Part 2

THE body was cold as ice; the heart had long ceased to beat: yet there were no other signs of death. Nobody even spoke of burying the woman. She had died of grief and anger at having been divorced. It would have been useless to bury her,--because the last undying wish of a dying person for vengeance can burst asunder any tomb and rift the heaviest graveyard stone. People who lived near the house in which she was lying fled from their homes. They knew that she was only _waiting for the return of the man who had divorced her_.

At the time of her death he was on a journey. When he came back and was told what had happened, terror seized him. "If I can find no help before dark," he thought to himself, "she will tear me to pieces." It was yet only the Hour of the Dragon;[11] but he knew that he had no time to lose.

[11] _Tatsu no Koku_, or the Hour of the Dragon, by old Japanese time, began at about eight o'clock in the morning.

He went at once to an _inyoshi_[12] and begged for succor. The _inyoshi_ knew the story of the dead woman; and he had seen the body. He said to the supplicant:--"A very great danger threatens you. I will try to save you. But you must promise to do whatever I shall tell you to do. There is only one way by which you can be saved. It is a fearful way. But unless you find the courage to attempt it, she will tear you limb from limb. If you can be brave, come to me again in the evening before sunset." The man shuddered; but he promised to do whatever should be required of him.

[12] _Inyoshi_, a professor or master of the science of _in-yo_,--the old Chinese nature-philosophy, based upon the theory of a male and a female principle pervading the universe.

* * * * *

At sunset the _inyoshi_ went with him to the house where the body was lying. The _inyoshi_ pushed open the sliding-doors, and told his client to enter. It was rapidly growing dark. "I dare not!" gasped the man, quaking from head to foot;--"I dare not even look at her!" "You will have to do much more than look at her," declared the _inyoshi_;--"and you promised to obey. Go in!" He forced the trembler into the house and led him to the side of the corpse.

* * * * *

The dead woman was lying on her face. "Now you must get astride upon her," said the _inyoshi_, "and sit firmly on her back, as if you were riding a horse.... Come!--you must do it!" The man shivered so that the _inyoshi_ had to support him--shivered horribly; but he obeyed. "Now take her hair in your hands," commanded the _inyoshi_,--"half in the right hand, half in the left.... So!... You must grip it like a bridle. Twist your hands in it--both hands--tightly. That is the way!... Listen to me! You must stay like that till morning. You will have reason to be afraid in the night--plenty of reason. But whatever may happen, never let go of her hair. If you let go,--even for one second,--she will tear you into gobbets!"

The _inyoshi_ then whispered some mysterious words into the ear of the body, and said to its rider:--"Now, for my own sake, I must leave you alone with her.... Remain as you are!... Above all things, remember that you must not let go of her hair." And he went away,--closing the doors behind him.

* * * * *

Hour after hour the man sat upon the corpse in black fear;--and the hush of the night deepened and deepened about him till he screamed to break it. Instantly the body sprang beneath him, as to cast him off; and the dead woman cried out loudly, "Oh, how heavy it is! Yet I shall bring that fellow here now!"

Then tall she rose, and leaped to the doors, and flung them open, and rushed into the night,--always bearing the weight of the man. But he, shutting his eyes, kept his hands twisted in her long hair,--tightly, tightly,--though fearing with such a fear that he could not even moan. How far she went, he never knew. He saw nothing: he heard only the sound of her naked feet in the dark,--_picha-picha_, _picha-picha_,--and the hiss of her breathing as she ran.

At last she turned, and ran back into the house, and lay down upon the floor exactly as at first. Under the man she panted and moaned till the cocks began to crow. Thereafter she lay still.

But the man, with chattering teeth, sat upon her until the _inyoshi_ came at sunrise. "So you did not let go of her hair!"--observed the _inyoshi_, greatly pleased. "That is well ... Now you can stand up." He whispered again into the ear of the corpse, and then said to the man:--"You must have passed a fearful night; but nothing else could have saved you. Hereafter you may feel secure from her vengeance."

[Decoration]

The conclusion of this story I do not think to be morally satisfying. It is not recorded that the corpse-rider became insane, or that his hair turned white: we are told only that "he worshipped the _inyoshi_ with tears of gratitude." A note appended to the recital is equally disappointing. "It is reported," the Japanese author says, "that a grandchild of the man [_who rode the corpse_] still survives, and that a grandson of the _inyoshi_ is at this very time living in a village called Otokunoi-mura [_probably pronounced Otonoi-mura_]."

This village-name does not appear in any Japanese directory of to-day. But the names of many towns and villages have been changed since the foregoing story was written.

The Sympathy of Benten[13]

[Decoration]

[13] The original story is in the _Otogi-Hyaku-Monogatari_

IN Kyoto there is a famous temple called Amadera. Sadazumi Shinno, the fifth son of the Emperor Seiwa, passed the greater part of his life there as a priest; and the graves of many celebrated persons are to be seen in the temple-grounds.

But the present edifice is not the ancient Amadera. The original temple, after the lapse of ten centuries, fell into such decay that it had to be entirely rebuilt in the fourteenth year of Genroku (1701 A. D.).

A great festival was held to celebrate the rebuilding of the Amadera; and among the thousands of persons who attended that festival there was a young scholar and poet named Hanagaki Baishu. He wandered about the newly-laid-out grounds and gardens, delighted by all that he saw, until he reached the place of a spring at which he had often drunk in former times. He was then surprised to find that the soil about the spring had been dug away, so as to form a square pond, and that at one corner of this pond there had been set up a wooden tablet bearing the words _Tanjo-Sui_ ("Birth-Water").[14] He also saw that a small, but very handsome temple of the Goddess Benten had been erected beside the pond. While he was looking at this new temple, a sudden gust of wind blew to his feet a _tanzaku_,[15] on which the following poem had been written:--

Shirushi areto Iwai zo somuru Tama hoki, Torute bakari no Chigiri naretomo.

[14] The word _tanjo_ (birth) should here be understood in its mystical Buddhist meaning of new life or rebirth, rather than in the western signification of birth.

[15] _Tanzaku_ is the name given to the long strips or ribbons of paper, usually colored, upon which poems are written perpendicularly. Poems written upon _tanzaku_ are suspended to trees in flower, to wind-bells, to any beautiful object in which the poet has found an inspiration.

This poem--a poem on first love (_hatsu koi_), composed by the famous Shunrei Kyo--was not unfamiliar to him; but it had been written upon the _tanzaku_ by a female hand, and so exquisitely that he could scarcely believe his eyes. Something in the form of the characters,--an indefinite grace,--suggested that period of youth between childhood and womanhood; and the pure rich color of the ink seemed to bespeak the purity and goodness of the writer's heart.[16]

[16] It is difficult for the inexperienced European eye to distinguish in Chinese or Japanese writing those characteristics implied by our term "hand"--in the sense of individual style. But the Japanese scholar never forgets the peculiarities of a handwriting once seen; and he can even guess at the approximate age of the writer. Chinese and Japanese authors claim that the color (quality) of the ink used tells something of the character of the writer. As every person grounds or prepares his or her own ink, the deeper and clearer black would at least indicate something of personal carefulness and of the sense of beauty.

Baishu carefully folded up the _tanzaku_, and took it home with him. When he looked at it again the writing appeared to him even more wonderful than at first. His knowledge in caligraphy assured him only that the poem had been written by some girl who was very young, very intelligent, and probably very gentle-hearted. But this assurance sufficed to shape within his mind the image of a very charming person; and he soon found himself in love with the unknown. Then his first resolve was to seek out the writer of the verses, and, if possible, make her his wife.... Yet how was he to find her? Who was she? Where did she live? Certainly he could hope to find her only through the favor of the Gods.

But presently it occurred to him that the Gods might be very willing to lend their aid. The _tanzaku_ had come to him while he was standing in front of the temple of Benten-Sama; and it was to this divinity in particular that lovers were wont to pray for happy union. This reflection impelled him to beseech the Goddess for assistance. He went at once to the temple of Benten-of-the-Birth-Water (_Tanjo-sui-no-Benten_) in the grounds of the Amadera; and there, with all the fervor of his heart, he made his petition:--"O Goddess, pity me!--help me to find where the young person lives who wrote the _tanzaku_!--vouchsafe me but one chance to meet her,--even if only for a moment!" And after having made this prayer, he began to perform a seven days' religious service (_nanuka-mairi_)[17] in honor of the Goddess; vowing at the same time to pass the seventh night in ceaseless worship before her shrine.

[17] There are many kinds of religious exercises called _mairi_. The performer of a _nanuka-mairi_ pledges himself to pray at a certain temple every day for seven days in succession.

* * * * *

Now on the seventh night,--the night of his vigil,--during the hour when the silence is most deep, he heard at the main gateway of the temple-grounds a voice calling for admittance. Another voice from within answered; the gate was opened; and Baishu saw an old man of majestic appearance approaching with slow steps. This venerable person was clad in robes of ceremony; and he wore upon his snow-white head a black cap (_eboshi_) of the form indicating high rank. Reaching the little temple of Benten, he knelt down in front of it, as if respectfully awaiting some order. Then the outer door of the temple was opened; the hanging curtain of bamboo behind it, concealing the inner sanctuary, was rolled half-way up; and a _chigo_[18] came forward,--a beautiful boy, with long hair tied back in the ancient manner. He stood at the threshold, and said to the old man in a clear loud voice:--

[18] The term _chigo_ usually means the page of a noble household, especially an Imperial page. The _chigo_ who appears in this story is of course a supernatural being,--the court-messenger of the Goddess, and her mouthpiece.

"There is a person here who has been praying for a love-union not suitable to his present condition, and otherwise difficult to bring about. But as the young man is worthy of Our pity, you have been called to see whether something can be done for him. If there should prove to be any relation between the parties from the period of a former birth, you will introduce them to each other."

On receiving this command, the old man bowed respectfully to the _chigo_: then, rising, he drew from the pocket of his long left sleeve a crimson cord. One end of this cord he passed round Baishu's body, as if to bind him with it. The other end he put into the flame of one of the temple-lamps; and while the cord was there burning, he waved his hand three times, as if to summon somebody out of the dark.

Immediately, in the direction of the Amadera, a sound of coming steps was heard; and in another moment a girl appeared,--a charming girl, fifteen or sixteen years old. She approached gracefully, but very shyly,--hiding the lower part of her face with a fan; and she knelt down beside Baishu. The _chigo_ then said to Baishu:--

"Recently you have been suffering much heart-pain; and this desperate love of yours has even impaired your health. We could not allow you to remain in so unhappy a condition; and We therefore summoned the Old-Man-under-the-Moon[19] to make you acquainted with the writer of that _tanzaku_. She is now beside you."

[19] _Gekkawo_. This is a poetical appellation for the God of Marriage, more usually known as _Musubi-no-kami_. Throughout this story there is an interesting mingling of Shinto and Buddhist ideas.

With these words, the _chigo_ retired behind the bamboo curtain. Then the old man went away as he had come; and the young girl followed him. Simultaneously Baishu heard the great bell of the Amadera sounding the hour of dawn. He prostrated himself in thanksgiving before the shrine of Benten-of-the-Birth-Water, and proceeded homeward,--feeling as if awakened from some delightful dream,--happy at having seen the charming person whom he had so fervently prayed to meet,--unhappy also because of the fear that he might never meet her again.

But scarcely had he passed from the gateway into the street, when he saw a young girl walking alone in the same direction that he was going; and, even in the dusk of the dawn, he recognized her at once as the person to whom he had been introduced before the temple of Benten. As he quickened his pace to overtake her, she turned and saluted him with a graceful bow. Then for the first time he ventured to speak to her; and she answered him in a voice of which the sweetness filled his heart with joy. Through the yet silent streets they walked on, chatting happily, till they found themselves before the house where Baishu lived. There he paused--spoke to the girl of his hopes and fears. Smiling, she asked:--"Do you not know that I was sent for to become your wife?" And she entered with him.

* * * * *

Becoming his wife, she delighted him beyond expectation by the charm of her mind and heart. Moreover, he found her to be much more accomplished than he had supposed. Besides being able to write so wonderfully, she could paint beautiful pictures; she knew the art of arranging flowers, the art of embroidery, the art of music; she could weave and sew; and she knew everything in regard to the management of a house.

* * * * *

It was in the early autumn that the young people had met; and they lived together in perfect accord until the winter season began. Nothing, during those months, occurred to disturb their peace. Baishu's love for his gentle wife only strengthened with the passing of time. Yet, strangely enough, he remained ignorant of her history,--knew nothing about her family. Of such matters she had never spoken; and, as the Gods had given her to him, he imagined that it would not be proper to question her. But neither the Old-Man-under-the-Moon nor any one else came--as he had feared--to take her away. Nobody even made any inquiries about her. And the neighbors, for some undiscoverable reason, acted as if totally unaware of her presence.

Baishu wondered at all this. But stranger experiences were awaiting him.

One winter morning he happened to be passing through a somewhat remote quarter of the city, when he heard himself loudly called by name, and saw a man-servant making signs to him from the gateway of a private residence. As Baishu did not know the man's face, and did not have a single acquaintance in that part of Kyoto, he was more than startled by so abrupt a summons. But the servant, coming forward, saluted him with the utmost respect, and said, "My master greatly desires the honor of speaking with you: deign to enter for a moment." After an instant of hesitation, Baishu allowed himself to be conducted to the house. A dignified and richly dressed person, who seemed to be the master, welcomed him at the entrance, and led him to the guest-room. When the courtesies due upon a first meeting had been fully exchanged, the host apologized for the informal manner of his invitation, and said:--

"It must have seemed to you very rude of us to call you in such a way. But perhaps you will pardon our impoliteness when I tell you that we acted thus upon what I firmly believe to have been an inspiration from the Goddess Benten. Now permit me to explain.

"I have a daughter, about sixteen years old, who can write rather well,[20] and do other things in the common way: she has the ordinary nature of woman. As we were anxious to make her happy by finding a good husband for her, we prayed the Goddess Benten to help us; and we sent to every temple of Benten in the city a _tanzaku_ written by the girl. Some nights later, the Goddess appeared to me in a dream, and said: 'We have heard your prayer, and have already introduced your daughter to the person who is to become her husband. During the coming winter he will visit you.' As I did not understand this assurance that a presentation had been made, I felt some doubt; I thought that the dream might have been only a common dream, signifying nothing. But last night again I saw Benten-Sama in a dream; and she said to me: 'To-morrow the young man, of whom I once spoke to you, will come to this street: then you can call him into your house, and ask him to become the husband of your daughter. He is a good young man; and later in life he will obtain a much higher rank than he now holds.' Then Benten-Sama told me your name, your age, your birthplace, and described your features and dress so exactly that my servant found no difficulty in recognizing you by the indications which I was able to give him."

[20] As it is the old Japanese rule that parents should speak depreciatingly of their children's accomplishments the phrase "rather well" in this connection would mean, for the visitor, "wonderfully well." For the same reason the expressions "common way" and "ordinary nature," as subsequently used, would imply almost the reverse of the literal meaning.

* * * * *

This explanation bewildered Baishu instead of reassuring him; and his only reply was a formal return of thanks for the honor which the master of the house had spoken of doing him. But when the host invited him to another room, for the purpose of presenting him to the young lady, his embarrassment became extreme. Yet he could not reasonably decline the introduction. He could not bring himself, under such extraordinary circumstances, to announce that he already had a wife,--a wife given to him by the Goddess Benten herself; a wife from whom he could not even think of separating. So, in silence and trepidation, he followed his host to the apartment indicated.

Then what was his amazement to discover, when presented to the daughter of the house, that she was the very same person whom he had already taken to wife!

_The same,--yet not the same._

She to whom he had been introduced by the Old-Man-under-the-Moon, was only the soul of the beloved.

She to whom he was now to be wedded, in her father's house, was the body.

Benten had wrought this miracle for the sake of her worshippers.

[Decoration]

The original story breaks off suddenly at this point, leaving several matters unexplained. The ending is rather unsatisfactory. One would like to know something about the mental experiences of the real maiden during the married life of her phantom. One would also like to know what became of the phantom,--whether it continued to lead an independent existence; whether it waited patiently for the return of its husband; whether it paid a visit to the real bride. And the book says nothing about these things. But a Japanese friend explains the miracle thus:--

"The spirit-bride was really formed out of the _tanzaku_. So it is possible that the real girl did not know anything about the meeting at the temple of Benten. When she wrote those beautiful characters upon the _tanzaku_, something of her spirit passed into them. Therefore it was possible to evoke from the writing the double of the writer."

The Gratitude of the Samebito[21]

[Decoration]

[21] The original of this story may be found in the book called _Kibun-Anbaiyoshi_

THERE was a man named Tawaraya Totaro, who lived in the Province of Omi. His house was situated on the shore of Lake Biwa, not far from the famous temple called Ishiyamadera. He had some property, and lived in comfort; but at the age of twenty-nine he was still unmarried. His greatest ambition was to marry a very beautiful woman; and he had not been able to find a girl to his liking.

One day, as he was passing over the Long Bridge of Seta,[22] he saw a strange being crouching close to the parapet. The body of this being resembled the body of a man, but was black as ink; its face was like the face of a demon; its eyes were green as emeralds; and its beard was like the beard of a dragon. Totaro was at first very much startled. But the green eyes looked at him so gently that after a moment's hesitation he ventured to question the creature. Then it answered him, saying: "I am a _Samebito_,[23]--a Shark-Man of the sea; and until a short time ago I was in the service of the Eight Great Dragon-Kings [_Hachi-Dai-Ryu-O_] as a subordinate officer in the Dragon-Palace [_Ryugu_].[24] But because of a small fault which I committed, I was dismissed from the Dragon-Palace, and also banished from the Sea. Since then I have been wandering about here,--unable to get any food, or even a place to lie down. If you can feel any pity for me, do, I beseech you, help me to find a shelter, and let me have something to eat!"

[22] The Long Bridge of Seta (_Seta-no-Naga-Hashi_), famous in Japanese legend, is nearly eight hundred feet in length, and commands a beautiful view. This bridge crosses the waters of the Setagawa near the junction of the stream with Lake Biwa. Ishiyamadera, one of the most picturesque Buddhist temples in Japan, is situated within a short distance from the bridge.

[23] Literally, "a Shark-Person," but in this story the _Samebito_ is a male. The characters for _Samebito_ can also be read _Kojin_,--which is the usual reading. In dictionaries the word is loosely rendered by "merman" or "mermaid;" but as the above description shows, the _Samebito_ or _Kojin_ of the Far East is a conception having little in common with the Western idea of a merman or mermaid.

[24] _Ryugu_ is also the name given to the whole of that fairy-realm beneath the sea which figures in so many Japanese legends.

This petition was uttered in so plaintive a tone, and in so humble a manner, that Totaro's heart was touched. "Come with me," he said. "There is in my garden a large and deep pond where you may live as long as you wish; and I will give you plenty to eat."

The _Samebito_ followed Totaro home, and appeared to be much pleased with the pond.

Thereafter, for nearly half a year, this strange guest dwelt in the pond, and was every day supplied by Totaro with such food as sea-creatures like.