Hōïchi had disappeared. Evidently he had +walked very fast,—a strange thing, considering his blindness; for the +road was in a bad condition. The men hurried through the streets, +making inquiries at every house which Hōïchi was accustomed to visit; +but nobody could give them any news of him. At last, as they were +returning to the temple by way of the shore, they were startled by the +sound of a biwa, furiously played, in the cemetery of the Amidaji. +Except for some ghostly fires—such as usually flitted there on dark +nights—all was blackness in that direction. But the men at once +hastened to the cemetery; and there, by the help of their lanterns, +they discovered Hōïchi,—sitting alone in the rain before the memorial +tomb of Antoku Tennō, making his biwa resound, and loudly chanting the +chant of the battle of Dan-no-ura. And behind him, and about him, and +everywhere above the tombs, the fires of the dead were burning, like +candles. Never before had so great a host of _Oni-bi_ appeared in the +sight of mortal man... + +“Hōïchi San!—Hōïchi San!” the servants cried,—“you are bewitched!... +Hōïchi San!” + +But the blind man did not seem to hear. Strenuously he made his biwa to +rattle and ring and clang;—more and more wildly he chanted the chant of +the battle of Dan-no-ura. They caught hold of him;—they shouted into +his ear,— + +“Hōïchi San!—Hōïchi San!—come home with us at once!” + +Reprovingly he spoke to them:— + +“To interrupt me in such a manner, before this august assembly, will +not be tolerated.” + +Whereat, in spite of the weirdness of the thing, the servants could not +help laughing. Sure that he had been bewitched, they now seized him, +and pulled him up on his feet, and by main force hurried him back to +the temple,—where he was immediately relieved of his wet clothes, by +order of the priest. Then the priest insisted upon a full explanation +of his friend’s astonishing behavior. + +Hōïchi long hesitated to speak. But at last, finding that his conduct +had really alarmed and angered the good priest, he decided to abandon +his reserve; and he related everything that had happened from the time +of first visit of the samurai. + +The priest said:— + +“Hōïchi, my poor friend, you are now in great danger! How unfortunate +that you did not tell me all this before! Your wonderful skill in music +has indeed brought you into strange trouble. By this time you must be +aware that you have not been visiting any house whatever, but have been +passing your nights in the cemetery, among the tombs of the Heiké;—and +it was before the memorial-tomb of Antoku Tennō that our people +to-night found you, sitting in the rain. All that you have been +imagining was illusion—except the calling of the dead. By once obeying +them, you have put yourself in their power. If you obey them again, +after what has already occurred, they will tear you in pieces. But they +would have destroyed you, sooner or later, in any event... Now I shall +not be able to remain with you to-night: I am called away to perform +another service. But, before I go, it will be necessary to protect your +body by writing holy texts upon it.” + +Before sundown the priest and his acolyte stripped Hōïchi: then, with +their writing-brushes, they traced upon his breast and back, head and +face and neck, limbs and hands and feet,—even upon the soles of his +feet, and upon all parts of his body,—the text of the holy sûtra called +_Hannya-Shin-Kyō_.[7] When this had been done, the priest instructed +Hōïchi, saying:— + +“To-night, as soon as I go away, you must seat yourself on the +verandah, and wait. You will be called. But, whatever may happen, do +not answer, and do not move. Say nothing and sit still—as if +meditating. If you stir, or make any noise, you will be torn asunder. +Do not get frightened; and do not think of calling for help—because no +help could save you. If you do exactly as I tell you, the danger will +pass, and you will have nothing more to fear.” + +After dark the priest and the acolyte went away; and Hōïchi seated +himself on the verandah, according to the instructions given him. He +laid his biwa on the planking beside him, and, assuming the attitude of +meditation, remained quite still,—taking care not to cough, or to +breathe audibly. For hours he stayed thus. + +Then, from the roadway, he heard the steps coming. They passed the +gate, crossed the garden, approached the verandah, stopped—directly in +front of him. + +“Hōïchi!” the deep voice called. But the blind man held his breath, and +sat motionless. + +“Hōïchi!” grimly called the voice a second time. Then a third +time—savagely:— + +“Hōïchi!” + +Hōïchi remained as still as a stone,—and the voice grumbled:— + +“No answer!—that won’t do!... Must see where the fellow is.”... + +There was a noise of heavy feet mounting upon the verandah. The feet +approached deliberately,—halted beside him. Then, for long +minutes,—during which Hōïchi felt his whole body shake to the beating +of his heart,—there was dead silence. + +At last the gruff voice muttered close to him:— + +“Here is the biwa; but of the biwa-player I see—only two ears!... So +that explains why he did not answer: he had no mouth to answer +with—there is nothing left of him but his ears... Now to my lord those +ears I will take—in proof that the august commands have been obeyed, so +far as was possible”... + +At that instant Hōïchi felt his ears gripped by fingers of iron, and +torn off! Great as the pain was, he gave no cry. The heavy footfalls +receded along the verandah,—descended into the garden,—passed out to +the roadway,—ceased. From either side of his head, the blind man felt a +thick warm trickling; but he dared not lift his hands... + +Before sunrise the priest came back. He hastened at once to the +verandah in the rear, stepped and slipped upon something clammy, and +uttered a cry of horror;—for he saw, by the light of his lantern, that +the clamminess was blood. But he perceived Hōïchi sitting there, in the +attitude of meditation—with the blood still oozing from his wounds. + +“My poor Hōïchi!” cried the startled priest,—“what is this?... You have +been hurt?” + +At the sound of his friend’s voice, the blind man felt safe. He burst +out sobbing, and tearfully told his adventure of the night. + +“Poor, poor Hōïchi!” the priest exclaimed,—“all my fault!—my very +grievous fault!... Everywhere upon your body the holy texts had been +written—except upon your ears! I trusted my acolyte to do that part of +the work; and it was very, very wrong of me not to have made sure that +he had done it!... Well, the matter cannot now be helped;—we can only +try to heal your hurts as soon as possible... Cheer up, friend!—the +danger is now well over. You will never again be troubled by those +visitors.” + +With the aid of a good doctor, Hōïchi soon recovered from his injuries. +The story of his strange adventure spread far and wide, and soon made +him famous. Many noble persons went to Akamagaséki to hear him recite; +and large presents of money were given to him,—so that he became a +wealthy man... But from the time of his adventure, he was known only by +the appellation of _Mimi-nashi-Hōïchi:_ “Hōïchi-the-Earless.” + + + + +OSHIDORI + + +There was a falconer and hunter, named Sonjō, who lived in the district +called Tamura-no-Gō, of the province of Mutsu. One day he went out +hunting, and could not find any game. But on his way home, at a place +called Akanuma, he perceived a pair of _oshidori_[1] (mandarin-ducks), +swimming together in a river that he was about to cross. To kill +_oshidori_ is not good; but Sonjō happened to be very hungry, and he +shot at the pair. His arrow pierced the male: the female escaped into +the rushes of the further shore, and disappeared. Sonjō took the dead +bird home, and cooked it. + +That night he dreamed a dreary dream. It seemed to him that a beautiful +woman came into his room, and stood by his pillow, and began to weep. +So bitterly did she weep that Sonjō felt as if his heart were being +torn out while he listened. And the woman cried to him: “Why,—oh! why +did you kill him?—of what wrong was he guilty?... At Akanuma we were so +happy together,—and you killed him!... What harm did he ever do you? Do +you even know what you have done?—oh! do you know what a cruel, what a +wicked thing you have done?... Me too you have killed,—for I will not +live without my husband!... Only to tell you this I came.”... Then +again she wept aloud,—so bitterly that the voice of her crying pierced +into the marrow of the listener’s bones;—and she sobbed out the words +of this poem:— + + Hi kururéba +Sasoëshi mono wo— + Akanuma no +Makomo no kuré no +Hitori-né zo uki! + + +[_“At the coming of twilight I invited him to return with me—! Now to +sleep alone in the shadow of the rushes of Akanuma—ah! what misery +unspeakable!”_][2] + +And after having uttered these verses she exclaimed:—“Ah, you do not +know—you cannot know what you have done! But to-morrow, when you go to +Akanuma, you will see,—you will see...” So saying, and weeping very +piteously, she went away. + +When Sonjō awoke in the morning, this dream remained so vivid in his +mind that he was greatly troubled. He remembered the words:—“But +to-morrow, when you go to Akanuma, you will see,—you will see.” And he +resolved to go there at once, that he might learn whether his dream was +anything more than a dream. + +So he went to Akanuma; and there, when he came to the river-bank, he +saw the female _oshidori_ swimming alone. In the same moment the bird +perceived Sonjō; but, instead of trying to escape, she swam straight +towards him, looking at him the while in a strange fixed way. Then, +with her beak, she suddenly tore open her own body, and died before the +hunter’s eyes... + +Sonjō shaved his head, and became a priest. + + + + +THE STORY OF O-TEI + + +A long time ago, in the town of Niigata, in the province of Echizen, +there lived a man called Nagao Chōsei. + +Nagao was the son of a physician, and was educated for his father’s +profession. At an early age he had been betrothed to a girl called +O-Tei, the daughter of one of his father’s friends; and both families +had agreed that the wedding should take place as soon as Nagao had +finished his studies. But the health of O-Tei proved to be weak; and in +her fifteenth year she was attacked by a fatal consumption. When she +became aware that she must die, she sent for Nagao to bid him farewell. + +As he knelt at her bedside, she said to him:— + +“Nagao-Sama, (1) my betrothed, we were promised to each other from the +time of our childhood; and we were to have been married at the end of +this year. But now I am going to die;—the gods know what is best for +us. If I were able to live for some years longer, I could only continue +to be a cause of trouble and grief for others. With this frail body, I +could not be a good wife; and therefore even to wish to live, for your +sake, would be a very selfish wish. I am quite resigned to die; and I +want you to promise that you will not grieve... Besides, I want to tell +you that I think we shall meet again.”... + +“Indeed we shall meet again,” Nagao answered earnestly. “And in that +Pure Land (2) there will be no pain of separation.” + +“Nay, nay!” she responded softly, “I meant not the Pure Land. I believe +that we are destined to meet again in this world,—although I shall be +buried to-morrow.” + +Nagao looked at her wonderingly, and saw her smile at his wonder. She +continued, in her gentle, dreamy voice,— + +“Yes, I mean in this world,—in your own present life, Nagao-Sama... +Providing, indeed, that you wish it. Only, for this thing to happen, I +must again be born a girl, and grow up to womanhood. So you would have +to wait. Fifteen—sixteen years: that is a long time... But, my promised +husband, you are now only nineteen years old.”... + +Eager to soothe her dying moments, he answered tenderly:— + +“To wait for you, my betrothed, were no less a joy than a duty. We are +pledged to each other for the time of seven existences.” + +“But you doubt?” she questioned, watching his face. + +“My dear one,” he answered, “I doubt whether I should be able to know +you in another body, under another name,—unless you can tell me of a +sign or token.” + +“That I cannot do,” she said. “Only the Gods and the Buddhas know how +and where we shall meet. But I am sure—very, very sure—that, if you be +not unwilling to receive me, I shall be able to come back to you... +Remember these words of mine.”... + +She ceased to speak; and her eyes closed. She was dead. + + +Nagao had been sincerely attached to O-Tei; and his grief was deep. He +had a mortuary tablet made, inscribed with her _zokumyō;_[1] and he +placed the tablet in his _butsudan_,[2] and every day set offerings +before it. He thought a great deal about the strange things that O-Tei +had said to him just before her death; and, in the hope of pleasing her +spirit, he wrote a solemn promise to wed her if she could ever return +to him in another body. This written promise he sealed with his seal, +and placed in the _butsudan_ beside the mortuary tablet of O-Tei. + +Nevertheless, as Nagao was an only son, it was necessary that he should +marry. He soon found himself obliged to yield to the wishes of his +family, and to accept a wife of his father’s choosing. After his +marriage he continued to set offerings before the tablet of O-Tei; and +he never failed to remember her with affection. But by degrees her +image became dim in his memory,—like a dream that is hard to recall. +And the years went by. + +During those years many misfortunes came upon him. He lost his parents +by death,—then his wife and his only child. So that he found himself +alone in the world. He abandoned his desolate home, and set out upon a +long journey in the hope of forgetting his sorrows. + +One day, in the course of his travels, he arrived at Ikao,—a +mountain-village still famed for its thermal springs, and for the +beautiful scenery of its neighborhood. In the village-inn at which he +stopped, a young girl came to wait upon him; and, at the first sight of +her face, he felt his heart leap as it had never leaped before. So +strangely did she resemble O-Tei that he pinched himself to make sure +that he was not dreaming. As she went and came,—bringing fire and food, +or arranging the chamber of the guest,—her every attitude and motion +revived in him some gracious memory of the girl to whom he had been +pledged in his youth. He spoke to her; and she responded in a soft, +clear voice of which the sweetness saddened him with a sadness of other +days. + +Then, in great wonder, he questioned her, saying:— + +“Elder Sister (3), so much do you look like a person whom I knew long +ago, that I was startled when you first entered this room. Pardon me, +therefore, for asking what is your native place, and what is your +name?” + +Immediately,—and in the unforgotten voice of the dead,—she thus made +answer:— + +“My name is O-Tei; and you are Nagao Chōsei of Echigo, my promised +husband. Seventeen years ago, I died in Niigata: then you made in +writing a promise to marry me if ever I could come back to this world +in the body of a woman;—and you sealed that written promise with your +seal, and put it in the _butsudan_, beside the tablet inscribed with my +name. And therefore I came back.”... + +As she uttered these last words, she fell unconscious. + +Nagao married her; and the marriage was a happy one. But at no time +afterwards could she remember what she had told him in answer to his +question at Ikao: neither could she remember anything of her previous +existence. The recollection of the former birth,—mysteriously kindled +in the moment of that meeting,—had again become obscured, and so +thereafter remained. + + + + +UBAZAKURA + + +Three hundred years ago, in the village called Asamimura, in the +district called Onsengōri, in the province of Iyō, there lived a good +man named Tokubei. This Tokubei was the richest person in the district, +and the _muraosa_, or headman, of the village. In most matters he was +fortunate; but he reached the age of forty without knowing the +happiness of becoming a father. Therefore he and his wife, in the +affliction of their childlessness, addressed many prayers to the +divinity Fudō Myō Ō, who had a famous temple, called Saihōji, in +Asamimura. + +At last their prayers were heard: the wife of Tokubei gave birth to a +daughter. The child was very pretty; and she received the name of +Tsuyu. As the mother’s milk was deficient, a milk-nurse, called O-Sodé, +was hired for the little one. + +O-Tsuyu grew up to be a very beautiful girl; but at the age of fifteen +she fell sick, and the doctors thought that she was going to die. In +that time the nurse O-Sodé, who loved O-Tsuyu with a real mother’s +love, went to the temple Saihōji, and fervently prayed to Fudō-Sama on +behalf of the girl. Every day, for twenty-one days, she went to the +temple and prayed; and at the end of that time, O-Tsuyu suddenly and +completely recovered. + +Then there was great rejoicing in the house of Tokubei; and he gave a +feast to all his friends in celebration of the happy event. But on the +night of the feast the nurse O-Sodé was suddenly taken ill; and on the +following morning, the doctor, who had been summoned to attend her, +announced that she was dying. + +Then the family, in great sorrow, gathered about her bed, to bid her +farewell. But she said to them:— + +“It is time that I should tell you something which you do not know. My +prayer has been heard. I besought Fudō-Sama that I might be permitted +to die in the place of O-Tsuyu; and this great favor has been granted +me. Therefore you must not grieve about my death... But I have one +request to make. I promised Fudō-Sama that I would have a cherry-tree +planted in the garden of Saihōji, for a thank-offering and a +commemoration. Now I shall not be able myself to plant the tree there: +so I must beg that you will fulfill that vow for me... Good-bye, dear +friends; and remember that I was happy to die for O-Tsuyu’s sake.” + +After the funeral of O-Sodé, a young cherry-tree,—the finest that could +be found,—was planted in the garden of Saihōji by the parents of +O-Tsuyu. The tree grew and flourished; and on the sixteenth day of the +second month of the following year,—the anniversary of O-Sodé’s +death,—it blossomed in a wonderful way. So it continued to blossom for +two hundred and fifty-four years,—always upon the sixteenth day of the +second month;—and its flowers, pink and white, were like the nipples of +a woman’s breasts, bedewed with milk. And the people called it +_Ubazakura_, the Cherry-tree of the Milk-Nurse. + + + + +DIPLOMACY + + +It had been ordered that the execution should take place in the garden +of the _yashiki_ (1). So the man was taken there, and made to kneel +down in a wide sanded space crossed by a line of _tobi-ishi_, or +stepping-stones, such as you may still see in Japanese +landscape-gardens. His arms were bound behind him. Retainers brought +water in buckets, and rice-bags filled with pebbles; and they packed +the rice-bags round the kneeling man,—so wedging him in that he could +not move. The master came, and observed the arrangements. He found them +satisfactory, and made no remarks. + +Suddenly the condemned man cried out to him:— + +“Honored Sir, the fault for which I have been doomed I did not +wittingly commit. It was only my very great stupidity which caused the +fault. Having been born stupid, by reason of my Karma, I could not +always help making mistakes. But to kill a man for being stupid is +wrong,—and that wrong will be repaid. So surely as you kill me, so +surely shall I be avenged;—out of the resentment that you provoke will +come the vengeance; and evil will be rendered for evil.”... + +If any person be killed while feeling strong resentment, the ghost of +that person will be able to take vengeance upon the killer. This the +samurai knew. He replied very gently,—almost caressingly:— + +“We shall allow you to frighten us as much as you please—after you are +dead. But it is difficult to believe that you mean what you say. Will +you try to give us some sign of your great resentment—after your head +has been cut off?” + +“Assuredly I will,” answered the man. + +“Very well,” said the samurai, drawing his long sword;—“I am now going +to cut off your head. Directly in front of you there is a +stepping-stone. After your head has been cut off, try to bite the +stepping-stone. If your angry ghost can help you to do that, some of us +may be frightened... Will you try to bite the stone?” + +“I will bite it!” cried the man, in great anger,—“I will bite it!—I +will bite”— + +There was a flash, a swish, a crunching thud: the bound body bowed over +the rice sacks,—two long blood-jets pumping from the shorn neck;—and +the head rolled upon the sand. Heavily toward the stepping-stone it +rolled: then, suddenly bounding, it caught the upper edge of the stone +between its teeth, clung desperately for a moment, and dropped inert. + +None spoke; but the retainers stared in horror at their master. He +seemed to be quite unconcerned. He merely held out his sword to the +nearest attendant, who, with a wooden dipper, poured water over the +blade from haft to point, and then carefully wiped the steel several +times with sheets of soft paper... And thus ended the ceremonial part +of the incident. + +For months thereafter, the retainers and the domestics lived in +ceaseless fear of ghostly visitation. None of them doubted that the +promised vengeance would come; and their constant terror caused them to +hear and to see much that did not exist. They became afraid of the +sound of the wind in the bamboos,—afraid even of the stirring of +shadows in the garden. At last, after taking counsel together, they +decided to petition their master to have a _Ségaki_-service (2) +performed on behalf of the vengeful spirit. + +“Quite unnecessary,” the samurai said, when his chief retainer had +uttered the general wish... “I understand that the desire of a dying +man for revenge may be a cause for fear. But in this case there is +nothing to fear.” + +The retainer looked at his master beseechingly, but hesitated to ask +the reason of the alarming confidence. + +“Oh, the reason is simple enough,” declared the samurai, divining the +unspoken doubt. “Only the very last intention of the fellow could have +been dangerous; and when I challenged him to give me the sign, I +diverted his mind from the desire of revenge. He died with the set +purpose of biting the stepping-stone; and that purpose he was able to +accomplish, but nothing else. All the rest he must have forgotten... So +you need not feel any further anxiety about the matter.” + +—And indeed the dead man gave no more trouble. Nothing at all happened. + + + + +OF A MIRROR AND A BELL + + +Eight centuries ago, the priests of Mugenyama, in the province of +Tōtōmi (1), wanted a big bell for their temple; and they asked the +women of their parish to help them by contributing old bronze mirrors +for bell-metal. + +[Even to-day, in the courts of certain Japanese temples, you may see +heaps of old bronze mirrors contributed for such a purpose. The largest +collection of this kind that I ever saw was in the court of a temple of +the Jōdo sect, at Hakata, in Kyūshū: the mirrors had been given for the +making of a bronze statue of Amida, thirty-three feet high.] + +There was at that time a young woman, a farmer’s wife, living at +Mugenyama, who presented her mirror to the temple, to be used for +bell-metal. But afterwards she much regretted her mirror. She +remembered things that her mother had told her about it; and she +remembered that it had belonged, not only to her mother but to her +mother’s mother and grandmother; and she remembered some happy smiles +which it had reflected. Of course, if she could have offered the +priests a certain sum of money in place of the mirror, she could have +asked them to give back her heirloom. But she had not the money +necessary. Whenever she went to the temple, she saw her mirror lying in +the court-yard, behind a railing, among hundreds of other mirrors +heaped there together. She knew it by the _Shō-Chiku-Bai_ in relief on +the back of it,—those three fortunate emblems of Pine, Bamboo, and +Plumflower, which delighted her baby-eyes when her mother first showed +her the mirror. She longed for some chance to steal the mirror, and +hide it,—that she might thereafter treasure it always. But the chance +did not come; and she became very unhappy,—felt as if she had foolishly +given away a part of her life. She thought about the old saying that a +mirror is the Soul of a Woman—(a saying mystically expressed, by the +Chinese character for Soul, upon the backs of many bronze mirrors),—and +she feared that it was true in weirder ways than she had before +imagined. But she could not dare to speak of her pain to anybody. + +Now, when all the mirrors contributed for the Mugenyama bell had been +sent to the foundry, the bell-founders discovered that there was one +mirror among them which would not melt. Again and again they tried to +melt it; but it resisted all their efforts. Evidently the woman who had +given that mirror to the temple must have regretted the giving. She had +not presented her offering with all her heart; and therefore her +selfish soul, remaining attached to the mirror, kept it hard and cold +in the midst of the furnace. + +Of course everybody heard of the matter, and everybody soon knew whose +mirror it was that would not melt. And because of this public exposure +of her secret fault, the poor woman became very much ashamed and very +angry. And as she could not bear the shame, she drowned herself, after +having written a farewell letter containing these words:— + +“When I am dead, it will not be difficult to melt the mirror and to +cast the bell. But, to the person who breaks that bell by ringing it, +great wealth will be given by the ghost of me.” + + +—You must know that the last wish or promise of anybody who dies in +anger, or performs suicide in anger, is generally supposed to possess a +supernatural force. After the dead woman’s mirror had been melted, and +the bell had been successfully cast, people remembered the words of +that letter. They felt sure that the spirit of the writer would give +wealth to the breaker of the bell; and, as soon as the bell had been +suspended in the court of the temple, they went in multitude to ring +it. With all their might and main they swung the ringing-beam; but the +bell proved to be a good bell, and it bravely withstood their assaults. +Nevertheless, the people were not easily discouraged. Day after day, at +all hours, they continued to ring the bell furiously,—caring nothing +whatever for the protests of the priests. So the ringing became an +affliction; and the priests could not endure it; and they got rid of +the bell by rolling it down the hill into a swamp. The swamp was deep, +and swallowed it up,—and that was the end of the bell. Only its legend +remains; and in that legend it is called the _Mugen-Kané_, or Bell of +Mugen. + + +Now there are queer old Japanese beliefs in the magical efficacy of a +certain mental operation implied, though not described, by the verb +_nazoraëru_. The word itself cannot be adequately rendered by any +English word; for it is used in relation to many kinds of mimetic +magic, as well as in relation to the performance of many religious acts +of faith. Common meanings of _nazoraëru_, according to dictionaries, +are “to imitate,” “to compare,” “to liken;” but the esoteric meaning is +_to substitute, in imagination, one object or action for another, so as +to bring about some magical or miraculous result_. + +For example:—you cannot afford to build a Buddhist temple; but you can +easily lay a pebble before the image of the Buddha, with the same pious +feeling that would prompt you to build a temple if you were rich enough +to build one. The merit of so offering the pebble becomes equal, or +almost equal, to the merit of erecting a temple... You cannot read the +six thousand seven hundred and seventy-one volumes of the Buddhist +texts; but you can make a revolving library, containing them, turn +round, by pushing it like a windlass. And if you push with an earnest +wish that you could read the six thousand seven hundred and seventy-one +volumes, you will acquire the same merit as the reading of them would +enable you to gain... So much will perhaps suffice to explain the +religious meanings of _nazoraëru_. + +The magical meanings could not all be explained without a great variety +of examples; but, for present purposes, the following will serve. If +you should make a little man of straw, for the same reason that Sister +Helen made a little man of wax,—and nail it, with nails not less than +five inches long, to some tree in a temple-grove at the Hour of the Ox +(2),—and if the person, imaginatively represented by that little straw +man, should die thereafter in atrocious agony,—that would illustrate +one signification of _nazoraëru_... Or, let us suppose that a robber +has entered your house during the night, and carried away your +valuables. If you can discover the footprints of that robber in your +garden, and then promptly burn a very large moxa on each of them, the +soles of the feet of the robber will become inflamed, and will allow +him no rest until he returns, of his own accord, to put himself at your +mercy. That is another kind of mimetic magic expressed by the term +_nazoraëru_. And a third kind is illustrated by various legends of the +Mugen-Kané. + +After the bell had been rolled into the swamp, there was, of course, no +more chance of ringing it in such wise as to break it. But persons who +regretted this loss of opportunity would strike and break objects +imaginatively substituted for the bell,—thus hoping to please the +spirit of the owner of the mirror that had made so much trouble. One of +these persons was a woman called Umégaë,—famed in Japanese legend +because of her relation to Kajiwara Kagesue, a warrior of the Heiké +clan. While the pair were traveling together, Kajiwara one day found +himself in great straits for want of money; and Umégaë, remembering the +tradition of the Bell of Mugen, took a basin of bronze, and, mentally +representing it to be the bell, beat upon it until she broke it,—crying +out, at the same time, for three hundred pieces of gold. A guest of the +inn where the pair were stopping made inquiry as to the cause of the +banging and the crying, and, on learning the story of the trouble, +actually presented Umégaë with three hundred _ryō_ (3) in gold. +Afterwards a song was made about Umégaë’s basin of bronze; and that +song is sung by dancing girls even to this day:— + +Umégaë no chōzubachi tataïté +O-kané ga déru naraba +Mina San mi-uké wo +Sōré tanomimasu + + +[“_If, by striking upon the wash-basin of Umégaë, I could make +honorable money come to me, then would I negotiate for the freedom of +all my girl-comrades._”] + + +After this happening, the fame of the Mugen-Kané became great; and many +people followed the example of Umégaë,—thereby hoping to emulate her +luck. Among these folk was a dissolute farmer who lived near Mugenyama, +on the bank of the Ōïgawa. Having wasted his substance in riotous +living, this farmer made for himself, out of the mud in his garden, a +clay-model of the Mugen-Kané; and he beat the clay-bell, and broke +it,—crying out the while for great wealth. + +Then, out of the ground before him, rose up the figure of a white-robed +woman, with long loose-flowing hair, holding a covered jar. And the +woman said: “I have come to answer your fervent prayer as it deserves +to be answered. Take, therefore, this jar.” So saying, she put the jar +into his hands, and disappeared. + +Into his house the happy man rushed, to tell his wife the good news. He +set down in front of her the covered jar,—which was heavy,—and they +opened it together. And they found that it was filled, up to the very +brim, with... + +But no!—I really cannot tell you with what it was filled. + + + + +JIKININKI + + +Once, when Musō Kokushi, a priest of the Zen sect, was journeying alone +through the province of Mino (1), he lost his way in a +mountain-district where there was nobody to direct him. For a long time +he wandered about helplessly; and he was beginning to despair of +finding shelter for the night, when he perceived, on the top of a hill +lighted by the last rays of the sun, one of those little hermitages, +called _anjitsu_, which are built for solitary priests. It seemed to be +in ruinous condition; but he hastened to it eagerly, and found that it +was inhabited by an aged priest, from whom he begged the favor of a +night’s lodging. This the old man harshly refused; but he directed Musō +to a certain hamlet, in the valley adjoining where lodging and food +could be obtained. + +Musō found his way to the hamlet, which consisted of less than a dozen +farm-cottages; and he was kindly received at the dwelling of the +headman. Forty or fifty persons were assembled in the principal +apartment, at the moment of Musō’s arrival; but he was shown into a +small separate room, where he was promptly supplied with food and +bedding. Being very tired, he lay down to rest at an early hour; but a +little before midnight he was roused from sleep by a sound of loud +weeping in the next apartment. Presently the sliding-screens were +gently pushed apart; and a young man, carrying a lighted lantern, +entered the room, respectfully saluted him, and said:— + +“Reverend Sir, it is my painful duty to tell you that I am now the +responsible head of this house. Yesterday I was only the eldest son. +But when you came here, tired as you were, we did not wish that you +should feel embarrassed in any way: therefore we did not tell you that +father had died only a few hours before. The people whom you saw in the +next room are the inhabitants of this village: they all assembled here +to pay their last respects to the dead; and now they are going to +another village, about three miles off,—for by our custom, no one of us +may remain in this village during the night after a death has taken +place. We make the proper offerings and prayers;—then we go away, +leaving the corpse alone. Strange things always happen in the house +where a corpse has thus been left: so we think that it will be better +for you to come away with us. We can find you good lodging in the other +village. But perhaps, as you are a priest, you have no fear of demons +or evil spirits; and, if you are not afraid of being left alone with +the body, you will be very welcome to the use of this poor house. +However, I must tell you that nobody, except a priest, would dare to +remain here tonight.” + +Musō made answer:— + +“For your kind intention and your generous hospitality, I am deeply +grateful. But I am sorry that you did not tell me of your father’s +death when I came;—for, though I was a little tired, I certainly was +not so tired that I should have found difficulty in doing my duty as a +priest. Had you told me, I could have performed the service before your +departure. As it is, I shall perform the service after you have gone +away; and I shall stay by the body until morning. I do not know what +you mean by your words about the danger of staying here alone; but I am +not afraid of ghosts or demons: therefore please to feel no anxiety on +my account.” + +The young man appeared to be rejoiced by these assurances, and +expressed his gratitude in fitting words. Then the other members of the +family, and the folk assembled in the adjoining room, having been told +of the priest’s kind promises, came to thank him,—after which the +master of the house said:— + +“Now, reverend Sir, much as we regret to leave you alone, we must bid +you farewell. By the rule of our village, none of us can stay here +after midnight. We beg, kind Sir, that you will take every care of your +honorable body, while we are unable to attend upon you. And if you +happen to hear or see anything strange during our absence, please tell +us of the matter when we return in the morning.” + +All then left the house, except the priest, who went to the room where +the dead body was lying. The usual offerings had been set before the +corpse; and a small Buddhist lamp—_tōmyō_—was burning. The priest +recited the service, and performed the funeral ceremonies,—after which +he entered into meditation. So meditating he remained through several +silent hours; and there was no sound in the deserted village. But, when +the hush of the night was at its deepest, there noiselessly entered a +Shape, vague and vast; and in the same moment Musō found himself +without power to move or speak. He saw that Shape lift the corpse, as +with hands, devour it, more quickly than a cat devours a rat,—beginning +at the head, and eating everything: the hair and the bones and even the +shroud. And the monstrous Thing, having thus consumed the body, turned +to the offerings, and ate them also. Then it went away, as mysteriously +as it had come. + +When the villagers returned next morning, they found the priest +awaiting them at the door of the headman’s dwelling. All in turn +saluted him; and when they had entered, and looked about the room, no +one expressed any surprise at the disappearance of the dead body and +the offerings. But the master of the house said to Musō:— + +“Reverent Sir, you have probably seen unpleasant things during the +night: all of us were anxious about you. But now we are very happy to +find you alive and unharmed. Gladly we would have stayed with you, if +it had been possible. But the law of our village, as I told you last +evening, obliges us to quit our houses after a death has taken place, +and to leave the corpse alone. Whenever this law has been broken, +heretofore, some great misfortune has followed. Whenever it is obeyed, +we find that the corpse and the offerings disappear during our absence. +Perhaps you have seen the cause.” + +Then Musō told of the dim and awful Shape that had entered the +death-chamber to devour the body and the offerings. No person seemed to +be surprised by his narration; and the master of the house observed:— + +“What you have told us, reverend Sir, agrees with what has been said +about this matter from ancient time.” + +Musō then inquired:— + +“Does not the priest on the hill sometimes perform the funeral service +for your dead?” + +“What priest?” the young man asked. + +“The priest who yesterday evening directed me to this village,” +answered Musō. “I called at his _anjitsu_ on the hill yonder. He +refused me lodging, but told me the way here.” + +The listeners looked at each other, as in astonishment; and, after a +moment of silence, the master of the house said:— + +“Reverend Sir, there is no priest and there is no _anjitsu_ on the +hill. For the time of many generations there has not been any +resident-priest in this neighborhood.” + +Musō said nothing more on the subject; for it was evident that his kind +hosts supposed him to have been deluded by some goblin. But after +having bidden them farewell, and obtained all necessary information as +to his road, he determined to look again for the hermitage on the hill, +and so to ascertain whether he had really been deceived. He found the +_anjitsu_ without any difficulty; and, this time, its aged occupant +invited him to enter. When he had done so, the hermit humbly bowed down +before him, exclaiming:—“Ah! I am ashamed!—I am very much ashamed!—I am +exceedingly ashamed!” + +“You need not be ashamed for having refused me shelter,” said Musō. +“You directed me to the village yonder, where I was very kindly +treated; and I thank you for that favor.” + +“I can give no man shelter,” the recluse made answer;—“and it is not +for the refusal that I am ashamed. I am ashamed only that you should +have seen me in my real shape,—for it was I who devoured the corpse and +the offerings last night before your eyes... Know, reverend Sir, that I +am a _jikininki_,[1]—an eater of human flesh. Have pity upon me, and +suffer me to confess the secret fault by which I became reduced to this +condition. + +“A long, long time ago, I was a priest in this desolate region. There +was no other priest for many leagues around. So, in that time, the +bodies of the mountain-folk who died used to be brought here,—sometimes +from great distances,—in order that I might repeat over them the holy +service. But I repeated the service and performed the rites only as a +matter of business;—I thought only of the food and the clothes that my +sacred profession enabled me to gain. And because of this selfish +impiety I was reborn, immediately after my death, into the state of a +_jikininki_. Since then I have been obliged to feed upon the corpses of +the people who die in this district: every one of them I must devour in +the way that you saw last night... Now, reverend Sir, let me beseech +you to perform a Ségaki-service[2] for me: help me by your prayers, I +entreat you, so that I may be soon able to escape from this horrible +state of existence”... + +No sooner had the hermit uttered this petition than he disappeared; and +the hermitage also disappeared at the same instant. And Musō Kokushi +found himself kneeling alone in the high grass, beside an ancient and +moss-grown tomb of the form called _go-rin-ishi_,[3] which seemed to be +the tomb of a priest. + + + + +MUJINA + + +On the Akasaka Road, in Tōkyō, there is a slope called +Kii-no-kuni-zaka,—which means the Slope of the Province of Kii. I do +not know why it is called the Slope of the Province of Kii. On one side +of this slope you see an ancient moat, deep and very wide, with high +green banks rising up to some place of gardens;—and on the other side +of the road extend the long and lofty walls of an imperial palace. +Before the era of street-lamps and jinrikishas, this neighborhood was +very lonesome after dark; and belated pedestrians would go miles out of +their way rather than mount the Kii-no-kuni-zaka, alone, after sunset. + +All because of a Mujina that used to walk there. (1) + +The last man who saw the Mujina was an old merchant of the Kyōbashi +quarter, who died about thirty years ago. This is the story, as he told +it:— + +One night, at a late hour, he was hurrying up the Kii-no-kuni-zaka, +when he perceived a woman crouching by the moat, all alone, and weeping +bitterly. Fearing that she intended to drown herself, he stopped to +offer her any assistance or consolation in his power. She appeared to +be a slight and graceful person, handsomely dressed; and her hair was +arranged like that of a young girl of good family. “O-jochū,”[1] he +exclaimed, approaching her,—“O-jochū, do not cry like that!... Tell me +what the trouble is; and if there be any way to help you, I shall be +glad to help you.” (He really meant what he said; for he was a very +kind man.) But she continued to weep,—hiding her face from him with one +of her long sleeves. “O-jochū,” he said again, as gently as he +could,—“please, please listen to me!... This is no place for a young +lady at night! Do not cry, I implore you!—only tell me how I may be of +some help to you!” Slowly she rose up, but turned her back to him, and +continued to moan and sob behind her sleeve. He laid his hand lightly +upon her shoulder, and pleaded:—“O-jochū!—O-jochū!—O-jochū!... Listen +to me, just for one little moment!... O-jochū!—O-jochū!”... Then that +O-jochū turned around, and dropped her sleeve, and stroked her face +with her hand;—and the man saw that she had no eyes or nose or +mouth,—and he screamed and ran away. (2) + +Up Kii-no-kuni-zaka he ran and ran; and all was black and empty before +him. On and on he ran, never daring to look back; and at last he saw a +lantern, so far away that it looked like the gleam of a firefly; and he +made for it. It proved to be only the lantern of an itinerant +_soba_-seller,[2] who had set down his stand by the road-side; but any +light and any human companionship was good after that experience; and +he flung himself down at the feet of the _soba_-seller, crying out, +“Ah!—aa!!—_aa!!!_”... + +“_Koré! koré!_” (3) roughly exclaimed the soba-man. “Here! what is the +matter with you? Anybody hurt you?” + +“No—nobody hurt me,” panted the other,—“only... _Ah!—aa!_” + +“—Only scared you?” queried the peddler, unsympathetically. “Robbers?” + +“Not robbers,—not robbers,” gasped the terrified man... “I saw... I saw +a woman—by the moat;—and she showed me... _Ah!_ I cannot tell you what +she showed me!”... + +“_Hé!_ (4) Was it anything like THIS that she showed you?” cried the +soba-man, stroking his own face—which therewith became like unto an +Egg... And, simultaneously, the light went out. + + + + +ROKURO-KUBI + + +Nearly five hundred years ago there was a samurai, named Isogai +Héïdazaëmon Takétsura, in the service of the Lord Kikuji, of Kyūshū. +This Isogai had inherited, from many warlike ancestors, a natural +aptitude for military exercises, and extraordinary strength. While yet +a boy he had surpassed his teachers in the art of swordsmanship, in +archery, and in the use of the spear, and had displayed all the +capacities of a daring and skillful soldier. Afterwards, in the time of +the Eikyō[1] war, he so distinguished himself that high honors were +bestowed upon him. But when the house of Kikuji came to ruin, Isogai +found himself without a master. He might then easily have obtained +service under another daimyō; but as he had never sought distinction +for his own sake alone, and as his heart remained true to his former +lord, he preferred to give up the world. So he cut off his hair, and +became a traveling priest,—taking the Buddhist name of Kwairyō. + +But always, under the _koromo_[2] of the priest, Kwairyō kept warm +within him the heart of the samurai. As in other years he had laughed +at peril, so now also he scorned danger; and in all weathers and all +seasons he journeyed to preach the good Law in places where no other +priest would have dared to go. For that age was an age of violence and +disorder; and upon the highways there was no security for the solitary +traveler, even if he happened to be a priest. + +In the course of his first long journey, Kwairyō had occasion to visit +the province of Kai. (1) One evening, as he was traveling through the +mountains of that province, darkness overcame him in a very lonesome +district, leagues away from any village. So he resigned himself to pass +the night under the stars; and having found a suitable grassy spot, by +the roadside, he lay down there, and prepared to sleep. He had always +welcomed discomfort; and even a bare rock was for him a good bed, when +nothing better could be found, and the root of a pine-tree an excellent +pillow. His body was iron; and he never troubled himself about dews or +rain or frost or snow. + +Scarcely had he lain down when a man came along the road, carrying an +axe and a great bundle of chopped wood. This woodcutter halted on +seeing Kwairyō lying down, and, after a moment of silent observation, +said to him in a tone of great surprise:— + +“What kind of a man can you be, good Sir, that you dare to lie down +alone in such a place as this?... There are haunters about here,—many +of them. Are you not afraid of Hairy Things?” + +“My friend,” cheerfully answered Kwairyō, “I am only a wandering +priest,—a ‘Cloud-and-Water-Guest,’ as folks call it: +_Unsui-no-ryokaku_. (2) And I am not in the least afraid of Hairy +Things,—if you mean goblin-foxes, or goblin-badgers, or any creatures +of that kind. As for lonesome places, I like them: they are suitable +for meditation. I am accustomed to sleeping in the open air: and I have +learned never to be anxious about my life.” + +“You must be indeed a brave man, Sir Priest,” the peasant responded, +“to lie down here! This place has a bad name,—a very bad name. But, as +the proverb has it, _Kunshi ayayuki ni chikayorazu_ [‘The superior man +does not needlessly expose himself to peril’]; and I must assure you, +Sir, that it is very dangerous to sleep here. Therefore, although my +house is only a wretched thatched hut, let me beg of you to come home +with me at once. In the way of food, I have nothing to offer you; but +there is a roof at least, and you can sleep under it without risk.” + +He spoke earnestly; and Kwairyō, liking the kindly tone of the man, +accepted this modest offer. The woodcutter guided him along a narrow +path, leading up from the main road through mountain-forest. It was a +rough and dangerous path,—sometimes skirting precipices,—sometimes +offering nothing but a network of slippery roots for the foot to rest +upon,—sometimes winding over or between masses of jagged rock. But at +last Kwairyō found himself upon a cleared space at the top of a hill, +with a full moon shining overhead; and he saw before him a small +thatched cottage, cheerfully lighted from within. The woodcutter led +him to a shed at the back of the house, whither water had been +conducted, through bamboo-pipes, from some neighboring stream; and the +two men washed their feet. Beyond the shed was a vegetable garden, and +a grove of cedars and bamboos; and beyond the trees appeared the +glimmer of a cascade, pouring from some loftier height, and swaying in +the moonshine like a long white robe. + +As Kwairyō entered the cottage with his guide, he perceived four +persons—men and women—warming their hands at a little fire kindled in +the _ro_[3] of the principle apartment. They bowed low to the priest, +and greeted him in the most respectful manner. Kwairyō wondered that +persons so poor, and dwelling in such a solitude, should be aware of +the polite forms of greeting. “These are good people,” he thought to +himself; “and they must have been taught by some one well acquainted +with the rules of propriety.” Then turning to his host,—the _aruji_, or +house-master, as the others called him,—Kwairyō said:— + +“From the kindness of your speech, and from the very polite welcome +given me by your household, I imagine that you have not always been a +woodcutter. Perhaps you formerly belonged to one of the upper classes?” + +Smiling, the woodcutter answered:— + +“Sir, you are not mistaken. Though now living as you find me, I was +once a person of some distinction. My story is the story of a ruined +life—ruined by my own fault. I used to be in the service of a daimyō; +and my rank in that service was not inconsiderable. But I loved women +and wine too well; and under the influence of passion I acted wickedly. +My selfishness brought about the ruin of our house, and caused the +death of many persons. Retribution followed me; and I long remained a +fugitive in the land. Now I often pray that I may be able to make some +atonement for the evil which I did, and to reestablish the ancestral +home. But I fear that I shall never find any way of so doing. +Nevertheless, I try to overcome the karma of my errors by sincere +repentance, and by helping, as far as I can, those who are +unfortunate.” + +Kwairyō was pleased by this announcement of good resolve; and he said +to the _aruji:_— + +“My friend, I have had occasion to observe that men, prone to folly in +their youth, may in after years become very earnest in right living. In +the holy sûtras it is written that those strongest in wrong-doing can +become, by power of good resolve, the strongest in right-doing. I do +not doubt that you have a good heart; and I hope that better fortune +will come to you. To-night I shall recite the sûtras for your sake, and +pray that you may obtain the force to overcome the karma of any past +errors.” + +With these assurances, Kwairyō bade the _aruji_ good-night; and his +host showed him to a very small side-room, where a bed had been made +ready. Then all went to sleep except the priest, who began to read the +sûtras by the light of a paper lantern. Until a late hour he continued +to read and pray: then he opened a little window in his little +sleeping-room, to take a last look at the landscape before lying down. +The night was beautiful: there was no cloud in the sky: there was no +wind; and the strong moonlight threw down sharp black shadows of +foliage, and glittered on the dews of the garden. Shrillings of +crickets and bell-insects (3) made a musical tumult; and the sound of +the neighboring cascade deepened with the night. Kwairyō felt thirsty +as he listened to the noise of the water; and, remembering the bamboo +aqueduct at the rear of the house, he thought that he could go there +and get a drink without disturbing the sleeping household. Very gently +he pushed apart the sliding-screens that separated his room from the +main apartment; and he saw, by the light of the lantern, five recumbent +bodies—without heads! + +For one instant he stood bewildered,—imagining a crime. But in another +moment he perceived that there was no blood, and that the headless +necks did not look as if they had been cut. Then he thought to +himself:—“Either this is an illusion made by goblins, or I have been +lured into the dwelling of a Rokuro-Kubi... (4) In the book _Sōshinki_ +(5) it is written that if one find the body of a Rokuro-Kubi without +its head, and remove the body to another place, the head will never be +able to join itself again to the neck. And the book further says that +when the head comes back and finds that its body has been moved, it +will strike itself upon the floor three times,—bounding like a +ball,—and will pant as in great fear, and presently die. Now, if these +be Rokuro-Kubi, they mean me no good;—so I shall be justified in +following the instructions of the book.”... + +He seized the body of the aruji by the feet, pulled it to the window, +and pushed it out. Then he went to the back-door, which he found +barred; and he surmised that the heads had made their exit through the +smoke-hole in the roof, which had been left open. Gently unbarring the +door, he made his way to the garden, and proceeded with all possible +caution to the grove beyond it. He heard voices talking in the grove; +and he went in the direction of the voices,—stealing from shadow to +shadow, until he reached a good hiding-place. Then, from behind a +trunk, he caught sight of the heads,—all five of them,—flitting about, +and chatting as they flitted. They were eating worms and insects which +they found on the ground or among the trees. Presently the head of the +aruji stopped eating and said:— + +“Ah, that traveling priest who came to-night!—how fat all his body is! +When we shall have eaten him, our bellies will be well filled... I was +foolish to talk to him as I did;—it only set him to reciting the sûtras +on behalf of my soul! To go near him while he is reciting would be +difficult; and we cannot touch him so long as he is praying. But as it +is now nearly morning, perhaps he has gone to sleep... Some one of you +go to the house and see what the fellow is doing.” + +Another head—the head of a young woman—immediately rose up and flitted +to the house, lightly as a bat. After a few minutes it came back, and +cried out huskily, in a tone of great alarm:— + +“That traveling priest is not in the house;—he is gone! But that is not +the worst of the matter. He has taken the body of our aruji; and I do +not know where he has put it.” + +At this announcement the head of the aruji—distinctly visible in the +moonlight—assumed a frightful aspect: its eyes opened monstrously; its +hair stood up bristling; and its teeth gnashed. Then a cry burst from +its lips; and—weeping tears of rage—it exclaimed:— + +“Since my body has been moved, to rejoin it is not possible! Then I +must die!... And all through the work of that priest! Before I die I +will get at that priest!—I will tear him!—I will devour him!... _And +there he is_—behind that tree!—hiding behind that tree! See him!—the +fat coward!”... + +In the same moment the head of the aruji, followed by the other four +heads, sprang at Kwairyō. But the strong priest had already armed +himself by plucking up a young tree; and with that tree he struck the +heads as they came,—knocking them from him with tremendous blows. Four +of them fled away. But the head of the aruji, though battered again and +again, desperately continued to bound at the priest, and at last caught +him by the left sleeve of his robe. Kwairyō, however, as quickly +gripped the head by its topknot, and repeatedly struck it. It did not +release its hold; but it uttered a long moan, and thereafter ceased to +struggle. It was dead. But its teeth still held the sleeve; and, for +all his great strength, Kwairyō could not force open the jaws. + +With the head still hanging to his sleeve he went back to the house, +and there caught sight of the other four Rokuro-Kubi squatting +together, with their bruised and bleeding heads reunited to their +bodies. But when they perceived him at the back-door all screamed, “The +priest! the priest!”—and fled, through the other doorway, out into the +woods. + +Eastward the sky was brightening; day was about to dawn; and Kwairyō +knew that the power of the goblins was limited to the hours of +darkness. He looked at the head clinging to his sleeve,—its face all +fouled with blood and foam and clay; and he laughed aloud as he thought +to himself: “What a _miyagé!_[4]—the head of a goblin!” After which he +gathered together his few belongings, and leisurely descended the +mountain to continue his journey. + +Right on he journeyed, until he came to Suwa in Shinano; (6) and into +the main street of Suwa he solemnly strode, with the head dangling at +his elbow. Then woman fainted, and children screamed and ran away; and +there was a great crowding and clamoring until the _torité_ (as the +police in those days were called) seized the priest, and took him to +jail. For they supposed the head to be the head of a murdered man who, +in the moment of being killed, had caught the murderer’s sleeve in his +teeth. As for Kwairyō, he only smiled and said nothing when they +questioned him. So, after having passed a night in prison, he was +brought before the magistrates of the district. Then he was ordered to +explain how he, a priest, had been found with the head of a man +fastened to his sleeve, and why he had dared thus shamelessly to parade +his crime in the sight of people. + +Kwairyō laughed long and loudly at these questions; and then he said:— + +“Sirs, I did not fasten the head to my sleeve: it fastened itself +there—much against my will. And I have not committed any crime. For +this is not the head of a man; it is the head of a goblin;—and, if I +caused the death of the goblin, I did not do so by any shedding of +blood, but simply by taking the precautions necessary to assure my own +safety.”... And he proceeded to relate the whole of the +adventure,—bursting into another hearty laugh as he told of his +encounter with the five heads. + +But the magistrates did not laugh. They judged him to be a hardened +criminal, and his story an insult to their intelligence. Therefore, +without further questioning, they decided to order his immediate +execution,—all of them except one, a very old man. This aged officer +had made no remark during the trial; but, after having heard the +opinion of his colleagues, he rose up, and said:— + +“Let us first examine the head carefully; for this, I think, has not +yet been done. If the priest has spoken truth, the head itself should +bear witness for him... Bring the head here!” + +So the head, still holding in its teeth the _koromo_ that had been +stripped from Kwairyō’s shoulders, was put before the judges. The old +man turned it round and round, carefully examined it, and discovered, +on the nape of its neck, several strange red characters. He called the +attention of his colleagues to these, and also bade them observe that +the edges of the neck nowhere presented the appearance of having been +cut by any weapon. On the contrary, the line of leverance was smooth as +the line at which a falling leaf detaches itself from the stem... Then +said the elder:— + +“I am quite sure that the priest told us nothing but the truth. This is +the head of a Rokuro-Kubi. In the book _Nan-hō-ï-butsu-shi_ it is +written that certain red characters can always be found upon the nape +of the neck of a real Rokuro-Kubi. There are the characters: you can +see for yourselves that they have not been painted. Moreover, it is +well known that such goblins have been dwelling in the mountains of the +province of Kai from very ancient time... But you, Sir,” he exclaimed, +turning to Kwairyō,—“what sort of sturdy priest may you be? Certainly +you have given proof of a courage that few priests possess; and you +have the air of a soldier rather than a priest. Perhaps you once +belonged to the samurai-class?” + +“You have guessed rightly, Sir,” Kwairyō responded. “Before becoming a +priest, I long followed the profession of arms; and in those days I +never feared man or devil. My name then was Isogai Héïdazaëmon +Takétsura of Kyūshū: there may be some among you who remember it.” + +At the mention of that name, a murmur of admiration filled the +court-room; for there were many present who remembered it. And Kwairyō +immediately found himself among friends instead of judges,—friends +anxious to prove their admiration by fraternal kindness. With honor +they escorted him to the residence of the daimyō, who welcomed him, and +feasted him, and made him a handsome present before allowing him to +depart. When Kwairyō left Suwa, he was as happy as any priest is +permitted to be in this transitory world. As for the head, he took it +with him,—jocosely insisting that he intended it for a _miyagé_. + +And now it only remains to tell what became of the head. + +A day or two after leaving Suwa, Kwairyō met with a robber, who stopped +him in a lonesome place, and bade him strip. Kwairyō at once removed +his _koromo_, and offered it to the robber, who then first perceived +what was hanging to the sleeve. Though brave, the highwayman was +startled: he dropped the garment, and sprang back. Then he cried +out:—“You!—what kind of a priest are you? Why, you are a worse man than +I am! It is true that I have killed people; but I never walked about +with anybody’s head fastened to my sleeve... Well, Sir priest, I +suppose we are of the same calling; and I must say that I admire +you!... Now that head would be of use to me: I could frighten people +with it. Will you sell it? You can have my robe in exchange for your +_koromo;_ and I will give you five _ryō_ for the head.” + +Kwairyō answered:— + +“I shall let you have the head and the robe if you insist; but I must +tell you that this is not the head of a man. It is a goblin’s head. So, +if you buy it, and have any trouble in consequence, please to remember +that you were not deceived by me.” + +“What a nice priest you are!” exclaimed the robber. “You kill men, and +jest about it!... But I am really in earnest. Here is my robe; and here +is the money;—and let me have the head... What is the use of joking?” + +“Take the thing,” said Kwairyō. “I was not joking. The only joke—if +there be any joke at all—is that you are fool enough to pay good money +for a goblin’s head.” And Kwairyō, loudly laughing, went upon his way. + +Thus the robber got the head and the _koromo;_ and for some time he +played goblin-priest upon the highways. But, reaching the neighborhood +of Suwa, he there leaned the true story of the head; and he then became +afraid that the spirit of the Rokuro-Kubi might give him trouble. So he +made up his mind to take back the head to the place from which it had +come, and to bury it with its body. He found his way to the lonely +cottage in the mountains of Kai; but nobody was there, and he could not +discover the body. Therefore he buried the head by itself, in the grove +behind the cottage; and he had a tombstone set up over the grave; and +he caused a Ségaki-service to be performed on behalf of the spirit of +the Rokuro-Kubi. And that tombstone—known as the Tombstone of the +Rokuro-Kubi—may be seen (at least so the Japanese story-teller +declares) even unto this day. + + + + +A DEAD SECRET + + +A long time ago, in the province of Tamba (1), there lived a rich +merchant named Inamuraya Gensuké. He had a daughter called O-Sono. As +she was very clever and pretty, he thought it would be a pity to let +her grow up with only such teaching as the country-teachers could give +her: so he sent her, in care of some trusty attendants, to Kyōto, that +she might be trained in the polite accomplishments taught to the ladies +of the capital. After she had thus been educated, she was married to a +friend of her father’s family—a merchant named Nagaraya;—and she lived +happily with him for nearly four years. They had one child,—a boy. But +O-Sono fell ill and died, in the fourth year after her marriage. + +On the night after the funeral of O-Sono, her little son said that his +mamma had come back, and was in the room upstairs. She had smiled at +him, but would not talk to him: so he became afraid, and ran away. Then +some of the family went upstairs to the room which had been O-Sono’s; +and they were startled to see, by the light of a small lamp which had +been kindled before a shrine in that room, the figure of the dead +mother. She appeared as if standing in front of a _tansu_, or chest of +drawers, that still contained her ornaments and her wearing-apparel. +Her head and shoulders could be very distinctly seen; but from the +waist downwards the figure thinned into invisibility;—it was like an +imperfect reflection of her, and transparent as a shadow on water. + +Then the folk were afraid, and left the room. Below they consulted +together; and the mother of O-Sono’s husband said: “A woman is fond of +her small things; and O-Sono was much attached to her belongings. +Perhaps she has come back to look at them. Many dead persons will do +that,—unless the things be given to the parish-temple. If we present +O-Sono’s robes and girdles to the temple, her spirit will probably find +rest.” + +It was agreed that this should be done as soon as possible. So on the +following morning the drawers were emptied; and all of O-Sono’s +ornaments and dresses were taken to the temple. But she came back the +next night, and looked at the _tansu_ as before. And she came back also +on the night following, and the night after that, and every night;—and +the house became a house of fear. + +The mother of O-Sono’s husband then went to the parish-temple, and told +the chief priest all that had happened, and asked for ghostly counsel. +The temple was a Zen temple; and the head-priest was a learned old man, +known as Daigen Oshō. He said: “There must be something about which she +is anxious, in or near that _tansu_.”—“But we emptied all the drawers,” +replied the woman;—“there is nothing in the _tansu_.”—“Well,” said +Daigen Oshō, “to-night I shall go to your house, and keep watch in that +room, and see what can be done. You must give orders that no person +shall enter the room while I am watching, unless I call.” + +After sundown, Daigen Oshō went to the house, and found the room made +ready for him. He remained there alone, reading the sûtras; and nothing +appeared until after the Hour of the Rat.[1] Then the figure of O-Sono +suddenly outlined itself in front of the _tansu_. Her face had a +wistful look; and she kept her eyes fixed upon the _tansu_. + +The priest uttered the holy formula prescribed in such cases, and then, +addressing the figure by the _kaimyō_[2] of O-Sono, said:—“I have come +here in order to help you. Perhaps in that _tansu_ there is something +about which you have reason to feel anxious. Shall I try to find it for +you?” The shadow appeared to give assent by a slight motion of the +head; and the priest, rising, opened the top drawer. It was empty. +Successively he opened the second, the third, and the fourth drawer;—he +searched carefully behind them and beneath them;—he carefully examined +the interior of the chest. He found nothing. But the figure remained +gazing as wistfully as before. “What can she want?” thought the priest. +Suddenly it occurred to him that there might be something hidden under +the paper with which the drawers were lined. He removed the lining of +the first drawer:—nothing! He removed the lining of the second and +third drawers:—still nothing. But under the lining of the lowermost +drawer he found—a letter. “Is this the thing about which you have been +troubled?” he asked. The shadow of the woman turned toward him,—her +faint gaze fixed upon the letter. “Shall I burn it for you?” he asked. +She bowed before him. “It shall be burned in the temple this very +morning,” he promised;—“and no one shall read it, except myself.” The +figure smiled and vanished. + +Dawn was breaking as the priest descended the stairs, to find the +family waiting anxiously below. “Do not be anxious,” he said to them: +“She will not appear again.” And she never did. + +The letter was burned. It was a love-letter written to O-Sono in the +time of her studies at Kyōto. But the priest alone knew what was in it; +and the secret died with him. + + + + +YUKI-ONNA + + +In a village of Musashi Province (1), there lived two woodcutters: +Mosaku and Minokichi. At the time of which I am speaking, Mosaku was an +old man; and Minokichi, his apprentice, was a lad of eighteen years. +Every day they went together to a forest situated about five miles from +their village. On the way to that forest there is a wide river to +cross; and there is a ferry-boat. Several times a bridge was built +where the ferry is; but the bridge was each time carried away by a +flood. No common bridge can resist the current there when the river +rises. + +Mosaku and Minokichi were on their way home, one very cold evening, +when a great snowstorm overtook them. They reached the ferry; and they +found that the boatman had gone away, leaving his boat on the other +side of the river. It was no day for swimming; and the woodcutters took +shelter in the ferryman’s hut,—thinking themselves lucky to find any +shelter at all. There was no brazier in the hut, nor any place in which +to make a fire: it was only a two-mat[1] hut, with a single door, but +no window. Mosaku and Minokichi fastened the door, and lay down to +rest, with their straw rain-coats over them. At first they did not feel +very cold; and they thought that the storm would soon be over. + +The old man almost immediately fell asleep; but the boy, Minokichi, lay +awake a long time, listening to the awful wind, and the continual +slashing of the snow against the door. The river was roaring; and the +hut swayed and creaked like a junk at sea. It was a terrible storm; and +the air was every moment becoming colder; and Minokichi shivered under +his rain-coat. But at last, in spite of the cold, he too fell asleep. + +He was awakened by a showering of snow in his face. The door of the hut +had been forced open; and, by the snow-light (_yuki-akari_), he saw a +woman in the room,—a woman all in white. She was bending above Mosaku, +and blowing her breath upon him;—and her breath was like a bright white +smoke. Almost in the same moment she turned to Minokichi, and stooped +over him. He tried to cry out, but found that he could not utter any +sound. The white woman bent down over him, lower and lower, until her +face almost touched him; and he saw that she was very beautiful,—though +her eyes made him afraid. For a little time she continued to look at +him;—then she smiled, and she whispered:—“I intended to treat you like +the other man. But I cannot help feeling some pity for you,—because you +are so young... You are a pretty boy, Minokichi; and I will not hurt +you now. But, if you ever tell anybody—even your own mother—about what +you have seen this night, I shall know it; and then I will kill you... +Remember what I say!” + + +[Illustration] BLOWING HER BREATH UPON HIM + + +With these words, she turned from him, and passed through the doorway. +Then he found himself able to move; and he sprang up, and looked out. +But the woman was nowhere to be seen; and the snow was driving +furiously into the hut. Minokichi closed the door, and secured it by +fixing several billets of wood against it. He wondered if the wind had +blown it open;—he thought that he might have been only dreaming, and +might have mistaken the gleam of the snow-light in the doorway for the +figure of a white woman: but he could not be sure. He called to Mosaku, +and was frightened because the old man did not answer. He put out his +hand in the dark, and touched Mosaku’s face, and found that it was ice! +Mosaku was stark and dead... + +By dawn the storm was over; and when the ferryman returned to his +station, a little after sunrise, he found Minokichi lying senseless +beside the frozen body of Mosaku. Minokichi was promptly cared for, and +soon came to himself; but he remained a long time ill from the effects +of the cold of that terrible night. He had been greatly frightened also +by the old man’s death; but he said nothing about the vision of the +woman in white. As soon as he got well again, he returned to his +calling,—going alone every morning to the forest, and coming back at +nightfall with his bundles of wood, which his mother helped him to +sell. + +One evening, in the winter of the following year, as he was on his way +home, he overtook a girl who happened to be traveling by the same road. +She was a tall, slim girl, very good-looking; and she answered +Minokichi’s greeting in a voice as pleasant to the ear as the voice of +a song-bird. Then he walked beside her; and they began to talk. The +girl said that her name was O-Yuki;[2] that she had lately lost both of +her parents; and that she was going to Yedo (2), where she happened to +have some poor relations, who might help her to find a situation as a +servant. Minokichi soon felt charmed by this strange girl; and the more +that he looked at her, the handsomer she appeared to be. He asked her +whether she was yet betrothed; and she answered, laughingly, that she +was free. Then, in her turn, she asked Minokichi whether he was +married, or pledged to marry; and he told her that, although he had +only a widowed mother to support, the question of an “honorable +daughter-in-law” had not yet been considered, as he was very young... +After these confidences, they walked on for a long while without +speaking; but, as the proverb declares, _Ki ga aréba, mé mo kuchi hodo +ni mono wo iu:_ “When the wish is there, the eyes can say as much as +the mouth.” By the time they reached the village, they had become very +much pleased with each other; and then Minokichi asked O-Yuki to rest +awhile at his house. After some shy hesitation, she went there with +him; and his mother made her welcome, and prepared a warm meal for her. +O-Yuki behaved so nicely that Minokichi’s mother took a sudden fancy to +her, and persuaded her to delay her journey to Yedo. And the natural +end of the matter was that Yuki never went to Yedo at all. She remained +in the house, as an “honorable daughter-in-law.” + +O-Yuki proved a very good daughter-in-law. When Minokichi’s mother came +to die,—some five years later,—her last words were words of affection +and praise for the wife of her son. And O-Yuki bore Minokichi ten +children, boys and girls,—handsome children all of them, and very fair +of skin. + +The country-folk thought O-Yuki a wonderful person, by nature different +from themselves. Most of the peasant-women age early; but O-Yuki, even +after having become the mother of ten children, looked as young and +fresh as on the day when she had first come to the village. + +One night, after the children had gone to sleep, O-Yuki was sewing by +the light of a paper lamp; and Minokichi, watching her, said:— + +“To see you sewing there, with the light on your face, makes me think +of a strange thing that happened when I was a lad of eighteen. I then +saw somebody as beautiful and white as you are now—indeed, she was very +like you.”... + +Without lifting her eyes from her work, O-Yuki responded:— + +“Tell me about her... Where did you see her?” + +Then Minokichi told her about the terrible night in the ferryman’s +hut,—and about the White Woman that had stooped above him, smiling and +whispering,—and about the silent death of old Mosaku. And he said:— + +“Asleep or awake, that was the only time that I saw a being as +beautiful as you. Of course, she was not a human being; and I was +afraid of her,—very much afraid,—but she was so white!... Indeed, I +have never been sure whether it was a dream that I saw, or the Woman of +the Snow.”... + +O-Yuki flung down her sewing, and arose, and bowed above Minokichi +where he sat, and shrieked into his face:— + +“It was I—I—I! Yuki it was! And I told you then that I would kill you +if you ever said one word about it!... But for those children asleep +there, I would kill you this moment! And now you had better take very, +very good care of them; for if ever they have reason to complain of +you, I will treat you as you deserve!”... + +Even as she screamed, her voice became thin, like a crying of +wind;—then she melted into a bright white mist that spired to the +roof-beams, and shuddered away through the smoke-hole.... Never again +was she seen. + + + + +THE STORY OF AOYAGI + + +In the era of Bummei [1469-1486] there was a young samurai called +Tomotada in the service of Hatakéyama Yoshimuné, the Lord of Noto (1). +Tomotada was a native of Echizen (2); but at an early age he had been +taken, as page, into the palace of the daimyō of Noto, and had been +educated, under the supervision of that prince, for the profession of +arms. As he grew up, he proved himself both a good scholar and a good +soldier, and continued to enjoy the favor of his prince. Being gifted +with an amiable character, a winning address, and a very handsome +person, he was admired and much liked by his samurai-comrades. + +When Tomotada was about twenty years old, he was sent upon a private +mission to Hosokawa Masamoto, the great daimyō of Kyōto, a kinsman of +Hatakéyama Yoshimuné. Having been ordered to journey through Echizen, +the youth requested and obtained permission to pay a visit, on the way, +to his widowed mother. + +It was the coldest period of the year when he started; and, though +mounted upon a powerful horse, he found himself obliged to proceed +slowly. The road which he followed passed through a mountain-district +where the settlements were few and far between; and on the second day +of his journey, after a weary ride of hours, he was dismayed to find +that he could not reach his intended halting-place until late in the +night. He had reason to be anxious;—for a heavy snowstorm came on, with +an intensely cold wind; and the horse showed signs of exhaustion. But +in that trying moment, Tomotada unexpectedly perceived the thatched +room of a cottage on the summit of a near hill, where willow-trees were +growing. With difficulty he urged his tired animal to the dwelling; and +he loudly knocked upon the storm-doors, which had been closed against +the wind. An old woman opened them, and cried out compassionately at +the sight of the handsome stranger: “Ah, how pitiful!—a young gentleman +traveling alone in such weather!... Deign, young master, to enter.” + +Tomotada dismounted, and after leading his horse to a shed in the rear, +entered the cottage, where he saw an old man and a girl warming +themselves by a fire of bamboo splints. They respectfully invited him +to approach the fire; and the old folks then proceeded to warm some +rice-wine, and to prepare food for the traveler, whom they ventured to +question in regard to his journey. Meanwhile the young girl disappeared +behind a screen. Tomotada had observed, with astonishment, that she was +extremely beautiful,—though her attire was of the most wretched kind, +and her long, loose hair in disorder. He wondered that so handsome a +girl should be living in such a miserable and lonesome place. + +The old man said to him:— + +“Honored Sir, the next village is far; and the snow is falling thickly. +The wind is piercing; and the road is very bad. Therefore, to proceed +further this night would probably be dangerous. Although this hovel is +unworthy of your presence, and although we have not any comfort to +offer, perhaps it were safer to remain to-night under this miserable +roof... We would take good care of your horse.” + +Tomotada accepted this humble proposal,—secretly glad of the chance +thus afforded him to see more of the young girl. Presently a coarse but +ample meal was set before him; and the girl came from behind the +screen, to serve the wine. She was now reclad, in a rough but cleanly +robe of homespun; and her long, loose hair had been neatly combed and +smoothed. As she bent forward to fill his cup, Tomotada was amazed to +perceive that she was incomparably more beautiful than any woman whom +he had ever before seen; and there was a grace about her every motion +that astonished him. But the elders began to apologize for her, saying: +“Sir, our daughter, Aoyagi,[1] has been brought up here in the +mountains, almost alone; and she knows nothing of gentle service. We +pray that you will pardon her stupidity and her ignorance.” Tomotada +protested that he deemed himself lucky to be waited upon by so comely a +maiden. He could not turn his eyes away from her—though he saw that his +admiring gaze made her blush;—and he left the wine and food untasted +before him. The mother said: “Kind Sir, we very much hope that you will +try to eat and to drink a little,—though our peasant-fare is of the +worst,—as you must have been chilled by that piercing wind.” Then, to +please the old folks, Tomotada ate and drank as he could; but the charm +of the blushing girl still grew upon him. He talked with her, and found +that her speech was sweet as her face. Brought up in the mountains as +she might have been;—but, in that case, her parents must at some time +been persons of high degree; for she spoke and moved like a damsel of +rank. Suddenly he addressed her with a poem—which was also a +question—inspired by the delight in his heart:— + + “Tadzunétsuru, +Hana ka toté koso, + Hi wo kurasé, +Akénu ni otoru +Akané sasuran?” + + +[“_Being on my way to pay a visit, I found that which I took to be a +flower: therefore here I spend the day... Why, in the time before dawn, +the dawn-blush tint should glow—that, indeed, I know not._”][2] + + +Without a moment’s hesitation, she answered him in these verses:— + + “Izuru hi no +Honoméku iro wo + Waga sodé ni +Tsutsumaba asu mo +Kimiya tomaran.” + + +[“_If with my sleeve I hid the faint fair color of the dawning +sun,—then, perhaps, in the morning my lord will remain._”][3] + + +Then Tomotada knew that she accepted his admiration; and he was +scarcely less surprised by the art with which she had uttered her +feelings in verse, than delighted by the assurance which the verses +conveyed. He was now certain that in all this world he could not hope +to meet, much less to win, a girl more beautiful and witty than this +rustic maid before him; and a voice in his heart seemed to cry out +urgently, “Take the luck that the gods have put in your way!” In short +he was bewitched—bewitched to such a degree that, without further +preliminary, he asked the old people to give him their daughter in +marriage,—telling them, at the same time, his name and lineage, and his +rank in the train of the Lord of Noto. + +They bowed down before him, with many exclamations of grateful +astonishment. But, after some moments of apparent hesitation, the +father replied:— + +“Honored master, you are a person of high position, and likely to rise +to still higher things. Too great is the favor that you deign to offer +us;—indeed, the depth of our gratitude therefor is not to be spoken or +measured. But this girl of ours, being a stupid country-girl of vulgar +birth, with no training or teaching of any sort, it would be improper +to let her become the wife of a noble samurai. Even to speak of such a +matter is not right... But, since you find the girl to your liking, and +have condescended to pardon her peasant-manners and to overlook her +great rudeness, we do gladly present her to you, for an humble +handmaid. Deign, therefore, to act hereafter in her regard according to +your august pleasure.” + +Ere morning the storm had passed; and day broke through a cloudless +east. Even if the sleeve of Aoyagi hid from her lover’s eyes the +rose-blush of that dawn, he could no longer tarry. But neither could he +resign himself to part with the girl; and, when everything had been +prepared for his journey, he thus addressed her parents:— + +“Though it may seem thankless to ask for more than I have already +received, I must again beg you to give me your daughter for wife. It +would be difficult for me to separate from her now; and as she is +willing to accompany me, if you permit, I can take her with me as she +is. If you will give her to me, I shall ever cherish you as parents... +And, in the meantime, please to accept this poor acknowledgment of your +kindest hospitality.” + +So saying, he placed before his humble host a purse of gold _ryō_. But +the old man, after many prostrations, gently pushed back the gift, and +said:— + +“Kind master, the gold would be of no use to us; and you will probably +have need of it during your long, cold journey. Here we buy nothing; +and we could not spend so much money upon ourselves, even if we +wished... As for the girl, we have already bestowed her as a free +gift;—she belongs to you: therefore it is not necessary to ask our +leave to take her away. Already she has told us that she hopes to +accompany you, and to remain your servant for as long as you may be +willing to endure her presence. We are only too happy to know that you +deign to accept her; and we pray that you will not trouble yourself on +our account. In this place we could not provide her with proper +clothing,—much less with a dowry. Moreover, being old, we should in any +event have to separate from her before long. Therefore it is very +fortunate that you should be willing to take her with you now.” + +It was in vain that Tomotada tried to persuade the old people to accept +a present: he found that they cared nothing for money. But he saw that +they were really anxious to trust their daughter’s fate to his hands; +and he therefore decided to take her with him. So he placed her upon +his horse, and bade the old folks farewell for the time being, with +many sincere expressions of gratitude. + +“Honored Sir,” the father made answer, “it is we, and not you, who have +reason for gratitude. We are sure that you will be kind to our girl; +and we have no fears for her sake.”... + +[_Here, in the Japanese original, there is a queer break in the natural +course of the narration, which therefrom remains curiously +inconsistent. Nothing further is said about the mother of Tomotada, or +about the parents of Aoyagi, or about the daimyō of Noto. Evidently the +writer wearied of his work at this point, and hurried the story, very +carelessly, to its startling end. I am not able to supply his +omissions, or to repair his faults of construction; but I must venture +to put in a few explanatory details, without which the rest of the tale +would not hold together... It appears that Tomotada rashly took Aoyagi +with him to Kyōto, and so got into trouble; but we are not informed as +to where the couple lived afterwards._] + +...Now a samurai was not allowed to marry without the consent of his +lord; and Tomotada could not expect to obtain this sanction before his +mission had been accomplished. He had reason, under such circumstances, +to fear that the beauty of Aoyagi might attract dangerous attention, +and that means might be devised of taking her away from him. In Kyōto +he therefore tried to keep her hidden from curious eyes. But a retainer +of Lord Hosokawa one day caught sight of Aoyagi, discovered her +relation to Tomotada, and reported the matter to the daimyō. Thereupon +the daimyō—a young prince, and fond of pretty faces—gave orders that +the girl should be brought to the place; and she was taken thither at +once, without ceremony. + +Tomotada sorrowed unspeakably; but he knew himself powerless. He was +only an humble messenger in the service of a far-off daimyō; and for +the time being he was at the mercy of a much more powerful daimyō, +whose wishes were not to be questioned. Moreover Tomotada knew that he +had acted foolishly,—that he had brought about his own misfortune, by +entering into a clandestine relation which the code of the military +class condemned. There was now but one hope for him,—a desperate hope: +that Aoyagi might be able and willing to escape and to flee with him. +After long reflection, he resolved to try to send her a letter. The +attempt would be dangerous, of course: any writing sent to her might +find its way to the hands of the daimyō; and to send a love-letter to +any inmate of the place was an unpardonable offense. But he resolved to +dare the risk; and, in the form of a Chinese poem, he composed a letter +which he endeavored to have conveyed to her. The poem was written with +only twenty-eight characters. But with those twenty-eight characters he +was about to express all the depth of his passion, and to suggest all +the pain of his loss:—[4] + + +Kōshi ō-son gojin wo ou; +Ryokuju namida wo tarété rakin wo hitataru; +Komon hitotabi irité fukaki koto umi no gotoshi; +Koré yori shorō koré rojin + +[_Closely, closely the youthful prince now follows after the gem-bright +maid;— +The tears of the fair one, falling, have moistened all her robes. +But the august lord, having once become enamored of her—the depth of +his longing is like the depth of the sea. +Therefore it is only I that am left forlorn,—only I that am left to +wander along._] + +On the evening of the day after this poem had been sent, Tomotada was +summoned to appear before the Lord Hosokawa. The youth at once +suspected that his confidence had been betrayed; and he could not hope, +if his letter had been seen by the daimyō, to escape the severest +penalty. “Now he will order my death,” thought Tomotada;—“but I do not +care to live unless Aoyagi be restored to me. Besides, if the +death-sentence be passed, I can at least try to kill Hosokawa.” He +slipped his swords into his girdle, and hastened to the palace. + +On entering the presence-room he saw the Lord Hosokawa seated upon the +dais, surrounded by samurai of high rank, in caps and robes of +ceremony. All were silent as statues; and while Tomotada advanced to +make obeisance, the hush seemed to him sinister and heavy, like the +stillness before a storm. But Hosokawa suddenly descended from the +dais, and, while taking the youth by the arm, began to repeat the words +of the poem:—“_Kōshi ō-son gojin wo ou_.”... And Tomotada, looking up, +saw kindly tears in the prince’s eyes. + +Then said Hosokawa:— + +“Because you love each other so much, I have taken it upon myself to +authorize your marriage, in lieu of my kinsman, the Lord of Noto; and +your wedding shall now be celebrated before me. The guests are +assembled;—the gifts are ready.” + +At a signal from the lord, the sliding-screens concealing a further +apartment were pushed open; and Tomotada saw there many dignitaries of +the court, assembled for the ceremony, and Aoyagi awaiting him in +brides’ apparel... Thus was she given back to him;—and the wedding was +joyous and splendid;—and precious gifts were made to the young couple +by the prince, and by the members of his household. + + +For five happy years, after that wedding, Tomotada and Aoyagi dwelt +together. But one morning Aoyagi, while talking with her husband about +some household matter, suddenly uttered a great cry of pain, and then +became very white and still. After a few moments she said, in a feeble +voice: “Pardon me for thus rudely crying out—but the pain was so +sudden!... My dear husband, our union must have been brought about +through some Karma-relation in a former state of existence; and that +happy relation, I think, will bring us again together in more than one +life to come. But for this present existence of ours, the relation is +now ended;—we are about to be separated. Repeat for me, I beseech you, +the _Nembutsu_-prayer,—because I am dying.” + +“Oh! what strange wild fancies!” cried the startled husband,—“you are +only a little unwell, my dear one!... lie down for a while, and rest; +and the sickness will pass.”... + +“No, no!” she responded—“I am dying!—I do not imagine it;—I know!... +And it were needless now, my dear husband, to hide the truth from you +any longer:—I am not a human being. The soul of a tree is my soul;—the +heart of a tree is my heart;—the sap of the willow is my life. And some +one, at this cruel moment, is cutting down my tree;—that is why I must +die!... Even to weep were now beyond my strength!—quickly, quickly +repeat the _Nembutsu_ for me... quickly!... Ah!...” + +With another cry of pain she turned aside her beautiful head, and tried +to hide her face behind her sleeve. But almost in the same moment her +whole form appeared to collapse in the strangest way, and to sink down, +down, down—level with the floor. Tomotada had sprung to support +her;—but there was nothing to support! There lay on the matting only +the empty robes of the fair creature and the ornaments that she had +worn in her hair: the body had ceased to exist... + +Tomotada shaved his head, took the Buddhist vows, and became an +itinerant priest. He traveled through all the provinces of the empire; +and, at holy places which he visited, he offered up prayers for the +soul of Aoyagi. Reaching Echizen, in the course of his pilgrimage, he +sought the home of the parents of his beloved. But when he arrived at +the lonely place among the hills, where their dwelling had been, he +found that the cottage had disappeared. There was nothing to mark even +the spot where it had stood, except the stumps of three willows—two old +trees and one young tree—that had been cut down long before his +arrival. + +Beside the stumps of those willow-trees he erected a memorial tomb, +inscribed with divers holy texts; and he there performed many Buddhist +services on behalf of the spirits of Aoyagi and of her parents. + + + + +JIU-ROKU-ZAKURA + + +Uso no yona,— +Jiu-roku-zakura +Saki ni keri! + + +In Wakégōri, a district of the province of Iyo (1), there is a very +ancient and famous cherry-tree, called _Jiu-roku-zakura_, or “the +Cherry-tree of the Sixteenth Day,” because it blooms every year upon +the sixteenth day of the first month (by the old lunar calendar),—and +only upon that day. Thus the time of its flowering is the Period of +Great Cold,—though the natural habit of a cherry-tree is to wait for +the spring season before venturing to blossom. But the +_Jiu-roku-zakura_ blossoms with a life that is not—or, at least, that +was not originally—its own. There is the ghost of a man in that tree. + +He was a samurai of Iyo; and the tree grew in his garden; and it used +to flower at the usual time,—that is to say, about the end of March or +the beginning of April. He had played under that tree when he was a +child; and his parents and grandparents and ancestors had hung to its +blossoming branches, season after season for more than a hundred years, +bright strips of colored paper inscribed with poems of praise. He +himself became very old,—outliving all his children; and there was +nothing in the world left for him to love except that tree. And lo! in +the summer of a certain year, the tree withered and died! + +Exceedingly the old man sorrowed for his tree. Then kind neighbors +found for him a young and beautiful cherry-tree, and planted it in his +garden,—hoping thus to comfort him. And he thanked them, and pretended +to be glad. But really his heart was full of pain; for he had loved the +old tree so well that nothing could have consoled him for the loss of +it. + +At last there came to him a happy thought: he remembered a way by which +the perishing tree might be saved. (It was the sixteenth day of the +first month.) Along he went into his garden, and bowed down before the +withered tree, and spoke to it, saying: “Now deign, I beseech you, once +more to bloom,—because I am going to die in your stead.” (For it is +believed that one can really give away one’s life to another person, or +to a creature or even to a tree, by the favor of the gods;—and thus to +transfer one’s life is expressed by the term _migawari ni tatsu_, “to +act as a substitute.”) Then under that tree he spread a white cloth, +and divers coverings, and sat down upon the coverings, and performed +_hara-kiri_ after the fashion of a samurai. And the ghost of him went +into the tree, and made it blossom in that same hour. + +And every year it still blooms on the sixteenth day of the first month, +in the season of snow. + + + + +THE DREAM OF AKINOSUKÉ + + +In the district called Toïchi of Yamato Province, (1) there used to +live a gōshi named Miyata Akinosuké... [Here I must tell you that in +Japanese feudal times there was a privileged class of +soldier-farmers,—free-holders,—corresponding to the class of yeomen in +England; and these were called gōshi.] + +In Akinosuké’s garden there was a great and ancient cedar-tree, under +which he was wont to rest on sultry days. One very warm afternoon he +was sitting under this tree with two of his friends, fellow-gōshi, +chatting and drinking wine, when he felt all of a sudden very +drowsy,—so drowsy that he begged his friends to excuse him for taking a +nap in their presence. Then he lay down at the foot of the tree, and +dreamed this dream:— + +He thought that as he was lying there in his garden, he saw a +procession, like the train of some great daimyō descending a hill near +by, and that he got up to look at it. A very grand procession it proved +to be,—more imposing than anything of the kind which he had ever seen +before; and it was advancing toward his dwelling. He observed in the +van of it a number of young men richly appareled, who were drawing a +great lacquered palace-carriage, or _gosho-guruma_, hung with bright +blue silk. When the procession arrived within a short distance of the +house it halted; and a richly dressed man—evidently a person of +rank—advanced from it, approached Akinosuké, bowed to him profoundly, +and then said:— + +“Honored Sir, you see before you a _kérai_ [vassal] of the Kokuō of +Tokoyo.[1] My master, the King, commands me to greet you in his august +name, and to place myself wholly at your disposal. He also bids me +inform you that he augustly desires your presence at the palace. Be +therefore pleased immediately to enter this honorable carriage, which +he has sent for your conveyance.” + +Upon hearing these words Akinosuké wanted to make some fitting reply; +but he was too much astonished and embarrassed for speech;—and in the +same moment his will seemed to melt away from him, so that he could +only do as the _kérai_ bade him. He entered the carriage; the _kérai_ +took a place beside him, and made a signal; the drawers, seizing the +silken ropes, turned the great vehicle southward;—and the journey +began. + +In a very short time, to Akinosuké’s amazement, the carriage stopped in +front of a huge two-storied gateway (_rōmon_), of a Chinese style, +which he had never before seen. Here the _kérai_ dismounted, saying, “I +go to announce the honorable arrival,”—and he disappeared. After some +little waiting, Akinosuké saw two noble-looking men, wearing robes of +purple silk and high caps of the form indicating lofty rank, come from +the gateway. These, after having respectfully saluted him, helped him +to descend from the carriage, and led him through the great gate and +across a vast garden, to the entrance of a palace whose front appeared +to extend, west and east, to a distance of miles. Akinosuké was then +shown into a reception-room of wonderful size and splendor. His guides +conducted him to the place of honor, and respectfully seated themselves +apart; while serving-maids, in costume of ceremony, brought +refreshments. When Akinosuké had partaken of the refreshments, the two +purple-robed attendants bowed low before him, and addressed him in the +following words,—each speaking alternately, according to the etiquette +of courts:— + +“It is now our honorable duty to inform you... as to the reason of your +having been summoned hither... Our master, the King, augustly desires +that you become his son-in-law;... and it is his wish and command that +you shall wed this very day... the August Princess, his +maiden-daughter... We shall soon conduct you to the presence-chamber... +where His Augustness even now is waiting to receive you... But it will +be necessary that we first invest you... with the appropriate garments +of ceremony.”[2] + +Having thus spoken, the attendants rose together, and proceeded to an +alcove containing a great chest of gold lacquer. They opened the chest, +and took from it various robes and girdles of rich material, and a +_kamuri_, or regal headdress. With these they attired Akinosuké as +befitted a princely bridegroom; and he was then conducted to the +presence-room, where he saw the Kokuō of Tokoyo seated upon the +_daiza_,[3] wearing a high black cap of state, and robed in robes of +yellow silk. Before the _daiza_, to left and right, a multitude of +dignitaries sat in rank, motionless and splendid as images in a temple; +and Akinosuké, advancing into their midst, saluted the king with the +triple prostration of usage. The king greeted him with gracious words, +and then said:— + +“You have already been informed as to the reason of your having been +summoned to Our presence. We have decided that you shall become the +adopted husband of Our only daughter;—and the wedding ceremony shall +now be performed.” + +As the king finished speaking, a sound of joyful music was heard; and a +long train of beautiful court ladies advanced from behind a curtain to +conduct Akinosuké to the room in which his bride awaited him. + +The room was immense; but it could scarcely contain the multitude of +guests assembled to witness the wedding ceremony. All bowed down before +Akinosuké as he took his place, facing the King’s daughter, on the +kneeling-cushion prepared for him. As a maiden of heaven the bride +appeared to be; and her robes were beautiful as a summer sky. And the +marriage was performed amid great rejoicing. + +Afterwards the pair were conducted to a suite of apartments that had +been prepared for them in another portion of the palace; and there they +received the congratulations of many noble persons, and wedding gifts +beyond counting. + +Some days later Akinosuké was again summoned to the throne-room. On +this occasion he was received even more graciously than before; and the +King said to him:— + +“In the southwestern part of Our dominion there is an island called +Raishū. We have now appointed you Governor of that island. You will +find the people loyal and docile; but their laws have not yet been +brought into proper accord with the laws of Tokoyo; and their customs +have not been properly regulated. We entrust you with the duty of +improving their social condition as far as may be possible; and We +desire that you shall rule them with kindness and wisdom. All +preparations necessary for your journey to Raishū have already been +made.” + +So Akinosuké and his bride departed from the palace of Tokoyo, +accompanied to the shore by a great escort of nobles and officials; and +they embarked upon a ship of state provided by the king. And with +favoring winds they safety sailed to Raishū, and found the good people +of that island assembled upon the beach to welcome them. + +Akinosuké entered at once upon his new duties; and they did not prove +to be hard. During the first three years of his governorship he was +occupied chiefly with the framing and the enactment of laws; but he had +wise counselors to help him, and he never found the work unpleasant. +When it was all finished, he had no active duties to perform, beyond +attending the rites and ceremonies ordained by ancient custom. The +country was so healthy and so fertile that sickness and want were +unknown; and the people were so good that no laws were ever broken. And +Akinosuké dwelt and ruled in Raishū for twenty years more,—making in +all twenty-three years of sojourn, during which no shadow of sorrow +traversed his life. + +But in the twenty-fourth year of his governorship, a great misfortune +came upon him; for his wife, who had borne him seven children,—five +boys and two girls,—fell sick and died. She was buried, with high pomp, +on the summit of a beautiful hill in the district of Hanryōkō; and a +monument, exceedingly splendid, was placed upon her grave. But +Akinosuké felt such grief at her death that he no longer cared to live. + +Now when the legal period of mourning was over, there came to Raishū, +from the Tokoyo palace, a _shisha_, or royal messenger. The _shisha_ +delivered to Akinosuké a message of condolence, and then said to him:— + +“These are the words which our august master, the King of Tokoyo, +commands that I repeat to you: ‘We will now send you back to your own +people and country. As for the seven children, they are the grandsons +and granddaughters of the King, and shall be fitly cared for. Do not, +therefore, allow your mind to be troubled concerning them.’” + +On receiving this mandate, Akinosuké submissively prepared for his +departure. When all his affairs had been settled, and the ceremony of +bidding farewell to his counselors and trusted officials had been +concluded, he was escorted with much honor to the port. There he +embarked upon the ship sent for him; and the ship sailed out into the +blue sea, under the blue sky; and the shape of the island of Raishū +itself turned blue, and then turned grey, and then vanished forever... +And Akinosuké suddenly awoke—under the cedar-tree in his own garden! + +For a moment he was stupefied and dazed. But he perceived his two +friends still seated near him,—drinking and chatting merrily. He stared +at them in a bewildered way, and cried aloud,— + +“How strange!” + +“Akinosuké must have been dreaming,” one of them exclaimed, with a +laugh. “What did you see, Akinosuké, that was strange?” + +Then Akinosuké told his dream,—that dream of three-and-twenty years’ +sojourn in the realm of Tokoyo, in the island of Raishū;—and they were +astonished, because he had really slept for no more than a few minutes. + +One gōshi said:— + +“Indeed, you saw strange things. We also saw something strange while +you were napping. A little yellow butterfly was fluttering over your +face for a moment or two; and we watched it. Then it alighted on the +ground beside you, close to the tree; and almost as soon as it alighted +there, a big, big ant came out of a hole and seized it and pulled it +down into the hole. Just before you woke up, we saw that very butterfly +come out of the hole again, and flutter over your face as before. And +then it suddenly disappeared: we do not know where it went.” + +“Perhaps it was Akinosuké’s soul,” the other gōshi said;—“certainly I +thought I saw it fly into his mouth... But, even if that butterfly +_was_ Akinosuké’s soul, the fact would not explain his dream.” + +“The ants might explain it,” returned the first speaker. “Ants are +queer beings—possibly goblins... Anyhow, there is a big ant’s nest +under that cedar-tree.”... + +“Let us look!” cried Akinosuké, greatly moved by this suggestion. And +he went for a spade. + +The ground about and beneath the cedar-tree proved to have been +excavated, in a most surprising way, by a prodigious colony of ants. +The ants had furthermore built inside their excavations; and their tiny +constructions of straw, clay, and stems bore an odd resemblance to +miniature towns. In the middle of a structure considerably larger than +the rest there was a marvelous swarming of small ants around the body +of one very big ant, which had yellowish wings and a long black head. + +“Why, there is the King of my dream!” cried Akinosuké; “and there is +the palace of Tokoyo!... How extraordinary!... Raishū ought to lie +somewhere southwest of it—to the left of that big root... Yes!—here it +is!... How very strange! Now I am sure that I can find the mountain of +Hanryōkō, and the grave of the princess.”... + +In the wreck of the nest he searched and searched, and at last +discovered a tiny mound, on the top of which was fixed a water-worn +pebble, in shape resembling a Buddhist monument. Underneath it he +found—embedded in clay—the dead body of a female ant. + + + + +RIKI-BAKA + + +His name was Riki, signifying Strength; but the people called him +Riki-the-Simple, or Riki-the-Fool,—“Riki-Baka,”—because he had been +born into perpetual childhood. For the same reason they were kind to +him,—even when he set a house on fire by putting a lighted match to a +mosquito-curtain, and clapped his hands for joy to see the blaze. At +sixteen years he was a tall, strong lad; but in mind he remained always +at the happy age of two, and therefore continued to play with very +small children. The bigger children of the neighborhood, from four to +seven years old, did not care to play with him, because he could not +learn their songs and games. His favorite toy was a broomstick, which +he used as a hobby-horse; and for hours at a time he would ride on that +broomstick, up and down the slope in front of my house, with amazing +peals of laughter. But at last he became troublesome by reason of his +noise; and I had to tell him that he must find another playground. He +bowed submissively, and then went off,—sorrowfully trailing his +broomstick behind him. Gentle at all times, and perfectly harmless if +allowed no chance to play with fire, he seldom gave anybody cause for +complaint. His relation to the life of our street was scarcely more +than that of a dog or a chicken; and when he finally disappeared, I did +not miss him. Months and months passed by before anything happened to +remind me of Riki. + +“What has become of Riki?” I then asked the old woodcutter who supplies +our neighborhood with fuel. I remembered that Riki had often helped him +to carry his bundles. + +“Riki-Baka?” answered the old man. “Ah, Riki is dead—poor fellow!... +Yes, he died nearly a year ago, very suddenly; the doctors said that he +had some disease of the brain. And there is a strange story now about +that poor Riki. + +“When Riki died, his mother wrote his name, ‘Riki-Baka,’ in the palm of +his left hand,—putting ‘Riki’ in the Chinese character, and ‘Baka’ in +_kana_ (1). And she repeated many prayers for him,—prayers that he +might be reborn into some more happy condition. + +“Now, about three months ago, in the honorable residence of +Nanigashi-Sama (2), in Kojimachi (3), a boy was born with characters on +the palm of his left hand; and the characters were quite plain to +read,—‘_RIKI-BAKA_’! + +“So the people of that house knew that the birth must have happened in +answer to somebody’s prayer; and they caused inquiry to be made +everywhere. At last a vegetable-seller brought word to them that there +used to be a simple lad, called Riki-Baka, living in the Ushigomé +quarter, and that he had died during the last autumn; and they sent two +men-servants to look for the mother of Riki. + +“Those servants found the mother of Riki, and told her what had +happened; and she was glad exceedingly—for that Nanigashi house is a +very rich and famous house. But the servants said that the family of +Nanigashi-Sama were very angry about the word ‘Baka’ on the child’s +hand. ‘And where is your Riki buried?’ the servants asked. ‘He is +buried in the cemetery of Zendōji,’ she told them. ‘Please to give us +some of the clay of his grave,’ they requested. + +“So she went with them to the temple Zendōji, and showed them Riki’s +grave; and they took some of the grave-clay away with them, wrapped up +in a _furoshiki_[1]].... They gave Riki’s mother some money,—ten +yen.”... (4) + +“But what did they want with that clay?” I inquired. + +“Well,” the old man answered, “you know that it would not do to let the +child grow up with that name on his hand. And there is no other means +of removing characters that come in that way upon the body of a child: +_you must rub the skin with clay taken from the grave of the body of +the former birth_.”... + + + + +HI-MAWARI + + +On the wooded hill behind the house Robert and I are looking for +fairy-rings. Robert is eight years old, comely, and very wise;—I am a +little more than seven,—and I reverence Robert. It is a glowing +glorious August day; and the warm air is filled with sharp sweet scents +of resin. + +We do not find any fairy-rings; but we find a great many pine-cones in +the high grass... I tell Robert the old Welsh story of the man who went +to sleep, unawares, inside a fairy-ring, and so disappeared for seven +years, and would never eat or speak after his friends had delivered him +from the enchantment. + +“They eat nothing but the points of needles, you know,” says Robert. + +“Who?” I ask. + +“Goblins,” Robert answers. + +This revelation leaves me dumb with astonishment and awe... But Robert +suddenly cries out:— + +“There is a Harper!—he is coming to the house!” + +And down the hill we run to hear the harper... But what a harper! Not +like the hoary minstrels of the picture-books. A swarthy, sturdy, +unkempt vagabond, with black bold eyes under scowling black brows. More +like a bricklayer than a bard,—and his garments are corduroy! + +“Wonder if he is going to sing in Welsh?” murmurs Robert. + +I feel too much disappointed to make any remarks. The harper poses his +harp—a huge instrument—upon our doorstep, sets all the strong ringing +with a sweep of his grimy fingers, clears his throat with a sort of +angry growl, and begins,— + +Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, + Which I gaze on so fondly to-day... + + +The accent, the attitude, the voice, all fill me with repulsion +unutterable,—shock me with a new sensation of formidable vulgarity. I +want to cry out loud, “You have no right to sing that song!” For I have +heard it sung by the lips of the dearest and fairest being in my little +world;—and that this rude, coarse man should dare to sing it vexes me +like a mockery,—angers me like an insolence. But only for a moment!... +With the utterance of the syllables “to-day,” that deep, grim voice +suddenly breaks into a quivering tenderness indescribable;—then, +marvelously changing, it mellows into tones sonorous and rich as the +bass of a great organ,—while a sensation unlike anything ever felt +before takes me by the throat... What witchcraft has he learned? what +secret has he found—this scowling man of the road?... Oh! is there +anybody else in the whole world who can sing like that?... And the form +of the singer flickers and dims;—and the house, and the lawn, and all +visible shapes of things tremble and swim before me. Yet instinctively +I fear that man;—I almost hate him; and I feel myself flushing with +anger and shame because of his power to move me thus... + +“He made you cry,” Robert compassionately observes, to my further +confusion,—as the harper strides away, richer by a gift of sixpence +taken without thanks... “But I think he must be a gipsy. Gipsies are +bad people—and they are wizards... Let us go back to the wood.” + +We climb again to the pines, and there squat down upon the sun-flecked +grass, and look over town and sea. But we do not play as before: the +spell of the wizard is strong upon us both... “Perhaps he is a goblin,” +I venture at last, “or a fairy?” “No,” says Robert,—“only a gipsy. But +that is nearly as bad. They steal children, you know.”... + +“What shall we do if he comes up here?” I gasp, in sudden terror at the +lonesomeness of our situation. + +“Oh, he wouldn’t dare,” answers Robert—“not by daylight, you know.”... + +[Only yesterday, near the village of Takata, I noticed a flower which +the Japanese call by nearly the same name as we do: _Himawari_, “The +Sunward-turning;”—and over the space of forty years there thrilled back +to me the voice of that wandering harper,— + +As the Sunflower turns on her god, when he sets, +The same look that she turned when he rose. + + +Again I saw the sun-flecked shadows on that far Welsh hill; and Robert +for a moment again stood beside me, with his girl’s face and his curls +of gold. We were looking for fairy-rings... But all that existed of the +real Robert must long ago have suffered a sea-change into something +rich and strange... _Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay +down his life for his friend_....] + + + + +HŌRAI + + +Blue vision of depth lost in height,—sea and sky interblending through +luminous haze. The day is of spring, and the hour morning. + +Only sky and sea,—one azure enormity... In the fore, ripples are +catching a silvery light, and threads of foam are swirling. But a +little further off no motion is visible, nor anything save color: dim +warm blue of water widening away to melt into blue of air. Horizon +there is none: only distance soaring into space,—infinite concavity +hollowing before you, and hugely arching above you,—the color deepening +with the height. But far in the midway-blue there hangs a faint, faint +vision of palace towers, with high roofs horned and curved like +moons,—some shadowing of splendor strange and old, illumined by a +sunshine soft as memory. + +...What I have thus been trying to describe is a kakémono,—that is to +say, a Japanese painting on silk, suspended to the wall of my +alcove;—and the name of it is SHINKIRŌ, which signifies “Mirage.” But +the shapes of the mirage are unmistakable. Those are the glimmering +portals of Hōrai the blest; and those are the moony roofs of the Palace +of the Dragon-King;—and the fashion of them (though limned by a +Japanese brush of to-day) is the fashion of things Chinese, twenty-one +hundred years ago... + +Thus much is told of the place in the Chinese books of that time:— + +In Hōrai there is neither death nor pain; and there is no winter. The +flowers in that place never fade, and the fruits never fail; and if a +man taste of those fruits even but once, he can never again feel thirst +or hunger. In Hōrai grow the enchanted plants _So-rin-shi_, and +_Riku-gō-aoi_, and _Ban-kon-tō_, which heal all manner of sickness;—and +there grows also the magical grass _Yō-shin-shi_, that quickens the +dead; and the magical grass is watered by a fairy water of which a +single drink confers perpetual youth. The people of Hōrai eat their +rice out of very, very small bowls; but the rice never diminishes +within those bowls,—however much of it be eaten,—until the eater +desires no more. And the people of Hōrai drink their wine out of very, +very small cups; but no man can empty one of those cups,—however +stoutly he may drink,—until there comes upon him the pleasant +drowsiness of intoxication. + +All this and more is told in the legends of the time of the Shin +dynasty. But that the people who wrote down those legends ever saw +Hōrai, even in a mirage, is not believable. For really there are no +enchanted fruits which leave the eater forever satisfied,—nor any +magical grass which revives the dead,—nor any fountain of fairy +water,—nor any bowls which never lack rice,—nor any cups which never +lack wine. It is not true that sorrow and death never enter +Hōrai;—neither is it true that there is not any winter. The winter in +Hōrai is cold;—and winds then bite to the bone; and the heaping of snow +is monstrous on the roofs of the Dragon-King. + +Nevertheless there are wonderful things in Hōrai; and the most +wonderful of all has not been mentioned by any Chinese writer. I mean +the atmosphere of Hōrai. It is an atmosphere peculiar to the place; +and, because of it, the sunshine in Hōrai is _whiter_ than any other +sunshine,—a milky light that never dazzles,—astonishingly clear, but +very soft. This atmosphere is not of our human period: it is enormously +old,—so old that I feel afraid when I try to think how old it is;—and +it is not a mixture of nitrogen and oxygen. It is not made of air at +all, but of ghost,—the substance of quintillions of quintillions of +generations of souls blended into one immense translucency,—souls of +people who thought in ways never resembling our ways. Whatever mortal +man inhales that atmosphere, he takes into his blood the thrilling of +these spirits; and they change the sense within him,—reshaping his +notions of Space and Time,—so that he can see only as they used to see, +and feel only as they used to feel, and think only as they used to +think. Soft as sleep are these changes of sense; and Hōrai, discerned +across them, might thus be described:— + +_—Because in Hōrai there is no knowledge of great evil, the hearts of +the people never grow old. And, by reason of being always young in +heart, the people of Hōrai smile from birth until death—except when the +Gods send sorrow among them; and faces then are veiled until the sorrow +goes away. All folk in Hōrai love and trust each other, as if all were +members of a single household;—and the speech of the women is like +birdsong, because the hearts of them are light as the souls of +birds;—and the swaying of the sleeves of the maidens at play seems a +flutter of wide, soft wings. In Hōrai nothing is hidden but grief, +because there is no reason for shame;—and nothing is locked away, +because there could not be any theft;—and by night as well as by day +all doors remain unbarred, because there is no reason for fear. And +because the people are fairies—though mortal—all things in Hōrai, +except the Palace of the Dragon-King, are small and quaint and +queer;—and these fairy-folk do really eat their rice out of very, very +small bowls, and drink their wine out of very, very small cups...._ + +—Much of this seeming would be due to the inhalation of that ghostly +atmosphere—but not all. For the spell wrought by the dead is only the +charm of an Ideal, the glamour of an ancient hope;—and something of +that hope has found fulfillment in many hearts,—in the simple beauty of +unselfish lives,—in the sweetness of Woman... + +—Evil winds from the West are blowing over Hōrai; and the magical +atmosphere, alas! is shrinking away before them. It lingers now in +patches only, and bands,—like those long bright bands of cloud that +train across the landscapes of Japanese painters. Under these shreds of +the elfish vapor you still can find Hōrai—but not everywhere... +Remember that Hōrai is also called Shinkirō, which signifies +Mirage,—the Vision of the Intangible. And the Vision is fading,—never +again to appear save in pictures and poems and dreams... + + + + +INSECT STUDIES + + + + +BUTTERFLIES + + +I + +Would that I could hope for the luck of that Chinese scholar known to +Japanese literature as “Rōsan”! For he was beloved by two +spirit-maidens, celestial sisters, who every ten days came to visit him +and to tell him stories about butterflies. Now there are marvelous +Chinese stories about butterflies—ghostly stories; and I want to know +them. But never shall I be able to read Chinese, nor even Japanese; and +the little Japanese poetry that I manage, with exceeding difficulty, to +translate, contains so many allusions to Chinese stories of butterflies +that I am tormented with the torment of Tantalus... And, of course, no +spirit-maidens will even deign to visit so skeptical a person as +myself. + +I want to know, for example, the whole story of that Chinese maiden +whom the butterflies took to be a flower, and followed in multitude,—so +fragrant and so fair was she. Also I should like to know something more +concerning the butterflies of the Emperor Gensō, or Ming Hwang, who +made them choose his loves for him... He used to hold wine-parties in +his amazing garden; and ladies of exceeding beauty were in attendance; +and caged butterflies, set free among them, would fly to the fairest; +and then, upon that fairest the Imperial favor was bestowed. But after +Gensō Kōtei had seen Yōkihi (whom the Chinese call Yang-Kwei-Fei), he +would not suffer the butterflies to choose for him,—which was unlucky, +as Yokihi got him into serious trouble... Again, I should like to know +more about the experience of that Chinese scholar, celebrated in Japan +under the name Sōshū, who dreamed that he was a butterfly, and had all +the sensations of a butterfly in that dream. For his spirit had really +been wandering about in the shape of a butterfly; and, when he awoke, +the memories and the feelings of butterfly existence remained so vivid +in his mind that he could not act like a human being... Finally I +should like to know the text of a certain Chinese official recognition +of sundry butterflies as the spirits of an Emperor and of his +attendants... + +Most of the Japanese literature about butterflies, excepting some +poetry, appears to be of Chinese origin; and even that old national +aæsthetic feeling on the subject, which found such delightful +expression in Japanese art and song and custom, may have been first +developed under Chinese teaching. Chinese precedent doubtless explains +why Japanese poets and painters chose so often for their _geimyō_, or +professional appellations, such names as _Chōmu_ (“Butterfly-Dream),” +_Ichō_ (“Solitary Butterfly),” etc. And even to this day such _geimyō_ +as _Chōhana_ (“Butterfly-Blossom”), _Chōkichi_ (“Butterfly-Luck”), or +_Chōnosuké_ (“Butterfly-Help”), are affected by dancing-girls. Besides +artistic names having reference to butterflies, there are still in use +real personal names (_yobina_) of this kind,—such as Kochō, or Chō, +meaning “Butterfly.” They are borne by women only, as a rule,—though +there are some strange exceptions... And here I may mention that, in +the province of Mutsu, there still exists the curious old custom of +calling the youngest daughter in a family _Tekona_,—which quaint word, +obsolete elsewhere, signifies in Mutsu dialect a butterfly. In classic +time this word signified also a beautiful woman... + +It is possible also that some weird Japanese beliefs about butterflies +are of Chinese derivation; but these beliefs might be older than China +herself. The most interesting one, I think, is that the soul of a +_living_ person may wander about in the form of a butterfly. Some +pretty fancies have been evolved out of this belief,—such as the notion +that if a butterfly enters your guest-room and perches behind the +bamboo screen, the person whom you most love is coming to see you. That +a butterfly may be the spirit of somebody is not a reason for being +afraid of it. Nevertheless there are times when even butterflies can +inspire fear by appearing in prodigious numbers; and Japanese history +records such an event. When Taïra-no-Masakado was secretly preparing +for his famous revolt, there appeared in Kyōto so vast a swarm of +butterflies that the people were frightened,—thinking the apparition to +be a portent of coming evil... Perhaps those butterflies were supposed +to be the spirits of the thousands doomed to perish in battle, and +agitated on the eve of war by some mysterious premonition of death. + +However, in Japanese belief, a butterfly may be the soul of a dead +person as well as of a living person. Indeed it is a custom of souls to +take butterfly-shape in order to announce the fact of their final +departure from the body; and for this reason any butterfly which enters +a house ought to be kindly treated. + +To this belief, and to queer fancies connected with it, there are many +allusions in popular drama. For example, there is a well-known play +called _Tondé-déru-Kochō-no-Kanzashi;_ or, “The Flying Hairpin of +Kochō.” Kochō is a beautiful person who kills herself because of false +accusations and cruel treatment. Her would-be avenger long seeks in +vain for the author of the wrong. But at last the dead woman’s hairpin +turns into a butterfly, and serves as a guide to vengeance by hovering +above the place where the villain is hiding. + +—Of course those big paper butterflies (_o-chō_ and _mé-chō_) which +figure at weddings must not be thought of as having any ghostly +signification. As emblems they only express the joy of living union, +and the hope that the newly married couple may pass through life +together as a pair of butterflies flit lightly through some pleasant +garden,—now hovering upward, now downward, but never widely separating. + +II + +A small selection of _hokku_ (1) on butterflies will help to illustrate +Japanese interest in the aæsthetic side of the subject. Some are +pictures only,—tiny color-sketches made with seventeen syllables; some +are nothing more than pretty fancies, or graceful suggestions;—but the +reader will find variety. Probably he will not care much for the verses +in themselves. The taste for Japanese poetry of the epigrammatic sort +is a taste that must be slowly acquired; and it is only by degrees, +after patient study, that the possibilities of such composition can be +fairly estimated. Hasty criticism has declared that to put forward any +serious claim on behalf of seventeen-syllable poems “would be absurd.” +But what, then, of Crashaw’s famous line upon the miracle at the +marriage feast in Cana?— + +Nympha pudica Deum vidit, et erubuit.[1] + + +Only fourteen syllables—and immortality. Now with seventeen Japanese +syllables things quite as wonderful—indeed, much more wonderful—have +been done, not once or twice, but probably a thousand times... However, +there is nothing wonderful in the following _hokku_, which have been +selected for more than literary reasons:— + + Nugi-kakuru[2] +Haori sugata no + Kochō kana! + + +[_Like a_ haori _being taken off—that is the shape of a butterfly!_] + + + Torisashi no +Sao no jama suru + Kochō kana! + + +[_Ah, the butterfly keeps getting in the way of the bird-catcher’s +pole!_[3]] + + + Tsurigané ni +Tomarité nemuru + Kochō kana! + + +[_Perched upon the temple-bell, the butterfly sleeps:_] + + + Néru-uchi mo +Asobu-yumé wo ya— + Kusa no chō! + + +[_Even while sleeping, its dream is of play—ah, the butterfly of the +grass!_[4] + + + Oki, oki yo! +Waga tomo ni sen, + Néru-kochō! + + +[_Wake up! wake up!—I will make thee my comrade, thou sleeping +butterfly._[5]] + + + Kago no tori +Chō wo urayamu + Metsuki kana! + + +[_Ah, the sad expression in the eyes of that caged bird!—envying the +butterfly!_] + + + Chō tondé— +Kazé naki hi to mo + Miëzari ki! + + +[_Even though it did not appear to be a windy day_,[6] _the fluttering +of the butterflies—!_] + + + Rakkwa éda ni +Kaëru to miréba— + Kochō kana! + + +[_When I saw the fallen flower return to the branch—lo! it was only a +butterfly!_[7]] + + + Chiru-hana ni— +Karusa arasoü + Kochō kana! + + +[_How the butterfly strives to compete in lightness with the falling +flowers!_[8]] + + + Chōchō ya! +Onna no michi no + Ato ya saki! + + +[_See that butterfly on the woman’s path,—now fluttering behind her, +now before!_] + + + Chōchō ya! +Hana-nusubito wo + Tsukété-yuku! + + +[_Ha! the butterfly!—it is following the person who stole the +flowers!_] + + + Aki no chō +Tomo nakéréba ya; + Hito ni tsuku + + +[_Poor autumn butterfly!—when left without a comrade_ (of its own +race), _it follows after man_ (or “a person”)!] + + + Owarété mo, +Isoganu furi no + Chōcho kana! + + +[_Ah, the butterfly! Even when chased, it never has the air of being in +a hurry._] + + + Chō wa mina +Jiu-shichi-hachi no + Sugata kana! + + +[_As for butterflies, they all have the appearance of being about +seventeen or eighteen years old._[9]] + + + Chō tobu ya— +Kono yo no urami + Naki yō ni! + + +[_How the butterfly sports,—just as if there were no enmity_ (or +“envy”) _in this world!_] + + + Chō tobu ya, +Kono yo ni nozomi + Nai yō ni! + + +[_Ah, the butterfly!—it sports about as if it had nothing more to +desire in this present state of existence._] + + + Nami no hana ni +Tomari kanétaru, + Kochō kana! + + +[_Having found it difficult indeed to perch upon the_ (_foam_-) +_blossoms of the waves,—alas for the butterfly!_] + + + Mutsumashi ya!— +Umaré-kawareba + Nobé no chō.[10] + + +[_If_ (in our next existence) _we be born into the state of butterflies +upon the moor, then perchance we may be happy together!_] + + + Nadéshiko ni +Chōchō shiroshi— + Taré no kon?[11] + + +[_On the pink-flower there is a white butterfly: whose spirit, I +wonder?_] + + + Ichi-nichi no +Tsuma to miëkéri— + Chō futatsu. + + +[_The one-day wife has at last appeared—a pair of butterflies!_] + + + Kité wa maü, +Futari shidzuka no + Kochō kana! + + +[_Approaching they dance; but when the two meet at last they are very +quiet, the butterflies!_] + + + Chō wo oü +Kokoro-mochitashi + Itsumadémo! + + +[_Would that I might always have the heart_ (desire) _of chasing +butterflies!_[12]] + + +Besides these specimens of poetry about butterflies, I have one queer +example to offer of Japanese prose literature on the same topic. The +original, of which I have attempted only a free translation, can be +found in the curious old book _Mushi-Isamé_ (“Insect-Admonitions”); and +it assumes the form of a discourse to a butterfly. But it is really a +didactic allegory,—suggesting the moral significance of a social rise +and fall:— + +“Now, under the sun of spring, the winds are gentle, and flowers pinkly +bloom, and grasses are soft, and the hearts of people are glad. +Butterflies everywhere flutter joyously: so many persons now compose +Chinese verses and Japanese verses about butterflies. + +“And this season, O Butterfly, is indeed the season of your bright +prosperity: so comely you now are that in the whole world there is +nothing more comely. For that reason all other insects admire and envy +you;—there is not among them even one that does not envy you. Nor do +insects alone regard you with envy: men also both envy and admire you. +Sōshū of China, in a dream, assumed your shape;—Sakoku of Japan, after +dying, took your form, and therein made ghostly apparition. Nor is the +envy that you inspire shared only by insects and mankind: even things +without soul change their form into yours;—witness the barley-grass, +which turns into a butterfly.[13] + +“And therefore you are lifted up with pride, and think to yourself: ‘In +all this world there is nothing superior to me!’ Ah! I can very well +guess what is in your heart: you are too much satisfied with your own +person. That is why you let yourself be blown thus lightly about by +every wind;—that is why you never remain still,—always, always +thinking, ‘In the whole world there is no one so fortunate as I.’ + +“But now try to think a little about your own personal history. It is +worth recalling; for there is a vulgar side to it. How a vulgar side? +Well, for a considerable time after you were born, you had no such +reason for rejoicing in your form. You were then a mere cabbage-insect, +a hairy worm; and you were so poor that you could not afford even one +robe to cover your nakedness; and your appearance was altogether +disgusting. Everybody in those days hated the sight of you. Indeed you +had good reason to be ashamed of yourself; and so ashamed you were that +you collected old twigs and rubbish to hide in, and you made a +hiding-nest, and hung it to a branch,—and then everybody cried out to +you, ‘Raincoat Insect!’ (_Mino-mushi_.)[14] And during that period of +your life, your sins were grievous. Among the tender green leaves of +beautiful cherry-trees you and your fellows assembled, and there made +ugliness extraordinary; and the expectant eyes of the people, who came +from far away to admire the beauty of those cherry-trees, were hurt by +the sight of you. And of things even more hateful than this you were +guilty. You knew that poor, poor men and women had been cultivating +_daikon_ (2) in their fields,—toiling under the hot sun till their +hearts were filled with bitterness by reason of having to care for that +_daikon;_ and you persuaded your companions to go with you, and to +gather upon the leaves of that _daikon_, and on the leaves of other +vegetables planted by those poor people. Out of your greediness you +ravaged those leaves, and gnawed them into all shapes of +ugliness,—caring nothing for the trouble of those poor folk... Yes, +such a creature you were, and such were your doings. + +“And now that you have a comely form, you despise your old comrades, +the insects; and, whenever you happen to meet any of them, you pretend +not to know them [literally, ‘You make an I-don’t-know face’]. Now you +want to have none but wealthy and exalted people for friends... Ah! You +have forgotten the old times, have you? + +“It is true that many people have forgotten your past, and are charmed +by the sight of your present graceful shape and white wings, and write +Chinese verses and Japanese verses about you. The high-born damsel, who +could not bear even to look at you in your former shape, now gazes at +you with delight, and wants you to perch upon her hairpin, and holds +out her dainty fan in the hope that you will light upon it. But this +reminds me that there is an ancient Chinese story about you, which is +not pretty. + +“In the time of the Emperor Gensō, the Imperial Palace contained +hundreds and thousands of beautiful ladies,—so many, indeed, that it +would have been difficult for any man to decide which among them was +the loveliest. So all of those beautiful persons were assembled +together in one place; and you were set free to fly among them; and it +was decreed that the damsel upon whose hairpin you perched should be +augustly summoned to the Imperial Chamber. In that time there could not +be more than one Empress—which was a good law; but, because of you, the +Emperor Gensō did great mischief in the land. For your mind is light +and frivolous; and although among so many beautiful women there must +have been some persons of pure heart, you would look for nothing but +beauty, and so betook yourself to the person most beautiful in outward +appearance. Therefore many of the female attendants ceased altogether +to think about the right way of women, and began to study how to make +themselves appear splendid in the eyes of men. And the end of it was +that the Emperor Gensō died a pitiful and painful death—all because of +your light and trifling mind. Indeed, your real character can easily be +seen from your conduct in other matters. There are trees, for +example,—such as the evergreen-oak and the pine,—whose leaves do not +fade and fall, but remain always green;—these are trees of firm heart, +trees of solid character. But you say that they are stiff and formal; +and you hate the sight of them, and never pay them a visit. Only to the +cherry-tree, and the _kaido_[15], and the peony, and the yellow rose +you go: those you like because they have showy flowers, and you try +only to please them. Such conduct, let me assure you, is very +unbecoming. Those trees certainly have handsome flowers; but +hunger-satisfying fruits they have not; and they are grateful to those +only who are fond of luxury and show. And that is just the reason why +they are pleased by your fluttering wings and delicate shape;—that is +why they are kind to you. + +“Now, in this spring season, while you sportively dance through the +gardens of the wealthy, or hover among the beautiful alleys of +cherry-trees in blossom, you say to yourself: ‘Nobody in the world has +such pleasure as I, or such excellent friends. And, in spite of all +that people may say, I most love the peony,—and the golden yellow rose +is my own darling, and I will obey her every least behest; for that is +my pride and my delight.’... So you say. But the opulent and elegant +season of flowers is very short: soon they will fade and fall. Then, in +the time of summer heat, there will be green leaves only; and presently +the winds of autumn will blow, when even the leaves themselves will +shower down like rain, _parari-parari_. And your fate will then be as +the fate of the unlucky in the proverb, _Tanomi ki no shita ni amé +furu_ [Even through the tree upon which I relied for shelter the rain +leaks down]. For you will seek out your old friend, the root-cutting +insect, the grub, and beg him to let you return into your old-time +hole;—but now having wings, you will not be able to enter the hole +because of them, and you will not be able to shelter your body anywhere +between heaven and earth, and all the moor-grass will then have +withered, and you will not have even one drop of dew with which to +moisten your tongue,—and there will be nothing left for you to do but +to lie down and die. All because of your light and frivolous heart—but, +ah! how lamentable an end!”... + +III + +Most of the Japanese stories about butterflies appear, as I have said, +to be of Chinese origin. But I have one which is probably indigenous; +and it seems to me worth telling for the benefit of persons who believe +there is no “romantic love” in the Far East. + +Behind the cemetery of the temple of Sōzanji, in the suburbs of the +capital, there long stood a solitary cottage, occupied by an old man +named Takahama. He was liked in the neighborhood, by reason of his +amiable ways; but almost everybody supposed him to be a little mad. +Unless a man take the Buddhist vows, he is expected to marry, and to +bring up a family. But Takahama did not belong to the religious life; +and he could not be persuaded to marry. Neither had he ever been known +to enter into a love-relation with any woman. For more than fifty years +he had lived entirely alone. + +One summer he fell sick, and knew that he had not long to live. He then +sent for his sister-in-law, a widow, and for her only son,—a lad of +about twenty years old, to whom he was much attached. Both promptly +came, and did whatever they could to soothe the old man’s last hours. + +One sultry afternoon, while the widow and her son were watching at his +bedside, Takahama fell asleep. At the same moment a very large white +butterfly entered the room, and perched upon the sick man’s pillow. The +nephew drove it away with a fan; but it returned immediately to the +pillow, and was again driven away, only to come back a third time. Then +the nephew chased it into the garden, and across the garden, through an +open gate, into the cemetery of the neighboring temple. But it +continued to flutter before him as if unwilling to be driven further, +and acted so queerly that he began to wonder whether it was really a +butterfly, or a _ma_[16]. He again chased it, and followed it far into +the cemetery, until he saw it fly against a tomb,—a woman’s tomb. There +it unaccountably disappeared; and he searched for it in vain. He then +examined the monument. It bore the personal name “Akiko,” (3) together +with an unfamiliar family name, and an inscription stating that Akiko +had died at the age of eighteen. Apparently the tomb had been erected +about fifty years previously: moss had begun to gather upon it. But it +had been well cared for: there were fresh flowers before it; and the +water-tank had recently been filled. + +On returning to the sick room, the young man was shocked by the +announcement that his uncle had ceased to breathe. Death had come to +the sleeper painlessly; and the dead face smiled. + +The young man told his mother of what he had seen in the cemetery. + +“Ah!” exclaimed the widow, “then it must have been Akiko!”... + +“But who was Akiko, mother?” the nephew asked. + +The widow answered:— + +“When your good uncle was young he was betrothed to a charming girl +called Akiko, the daughter of a neighbor. Akiko died of consumption, +only a little before the day appointed for the wedding; and her +promised husband sorrowed greatly. After Akiko had been buried, he made +a vow never to marry; and he built this little house beside the +cemetery, so that he might be always near her grave. All this happened +more than fifty years ago. And every day of those fifty years—winter +and summer alike—your uncle went to the cemetery, and prayed at the +grave, and swept the tomb, and set offerings before it. But he did not +like to have any mention made of the matter; and he never spoke of +it... So, at last, Akiko came for him: the white butterfly was her +soul.” + +IV + +I had almost forgotten to mention an ancient Japanese dance, called the +Butterfly Dance (_Kochō-Mai_), which used to be performed in the +Imperial Palace, by dancers costumed as butterflies. Whether it is +danced occasionally nowadays I do not know. It is said to be very +difficult to learn. Six dancers are required for the proper performance +of it; and they must move in particular figures,—obeying traditional +rules for every step, pose, or gesture,—and circling about each other +very slowly to the sound of hand-drums and great drums, small flutes +and great flutes, and pandean pipes of a form unknown to Western Pan. + + +[Illustration] BUTTERFLY DANCE + + + + +MOSQUITOES + + +With a view to self-protection I have been reading Dr. Howard’s book, +“Mosquitoes.” I am persecuted by mosquitoes. There are several species +in my neighborhood; but only one of them is a serious torment,—a tiny +needly thing, all silver-speckled and silver-streaked. The puncture of +it is sharp as an electric burn; and the mere hum of it has a +lancinating quality of tone which foretells the quality of the pain +about to come,—much in the same way that a particular smell suggests a +particular taste. I find that this mosquito much resembles the creature +which Dr. Howard calls _Stegomyia fasciata_, or _Culex fasciatus:_ and +that its habits are the same as those of the _Stegomyia_. For example, +it is diurnal rather than nocturnal and becomes most troublesome in the +afternoon. And I have discovered that it comes from the Buddhist +cemetery,—a very old cemetery,—in the rear of my garden. + +Dr. Howard’s book declares that, in order to rid a neighborhood of +mosquitoes, it is only necessary to pour a little petroleum, or +kerosene oil, into the stagnant water where they breed. Once a week the +oil should be used, “at the rate of once ounce for every fifteen square +feet of water-surface, and a proportionate quantity for any less +surface.” ...But please to consider the conditions in _my_ +neighborhood! + +I have said that my tormentors come from the Buddhist cemetery. Before +nearly every tomb in that old cemetery there is a water-receptacle, or +cistern, called _mizutamé_. In the majority of cases this _mizutamé_ is +simply an oblong cavity chiseled in the broad pedestal supporting the +monument; but before tombs of a costly kind, having no pedestal-tank, a +larger separate tank is placed, cut out of a single block of stone, and +decorated with a family crest, or with symbolic carvings. In front of a +tomb of the humblest class, having no _mizutamé_, water is placed in +cups or other vessels,—for the dead must have water. Flowers also must +be offered to them; and before every tomb you will find a pair of +bamboo cups, or other flower-vessels; and these, of course, contain +water. There is a well in the cemetery to supply water for the graves. +Whenever the tombs are visited by relatives and friends of the dead, +fresh water is poured into the tanks and cups. But as an old cemetery +of this kind contains thousands of _mizutamé_, and tens of thousands of +flower-vessels the water in all of these cannot be renewed every day. +It becomes stagnant and populous. The deeper tanks seldom get dry;—the +rainfall at Tōkyō being heavy enough to keep them partly filled during +nine months out of the twelve. + +Well, it is in these tanks and flower-vessels that mine enemies are +born: they rise by millions from the water of the dead;—and, according +to Buddhist doctrine, some of them may be reincarnations of those very +dead, condemned by the error of former lives to the condition of +_Jiki-ketsu-gaki_, or blood-drinking pretas.... Anyhow the malevolence +of the _Culex fasciatus_ would justify the suspicion that some wicked +human soul had been compressed into that wailing speck of a body.... + +Now, to return to the subject of kerosene-oil, you can exterminate the +mosquitoes of any locality by covering with a film of kerosene all +stagnant water surfaces therein. The larvae die on rising to breathe; +and the adult females perish when they approach the water to launch +their rafts of eggs. And I read, in Dr. Howard’s book, that the actual +cost of freeing from mosquitoes one American town of fifty thousand +inhabitants, does not exceed three hundred dollars!... + +I wonder what would be said if the city-government of Tōkyō—which is +aggressively scientific and progressive—were suddenly to command that +all water-surfaces in the Buddhist cemeteries should be covered, at +regular intervals, with a film of kerosene oil! How could the religion +which prohibits the taking of any life—even of invisible life—yield to +such a mandate? Would filial piety even dream of consenting to obey +such an order? And then to think of the cost, in labor and time, of +putting kerosene oil, every seven days, into the millions of +_mizutamé_, and the tens of millions of bamboo flower-cups, in the +Tōkyō graveyards!... Impossible! To free the city from mosquitoes it +would be necessary to demolish the ancient graveyards;—and that would +signify the ruin of the Buddhist temples attached to them;—and that +would mean the disparition of so many charming gardens, with their +lotus-ponds and Sanscrit-lettered monuments and humpy bridges and holy +groves and weirdly-smiling Buddhas! So the extermination of the _Culex +fasciatus_ would involve the destruction of the poetry of the ancestral +cult,—surely too great a price to pay!... + +Besides, I should like, when my time comes, to be laid away in some +Buddhist graveyard of the ancient kind,—so that my ghostly company +should be ancient, caring nothing for the fashions and the changes and +the disintegrations of Meiji (1). That old cemetery behind my garden +would be a suitable place. Everything there is beautiful with a beauty +of exceeding and startling queerness; each tree and stone has been +shaped by some old, old ideal which no longer exists in any living +brain; even the shadows are not of this time and sun, but of a world +forgotten, that never knew steam or electricity or magnetism +or—kerosene oil! Also in the boom of the big bell there is a quaintness +of tone which wakens feelings, so strangely far-away from all the +nineteenth-century part of me, that the faint blind stirrings of them +make me afraid,—deliciously afraid. Never do I hear that billowing peal +but I become aware of a striving and a fluttering in the abyssal part +of my ghost,—a sensation as of memories struggling to reach the light +beyond the obscurations of a million million deaths and births. I hope +to remain within hearing of that bell... And, considering the +possibility of being doomed to the state of a _Jiki-ketsu-gaki_, I want +to have my chance of being reborn in some bamboo flower-cup, or +_mizutamé_, whence I might issue softly, singing my thin and pungent +song, to bite some people that I know. + + + + +ANTS + + +I + +This morning sky, after the night’s tempest, is a pure and dazzling +blue. The air—the delicious air!—is full of sweet resinous odors, shed +from the countless pine-boughs broken and strewn by the gale. In the +neighboring bamboo-grove I hear the flute-call of the bird that praises +the Sûtra of the Lotos; and the land is very still by reason of the +south wind. Now the summer, long delayed, is truly with us: butterflies +of queer Japanese colors are flickering about; semi (1) are wheezing; +wasps are humming; gnats are dancing in the sun; and the ants are busy +repairing their damaged habitations... I bethink me of a Japanese +poem:— + + Yuku é naki: +Ari no sumai ya! + Go-getsu amé. + + +[_Now the poor creature has nowhere to go!... Alas for the dwellings of +the ants in this rain of the fifth month!_] + + +But those big black ants in my garden do not seem to need any sympathy. +They have weathered the storm in some unimaginable way, while great +trees were being uprooted, and houses blown to fragments, and roads +washed out of existence. Yet, before the typhoon, they took no other +visible precaution than to block up the gates of their subterranean +town. And the spectacle of their triumphant toil to-day impels me to +attempt an essay on Ants. + +I should have liked to preface my disquisitions with something from the +old Japanese literature,—something emotional or metaphysical. But all +that my Japanese friends were able to find for me on the +subject,—excepting some verses of little worth,—was Chinese. This +Chinese material consisted chiefly of strange stories; and one of them +seems to me worth quoting,—_faute de mieux_. + + +In the province of Taishū, in China, there was a pious man who, every +day, during many years, fervently worshiped a certain goddess. One +morning, while he was engaged in his devotions, a beautiful woman, +wearing a yellow robe, came into his chamber and stood before him. He, +greatly surprised, asked her what she wanted, and why she had entered +unannounced. She answered: “I am not a woman: I am the goddess whom you +have so long and so faithfully worshiped; and I have now come to prove +to you that your devotion has not been in vain... Are you acquainted +with the language of Ants?” The worshiper replied: “I am only a +low-born and ignorant person,—not a scholar; and even of the language +of superior men I know nothing.” At these words the goddess smiled, and +drew from her bosom a little box, shaped like an incense box. She +opened the box, dipped a finger into it, and took therefrom some kind +of ointment with which she anointed the ears of the man. “Now,” she +said to him, “try to find some Ants, and when you find any, stoop down, +and listen carefully to their talk. You will be able to understand it; +and you will hear of something to your advantage... Only remember that +you must not frighten or vex the Ants.” Then the goddess vanished away. + +The man immediately went out to look for some Ants. He had scarcely +crossed the threshold of his door when he perceived two Ants upon a +stone supporting one of the house-pillars. He stooped over them, and +listened; and he was astonished to find that he could hear them +talking, and could understand what they said. “Let us try to find a +warmer place,” proposed one of the Ants. “Why a warmer place?” asked +the other;—“what is the matter with this place?” “It is too damp and +cold below,” said the first Ant; “there is a big treasure buried here; +and the sunshine cannot warm the ground about it.” Then the two Ants +went away together, and the listener ran for a spade. + +By digging in the neighborhood of the pillar, he soon found a number of +large jars full of gold coin. The discovery of this treasure made him a +very rich man. + +Afterwards he often tried to listen to the conversation of Ants. But he +was never again able to hear them speak. The ointment of the goddess +had opened his ears to their mysterious language for only a single day. + + +Now I, like that Chinese devotee, must confess myself a very ignorant +person, and naturally unable to hear the conversation of Ants. But the +Fairy of Science sometimes touches my ears and eyes with her wand; and +then, for a little time, I am able to hear things inaudible, and to +perceive things imperceptible. + +II + +For the same reason that it is considered wicked, in sundry circles, to +speak of a non-Christian people having produced a civilization +ethically superior to our own, certain persons will not be pleased by +what I am going to say about ants. But there are men, incomparably +wiser than I can ever hope to be, who think about insects and +civilizations independently of the blessings of Christianity; and I +find encouragement in the new _Cambridge Natural History_, which +contains the following remarks by Professor David Sharp, concerning +ants:— + +“Observation has revealed the most remarkable phenomena in the lives of +these insects. Indeed we can scarcely avoid the conclusion that they +have acquired, in many respects, the art of living together in +societies more perfectly than our own species has; and that they have +anticipated us in the acquisition of some of the industries and arts +that greatly facilitate social life.” + +I suppose that a few well-informed persons will dispute this plain +statement by a trained specialist. The contemporary man of science is +not apt to become sentimental about ants or bees; but he will not +hesitate to acknowledge that, in regard to social evolution, these +insects appear to have advanced “beyond man.” Mr. Herbert Spencer, whom +nobody will charge with romantic tendencies, goes considerably further +than Professor Sharp; showing us that ants are, in a very real sense, +_ethically_ as well as economically in advance of humanity,—their lives +being entirely devoted to altruistic ends. Indeed, Professor Sharp +somewhat needlessly qualifies his praise of the ant with this cautious +observation:— + +“The competence of the ant is not like that of man. It is devoted to +the welfare of the species rather than to that of the individual, which +is, as it were, sacrificed or specialized for the benefit of the +community.” + +—The obvious implication,—that any social state, in which the +improvement of the individual is sacrificed to the common welfare, +leaves much to be desired,—is probably correct, from the actual human +standpoint. For man is yet imperfectly evolved; and human society has +much to gain from his further individualization. But in regard to +social insects the implied criticism is open to question. “The +improvement of the individual,” says Herbert Spencer, “consists in the +better fitting of him for social cooperation; and this, being conducive +to social prosperity, is conducive to the maintenance of the race.” In +other words, the value of the individual can be _only_ in relation to +the society; and this granted, whether the sacrifice of the individual +for the sake of that society be good or evil must depend upon what the +society might gain or lose through a further individualization of its +members... But as we shall presently see, the conditions of ant-society +that most deserve our attention are the ethical conditions; and these +are beyond human criticism, since they realize that ideal of moral +evolution described by Mr. Spencer as “a state in which egoism and +altruism are so conciliated that the one merges into the other.” That +is to say, a state in which the only possible pleasure is the pleasure +of unselfish action. Or, again to quote Mr. Spencer, the activities of +the insect-society are “activities which postpone individual well-being +so completely to the well-being of the community that individual life +appears to be attended to only just so far as is necessary to make +possible due attention to social life,... the individual taking only +just such food and just such rest as are needful to maintain its +vigor.” + +III + +I hope my reader is aware that ants practise horticulture and +agriculture; that they are skillful in the cultivation of mushrooms; +that they have domesticated (according to present knowledge) five +hundred and eighty-four different kinds of animals; that they make +tunnels through solid rock; that they know how to provide against +atmospheric changes which might endanger the health of their children; +and that, for insects, their longevity is exceptional,—members of the +more highly evolved species living for a considerable number of years. + +But it is not especially of these matters that I wish to speak. What I +want to talk about is the awful propriety, the terrible morality, of +the ant[1]. Our most appalling ideals of conduct fall short of the +ethics of the ant,—as progress is reckoned in time,—by nothing less +than millions of years!... When I say “the ant,” I mean the highest +type of ant,—not, of course, the entire ant-family. About two thousand +species of ants are already known; and these exhibit, in their social +organizations, widely varying degrees of evolution. Certain social +phenomena of the greatest biological importance, and of no less +importance in their strange relation to the subject of ethics, can be +studied to advantage only in the existence of the most highly evolved +societies of ants. + +After all that has been written of late years about the probable value +of relative experience in the long life of the ant, I suppose that few +persons would venture to deny individual character to the ant. The +intelligence of the little creature in meeting and overcoming +difficulties of a totally new kind, and in adapting itself to +conditions entirely foreign to its experience, proves a considerable +power of independent thinking. But this at least is certain: that the +ant has no individuality capable of being exercised in a purely selfish +direction;—I am using the word “selfish” in its ordinary acceptation. A +greedy ant, a sensual ant, an ant capable of any one of the seven +deadly sins, or even of a small venial sin, is unimaginable. Equally +unimaginable, of course, a romantic ant, an ideological ant, a poetical +ant, or an ant inclined to metaphysical speculations. No human mind +could attain to the absolute matter-of-fact quality of the ant-mind;—no +human being, as now constituted, could cultivate a mental habit so +impeccably practical as that of the ant. But this superlatively +practical mind is incapable of moral error. It would be difficult, +perhaps, to prove that the ant has no religious ideas. But it is +certain that such ideas could not be of any use to it. The being +incapable of moral weakness is beyond the need of “spiritual guidance.” + +Only in a vague way can we conceive the character of ant-society, and +the nature of ant-morality; and to do even this we must try to imagine +some yet impossible state of human society and human morals. Let us, +then, imagine a world full of people incessantly and furiously +working,—all of whom seem to be women. No one of these women could be +persuaded or deluded into taking a single atom of food more than is +needful to maintain her strength; and no one of them ever sleeps a +second longer than is necessary to keep her nervous system in good +working-order. And all of them are so peculiarly constituted that the +least unnecessary indulgence would result in some derangement of +function. + +The work daily performed by these female laborers comprises +road-making, bridge-building, timber-cutting, architectural +construction of numberless kinds, horticulture and agriculture, the +feeding and sheltering of a hundred varieties of domestic animals, the +manufacture of sundry chemical products, the storage and conservation +of countless food-stuffs, and the care of the children of the race. All +this labor is done for the commonwealth—no citizen of which is capable +even of thinking about “property,” except as a _res publica;_—and the +sole object of the commonwealth is the nurture and training of its +young,—nearly all of whom are girls. The period of infancy is long: the +children remain for a great while, not only helpless, but shapeless, +and withal so delicate that they must be very carefully guarded against +the least change of temperature. Fortunately their nurses understand +the laws of health: each thoroughly knows all that she ought to know in +regard to ventilation, disinfection, drainage, moisture, and the danger +of germs,—germs being as visible, perhaps, to her myopic sight as they +become to our own eyes under the microscope. Indeed, all matters of +hygiene are so well comprehended that no nurse ever makes a mistake +about the sanitary conditions of her neighborhood. + +In spite of this perpetual labor no worker remains unkempt: each is +scrupulously neat, making her toilet many times a day. But as every +worker is born with the most beautiful of combs and brushes attached to +her wrists, no time is wasted in the toilet-room. Besides keeping +themselves strictly clean, the workers must also keep their houses and +gardens in faultless order, for the sake of the children. Nothing less +than an earthquake, an eruption, an inundation, or a desperate war, is +allowed to interrupt the daily routine of dusting, sweeping, scrubbing, +and disinfecting. + +IV + +Now for stranger facts:— + +This world of incessant toil is a more than Vestal world. It is true +that males can sometimes be perceived in it; but they appear only at +particular seasons, and they have nothing whatever to do with the +workers or with the work. None of them would presume to address a +worker,—except, perhaps, under extraordinary circumstances of common +peril. And no worker would think of talking to a male;—for males, in +this queer world, are inferior beings, equally incapable of fighting or +working, and tolerated only as necessary evils. One special class of +females,—the Mothers-Elect of the race,—do condescend to consort with +males, during a very brief period, at particular seasons. But the +Mothers-Elect do not work; and they _must_ accept husbands. A worker +could not even dream of keeping company with a male,—not merely because +such association would signify the most frivolous waste of time, nor +yet because the worker necessarily regards all males with unspeakable +contempt; but because the worker is incapable of wedlock. Some workers, +indeed, are capable of parthenogenesis, and give birth to children who +never had fathers. As a general rule, however, the worker is truly +feminine by her moral instincts only: she has all the tenderness, the +patience, and the foresight that we call “maternal;” but her sex has +disappeared, like the sex of the Dragon-Maiden in the Buddhist legend. + +For defense against creatures of prey, or enemies of the state, the +workers are provided with weapons; and they are furthermore protected +by a large military force. The warriors are so much bigger than the +workers (in some communities, at least) that it is difficult, at first +sight, to believe them of the same race. Soldiers one hundred times +larger than the workers whom they guard are not uncommon. But all these +soldiers are Amazons,—or, more correctly speaking, semi-females. They +can work sturdily; but being built for fighting and for heavy pulling +chiefly, their usefulness is restricted to those directions in which +force, rather than skill, is required. + +[Why females, rather than males, should have been evolutionally +specialized into soldiery and laborers may not be nearly so simple a +question as it appears. I am very sure of not being able to answer it. +But natural economy may have decided the matter. In many forms of life, +the female greatly exceeds the male in bulk and in energy;—perhaps, in +this case, the larger reserve of life-force possessed originally by the +complete female could be more rapidly and effectively utilized for the +development of a special fighting-caste. All energies which, in the +fertile female, would be expended in the giving of life seem here to +have been diverted to the evolution of aggressive power, or +working-capacity.] + +Of the true females,—the Mothers-Elect,—there are very few indeed; and +these are treated like queens. So constantly and so reverentially are +they waited upon that they can seldom have any wishes to express. They +are relieved from every care of existence,—except the duty of bearing +offspring. Night and day they are cared for in every possible manner. +They alone are superabundantly and richly fed:—for the sake of the +offspring they must eat and drink and repose right royally; and their +physiological specialization allows of such indulgence _ad libitum_. +They seldom go out, and never unless attended by a powerful escort; as +they cannot be permitted to incur unnecessary fatigue or danger. +Probably they have no great desire to go out. Around them revolves the +whole activity of the race: all its intelligence and toil and thrift +are directed solely toward the well-being of these Mothers and of their +children. + +But last and least of the race rank the husbands of these Mothers,—the +necessary Evils,—the males. They appear only at a particular season, as +I have already observed; and their lives are very short. Some cannot +even boast of noble descent, though destined to royal wedlock; for they +are not royal offspring, but virgin-born,—parthenogenetic +children,—and, for that reason especially, inferior beings, the chance +results of some mysterious atavism. But of any sort of males the +commonwealth tolerates but few,—barely enough to serve as husbands for +the Mothers-Elect, and these few perish almost as soon as their duty +has been done. The meaning of Nature’s law, in this extraordinary +world, is identical with Ruskin’s teaching that life without effort is +crime; and since the males are useless as workers or fighters, their +existence is of only momentary importance. They are not, indeed, +sacrificed,—like the Aztec victim chosen for the festival of +Tezcatlipoca, and allowed a honeymoon of twenty days before his heart +was torn out. But they are scarcely less unfortunate in their high +fortune. Imagine youths brought up in the knowledge that they are +destined to become royal bridegrooms for a single night,—that after +their bridal they will have no moral right to live,—that marriage, for +each and all of them, will signify certain death,—and that they cannot +even hope to be lamented by their young widows, who will survive them +for a time of many generations...! + +V + +But all the foregoing is no more than a proem to the real “Romance of +the Insect-World.” + +—By far the most startling discovery in relation to this astonishing +civilization is that of the suppression of sex. In certain advanced +forms of ant-life sex totally disappears in the majority of +individuals;—in nearly all the higher ant-societies sex-life appears to +exist only to the extent absolutely needed for the continuance of the +species. But the biological fact in itself is much less startling than +the ethical suggestion which it offers;—_for this practical +suppression, or regulation, of sex-faculty appears to be voluntary!_ +Voluntary, at least, so far as the species is concerned. It is now +believed that these wonderful creatures have learned how to develop, or +to arrest the development, of sex in their young,—by some particular +mode of nutrition. They have succeeded in placing under perfect control +what is commonly supposed to be the most powerful and unmanageable of +instincts. And this rigid restraint of sex-life to within the limits +necessary to provide against extinction is but one (though the most +amazing) of many vital economies effected by the race. Every capacity +for egoistic pleasure—in the common meaning of the word “egoistic”—has +been equally repressed through physiological modification. No +indulgence of any natural appetite is possible except to that degree in +which such indulgence can directly or indirectly benefit the +species;—even the indispensable requirements of food and sleep being +satisfied only to the exact extent necessary for the maintenance of +healthy activity. The individual can exist, act, think, only for the +communal good; and the commune triumphantly refuses, in so far as +cosmic law permits, to let itself be ruled either by Love or Hunger. + +Most of us have been brought up in the belief that without some kind of +religious creed—some hope of future reward or fear of future +punishment—no civilization could exist. We have been taught to think +that in the absence of laws based upon moral ideas, and in the absence +of an effective police to enforce such laws, nearly everybody would +seek only his or her personal advantage, to the disadvantage of +everybody else. The strong would then destroy the weak; pity and +sympathy would disappear; and the whole social fabric would fall to +pieces... These teachings confess the existing imperfection of human +nature; and they contain obvious truth. But those who first proclaimed +that truth, thousands and thousands of years ago, never imagined a form +of social existence in which selfishness would be _naturally_ +impossible. It remained for irreligious Nature to furnish us with proof +positive that there can exist a society in which the pleasure of active +beneficence makes needless the idea of duty,—a society in which +instinctive morality can dispense with ethical codes of every sort,—a +society of which every member is born so absolutely unselfish, and so +energetically good, that moral training could signify, even for its +youngest, neither more nor less than waste of precious time. + +To the Evolutionist such facts necessarily suggest that the value of +our moral idealism is but temporary; and that something better than +virtue, better than kindness, better than self-denial,—in the present +human meaning of those terms,—might, under certain conditions, +eventually replace them. He finds himself obliged to face the question +whether a world without moral notions might not be morally better than +a world in which conduct is regulated by such notions. He must even ask +himself whether the existence of religious commandments, moral laws, +and ethical standards among ourselves does not prove us still in a very +primitive stage of social evolution. And these questions naturally lead +up to another: Will humanity ever be able, on this planet, to reach an +ethical condition beyond all its ideals,—a condition in which +everything that we now call evil will have been atrophied out of +existence, and everything that we call virtue have been transmuted into +instinct;—a state of altruism in which ethical concepts and codes will +have become as useless as they would be, even now, in the societies of +the higher ants. + +The giants of modern thought have given some attention to this +question; and the greatest among them has answered it—partly in the +affirmative. Herbert Spencer has expressed his belief that humanity +will arrive at some state of civilization ethically comparable with +that of the ant:— + +“If we have, in lower orders of creatures, cases in which the nature is +constitutionally so modified that altruistic activities have become one +with egoistic activities, there is an irresistible implication that a +parallel identification will, under parallel conditions, take place +among human beings. Social insects furnish us with instances completely +to the point,—and instances showing us, indeed, to what a marvelous +degree the life of the individual may be absorbed in subserving the +lives of other individuals... Neither the ant nor the bee can be +supposed to have a sense of duty, in the acceptation we give to that +word; nor can it be supposed that it is continually undergoing +self-sacrifice, in the ordinary acceptation of that word... [The facts] +show us that it is within the possibilities of organization to produce +a nature which shall be just as energetic in the pursuit of altruistic +ends, as is in other cases shown in the pursuit of egoistic ends;—and +they show that, in such cases, these altruistic ends are pursued in +pursuing ends which, on their other face, are egoistic. For the +satisfaction of the needs of the organization, these actions, conducive +to the welfare of others, _must_ be carried on... + + +“So far from its being true that there must go on, throughout all the +future, a condition in which self-regard is to be continually subjected +by the regard for others, it will, contrari-wise, be the case that a +regard for others will eventually become so large a source of pleasure +as to overgrow the pleasure which is derivable from direct egoistic +gratification... Eventually, then, there will come also a state in +which egoism and altruism are so conciliated that the one merges in the +other.” + +VI + +Of course the foregoing prediction does not imply that human nature +will ever undergo such physiological change as would be represented by +structural specializations comparable to those by which the various +castes of insect societies are differentiated. We are not bidden to +imagine a future state of humanity in which the active majority would +consist of semi-female workers and Amazons toiling for an inactive +minority of selected Mothers. Even in his chapter, “Human Population in +the Future,” Mr. Spencer has attempted no detailed statement of the +physical modifications inevitable to the production of higher moral +types,—though his general statement in regard to a perfected nervous +system, and a great diminution of human fertility, suggests that such +moral evolution would signify a very considerable amount of physical +change. If it be legitimate to believe in a future humanity to which +the pleasure of mutual beneficence will represent the whole joy of +life, would it not also be legitimate to imagine other transformations, +physical and moral, which the facts of insect-biology have proved to be +within the range of evolutional possibility?... I do not know. I most +worshipfully reverence Herbert Spencer as the greatest philosopher who +has yet appeared in this world; and I should be very sorry to write +down anything contrary to his teaching, in such wise that the reader +could imagine it to have been inspired by Synthetic Philosophy. For the +ensuing reflections, I alone am responsible; and if I err, let the sin +be upon my own head. + +I suppose that the moral transformations predicted by Mr. Spencer, +could be effected only with the aid of physiological change, and at a +terrible cost. Those ethical conditions manifested by insect-societies +can have been reached only through effort desperately sustained for +millions of years against the most atrocious necessities. Necessities +equally merciless may have to be met and mastered eventually by the +human race. Mr. Spencer has shown that the time of the greatest +possible human suffering is yet to come, and that it will be +concomitant with the period of the greatest possible pressure of +population. Among other results of that long stress, I understand that +there will be a vast increase in human intelligence and sympathy; and +that this increase of intelligence will be effected at the cost of +human fertility. But this decline in reproductive power will not, we +are told, be sufficient to assure the very highest of social +conditions: it will only relieve that pressure of population which has +been the main cause of human suffering. The state of perfect social +equilibrium will be approached, but never quite reached, by mankind— + +_Unless there be discovered some means of solving economic problems, +just as social insects have solved them, by the suppression of +sex-life_. + +Supposing that such a discovery were made, and that the human race +should decide to arrest the development of sex in the majority of its +young,—so as to effect a transferrence of those forces, now demanded by +sex-life to the development of higher activities,—might not the result +be an eventual state of polymorphism, like that of ants? And, in such +event, might not the Coming Race be indeed represented in its higher +types,—through feminine rather than masculine evolution,—by a majority +of beings of neither sex? + +Considering how many persons, even now, through merely unselfish (not +to speak of religious) motives, sentence themselves to celibacy, it +should not appear improbable that a more highly evolved humanity would +cheerfully sacrifice a large proportion of its sex-life for the common +weal, particularly in view of certain advantages to be gained. Not the +least of such advantages—always supposing that mankind were able to +control sex-life after the natural manner of the ants—would be a +prodigious increase of longevity. The higher types of a humanity +superior to sex might be able to realize the dream of life for a +thousand years. + +Already we find lives too short for the work we have to do; and with +the constantly accelerating progress of discovery, and the +never-ceasing expansion of knowledge, we shall certainly find more and +more reason to regret, as time goes on, the brevity of existence. That +Science will ever discover the Elixir of the Alchemists’ hope is +extremely unlikely. The Cosmic Powers will not allow us to cheat them. +For every advantage which they yield us the full price must be paid: +nothing for nothing is the everlasting law. Perhaps the price of long +life will prove to be the price that the ants have paid for it. +Perhaps, upon some elder planet, that price has already been paid, and +the power to produce offspring restricted to a caste morphologically +differentiated, in unimaginable ways, from the rest of the species... + +VII + +But while the facts of insect-biology suggest so much in regard to the +future course of human evolution, do they not also suggest something of +largest significance concerning the relation of ethics to cosmic law? +Apparently, the highest evolution will not be permitted to creatures +capable of what human moral experience has in all areas condemned. +Apparently, the highest possible strength is the strength of +unselfishness; and power supreme never will be accorded to cruelty or +to lust. There may be no gods; but the forces that shape and dissolve +all forms of being would seem to be much more exacting than gods. To +prove a “dramatic tendency” in the ways of the stars is not possible; +but the cosmic process seems nevertheless to affirm the worth of every +human system of ethics fundamentally opposed to human egoism. + + + + +Notes + + +THE STORY OF MIMI-NASHI-HŌÏCHI + + [1] See my _Kottō_, for a description of these curious crabs. + + + [2] Or, Shimonoséki. The town is also known by the name of Bakkan. + + + [3] The _biwa_, a kind of four-stringed lute, is chiefly used in + musical recitative. Formerly the professional minstrels who recited + the _Heiké-Monogatari_, and other tragical histories, were called + _biwa-hōshi_, or “lute-priests.” The origin of this appellation is not + clear; but it is possible that it may have been suggested by the fact + that “lute-priests” as well as blind shampooers, had their heads + shaven, like Buddhist priests. The _biwa_ is played with a kind of + plectrum, called _bachi_, usually made of horn. + + +(1) A response to show that one has heard and is listening attentively. + + + [4] A respectful term, signifying the opening of a gate. It was used + by samurai when calling to the guards on duty at a lord’s gate for + admission. + + + [5] Or the phrase might be rendered, “for the pity of that part is the + deepest.” The Japanese word for pity in the original text is + “_awaré_.” + + + [6] “Traveling incognito” is at least the meaning of the original + phrase,—“making a disguised august-journey” (_shinobi no go-ryokō_). + + + [7] The Smaller Pragña-Pâramitâ-Hridaya-Sûtra is thus called in + Japanese. Both the smaller and larger sûtras called Pragña-Pâramitâ + (“Transcendent Wisdom”) have been translated by the late Professor Max + Müller, and can be found in volume xlix. of the _Sacred Books of the + East_ (“Buddhist Mahayana Sûtras”).—Apropos of the magical use of the + text, as described in this story, it is worth remarking that the + subject of the sûtra is the Doctrine of the Emptiness of Forms,—that + is to say, of the unreal character of all phenomena or noumena... + “Form is emptiness; and emptiness is form. Emptiness is not different + from form; form is not different from emptiness. What is form—that is + emptiness. What is emptiness—that is form... Perception, name, + concept, and knowledge, are also emptiness... There is no eye, ear, + nose, tongue, body, and mind... But when the envelopment of + consciousness has been annihilated, then he [_the seeker_] becomes + free from all fear, and beyond the reach of change, enjoying final + Nirvana.” + +OSHIDORI + + [1] From ancient time, in the Far East, these birds have been regarded + as emblems of conjugal affection. + + + [2] There is a pathetic double meaning in the third verse; for the + syllables composing the proper name _Akanuma_ (“Red Marsh”) may also + be read as _akanu-ma_, signifying “the time of our inseparable (or + delightful) relation.” So the poem can also be thus rendered:—“When + the day began to fail, I had invited him to accompany me...! Now, + after the time of that happy relation, what misery for the one who + must slumber alone in the shadow of the rushes!”—The _makomo_ is a + short of large rush, used for making baskets. + +THE STORY OF O-TEI + +(1) “-sama” is a polite suffix attached to personal names. + + +(2) A Buddhist term commonly used to signify a kind of heaven. + + + [1] The Buddhist term _zokumyō_ (“profane name”) signifies the + personal name, borne during life, in contradistinction to the _kaimyō_ + (“sila-name”) or _homyō_ (“Law-name”) given after death,—religious + posthumous appellations inscribed upon the tomb, and upon the mortuary + tablet in the parish-temple.—For some account of these, see my paper + entitled, “The Literature of the Dead,” in _Exotics and + Retrospectives_. + + + [2] Buddhist household shrine. + + +(3) Direct translation of a Japanese form of address used toward young, +unmarried women. + +DIPLOMACY + +(1) The spacious house and grounds of a wealthy person is thus called. + + +(2) A Buddhist service for the dead. + +OF A MIRROR AND A BELL + +(1) Part of present-day Shizuoka Prefecture. + + +(2) The two-hour period between 1 AM and 3 AM. + + +(3) A monetary unit. + +JIKININKI + +(1) The southern part of present-day Gifu Prefecture. + + + [1] Literally, a man-eating goblin. The Japanese narrator gives also + the Sanscrit term, “Râkshasa;” but this word is quite as vague as + _jikininki_, since there are many kinds of Râkshasas. Apparently the + word _jikininki_ signifies here one of the + _Baramon-Rasetsu-Gaki_,—forming the twenty-sixth class of pretas + enumerated in the old Buddhist books. + + + [2] A _Ségaki_-service is a special Buddhist service performed on + behalf of beings supposed to have entered into the condition of _gaki_ + (pretas), or hungry spirits. For a brief account of such a service, + see my _Japanese Miscellany_. + + + [3] Literally, “five-circle [or five-zone] stone.” A funeral monument + consisting of five parts superimposed,—each of a different + form,—symbolizing the five mystic elements: Ether, Air, Fire, Water, + Earth. + +MUJINA + +(1) A kind of badger. Certain animals were thought to be able to +transform themselves and cause mischief for humans. + + + [1] O-jochū (“honorable damsel”), a polite form of address used in + speaking to a young lady whom one does not know. + + +(2) An apparition with a smooth, totally featureless face, called a +“nopperabo,” is a stock part of the Japanese pantheon of ghosts and +demons. + + + [2] Soba is a preparation of buckwheat, somewhat resembling + vermicelli. + + +(3) An exclamation of annoyed alarm. + + +(4) Well! + +ROKURO-KUBI + + [1] The period of Eikyō lasted from 1429 to 1441. + + + [2] The upper robe of a Buddhist priest is thus called. + + +(1) Present-day Yamanashi Prefecture. + + +(2) A term for itinerant priests. + + + [3] A sort of little fireplace, contrived in the floor of a room, is + thus described. The _ro_ is usually a square shallow cavity, lined + with metal and half-filled with ashes, in which charcoal is lighted. + + +(3) Direct translation of “suzumushi,” a kind of cricket with a +distinctive chirp like a tiny bell, whence the name. + + +(4) Now a rokuro-kubi is ordinarily conceived as a goblin whose neck +stretches out to great lengths, but which nevertheless always remains +attached to its body. + + +(5) A Chinese collection of stories on the supernatural. + + + [4] A present made to friends or to the household on returning from a + journey is thus called. Ordinarily, of course, the _miyagé_ consists + of something produced in the locality to which the journey has been + made: this is the point of Kwairyō’s jest. + + +(6) Present-day Nagano Prefecture. + +A DEAD SECRET + +(1) On the present-day map, Tamba corresponds roughly to the central +area of Kyōto Prefecture and part of Hyogo Prefecture. + + + [1] The Hour of the Rat (_Né-no-Koku_), according to the old Japanese + method of reckoning time, was the first hour. It corresponded to the + time between our midnight and two o’clock in the morning; for the + ancient Japanese hours were each equal to two modern hours. + + + [2] _Kaimyō_, the posthumous Buddhist name, or religious name, given + to the dead. Strictly speaking, the meaning of the word is sila-name. + (See my paper entitled, “The Literature of the Dead” in _Exotics and + Retrospectives_.) + +YUKI-ONNA + +(1) An ancient province whose boundaries took in most of present-day +Tōkyō, and parts of Saitama and Kanagawa prefectures. + + + [1] That is to say, with a floor-surface of about six feet square. + + + [2] This name, signifying “Snow,” is not uncommon. On the subject of + Japanese female names, see my paper in the volume entitled + _Shadowings_. + + +(2) Also spelled Edo, the former name of Tōkyō. + +THE STORY OF AOYAGI + +(1) An ancient province corresponding to the northern part of +present-day Ishikawa Prefecture. + + +(2) An ancient province corresponding to the eastern part of +present-day Fukui Prefecture. + + + [1] The name signifies “Green Willow;”—though rarely met with, it is + still in use. + + + [2] The poem may be read in two ways; several of the phrases having a + double meaning. But the art of its construction would need + considerable space to explain, and could scarcely interest the Western + reader. The meaning which Tomotada desired to convey might be thus + expressed:—“While journeying to visit my mother, I met with a being + lovely as a flower; and for the sake of that lovely person, I am + passing the day here... Fair one, wherefore that dawn-like blush + before the hour of dawn?—can it mean that you love me?” + + + [3] Another reading is possible; but this one gives the signification + of the _answer_ intended. + + + [4] So the Japanese story-teller would have us believe,—although the + verses seem commonplace in translation. I have tried to give only + their general meaning: an effective literal translation would require + some scholarship. + +JIU-ROKU-ZAKURA + +(1) Present-day Ehime Prefecture. + +THE DREAM OF AKINOSUKÉ + +(1) Present-day Nara Prefecture. + + + [1] This name “Tokoyo” is indefinite. According to circumstances it + may signify any unknown country,—or that undiscovered country from + whose bourn no traveler returns,—or that Fairyland of far-eastern + fable, the Realm of Hōrai. The term “Kokuō” means the ruler of a + country,—therefore a king. The original phrase, _Tokoyo no Kokuō_, + might be rendered here as “the Ruler of Hōrai,” or “the King of + Fairyland.” + + + [2] The last phrase, according to old custom, had to be uttered by + both attendants at the same time. All these ceremonial observances can + still be studied on the Japanese stage. + + + [3] This was the name given to the estrade, or dais, upon which a + feudal prince or ruler sat in state. The term literally signifies + “great seat.” + +RIKI-BAKA + +(1) Kana: the Japanese phonetic alphabet. + + +(2) “So-and-so”: appellation used by Hearn in place of the real name. + + +(3) A section of Tōkyō. + + + [1] A square piece of cotton-goods, or other woven material, used as a + wrapper in which to carry small packages. + + +(4) Ten yen is nothing now, but was a formidable sum then. + + INSECT STUDIES + +BUTTERFLIES + +(1) Haiku. + + + [1] “The modest nymph beheld her God, and blushed.” (Or, in a more + familiar rendering: “The modest water saw its God, and blushed.”) In + this line the double value of the word _nympha_—used by classical + poets both in the meaning of fountain and in that of the divinity of a + fountain, or spring—reminds one of that graceful playing with words + which Japanese poets practice. + + + [2] More usually written _nugi-kakéru_, which means either “to take + off and hang up,” or “to begin to take off,”—as in the above poem. + More loosely, but more effectively, the verses might thus be rendered: + “Like a woman slipping off her haori—that is the appearance of a + butterfly.” One must have seen the Japanese garment described, to + appreciate the comparison. The haori is a silk upper-dress,—a kind of + sleeved cloak,—worn by both sexes; but the poem suggests a woman’s + _haori_, which is usually of richer color or material. The sleeves are + wide; and the lining is usually of brightly-colored silk, often + beautifully variegated. In taking off the haori, the brilliant lining + is displayed,—and at such an instant the fluttering splendor might + well be likened to the appearance of a butterfly in motion. + + + [3] The bird-catcher’s pole is smeared with bird-lime; and the verses + suggest that the insect is preventing the man from using his pole, by + persistently getting in the way of it,—as the birds might take warning + from seeing the butterfly limed. _Jama suru_ means “to hinder” or + “prevent.” + + + [4] Even while it is resting, the wings of the butterfly may be seen + to quiver at moments,—as if the creature were dreaming of flight. + + + [5] A little poem by Bashō, greatest of all Japanese composers of + _hokku_. The verses are intended to suggest the joyous feeling of + spring-time. + + + [6] Literally, “a windless day;” but two negatives in Japanese poetry + do not necessarily imply an affirmative, as in English. The meaning + is, that although there is no wind, the fluttering motion of the + butterflies suggests, to the eyes at least, that a strong breeze is + playing. + + + [7] Alluding to the Buddhist proverb: _Rakkwa éda ni kaërazu; ha-kyō + futatabi terasazu_ (“The fallen flower returns not to the branch; the + broken mirror never again reflects.”) So says the proverb—yet it + seemed to me that I saw a fallen flower return to the branch... No: it + was only a butterfly. + + + [8] Alluding probably to the light fluttering motion of falling + cherry-petals. + + + [9] That is to say, the grace of their motion makes one think of the + grace of young girls, daintily costumed, in robes with long fluttering + sleeves... And old Japanese proverb declares that even a devil is + pretty at eighteen: _Oni mo jiu-hachi azami no hana:_ “Even a devil at + eighteen, flower-of-the-thistle.” + + + [10] Or perhaps the verses might be more effectively rendered thus: + “Happy together, do you say? Yes—if we should be reborn as + field-butterflies in some future life: then we might accord!” This + poem was composed by the celebrated poet Issa, on the occasion of + divorcing his wife. + + + [11] Or, _Taré no tama?_ + + + [12] Literally, “Butterfly-pursuing heart I wish to have + always;”—_i.e._, I would that I might always be able to find pleasure + in simple things, like a happy child. + + + [13] An old popular error,—probably imported from China. + + + [14] A name suggested by the resemblance of the larva’s artificial + covering to the _mino_, or straw-raincoat, worn by Japanese peasants. + I am not sure whether the dictionary rendering, “basket-worm,” is + quite correct;—but the larva commonly called _minomushi_ does really + construct for itself something much like the covering of the + basket-worm. + + +(2) A very large, white radish. “Daikon” literally means “big root.” + + + [15] _Pyrus spectabilis_. + + + [16] An evil spirit. + + +(3) A common female name. + +MOSQUITOES + +(1) Meiji: The period in which Hearn wrote this book. It lasted from +1868 to 1912, and was a time when Japan plunged head-first into +Western-style modernization. By the “fashions and the changes and the +disintegrations of Meiji” Hearn is lamenting that this process of +modernization was destroying some of the good things in traditional +Japanese culture. + +ANTS + +(1) Cicadas. + + + [1] An interesting fact in this connection is that the Japanese word + for ant, _ari_, is represented by an ideograph formed of the character + for “insect” combined with the character signifying “moral rectitude,” + “propriety” (_giri_). So the Chinese character actually means “The + Propriety-Insect.” + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1210 *** |