Part 3

[_From this point of the original narrative the Shark-Man is referred to, not as a monster, but as a sympathetic Person of the male sex._]

Now, in the seventh month of the same year, there was a female pilgrimage (_nyonin-mode_) to the great Buddhist temple called Miidera, in the neighboring town of Otsu; and Totaro went to Otsu to attend the festival. Among the multitude of women and young girls there assembled, he observed a person of extraordinary beauty. She seemed about sixteen years old; her face was fair and pure as snow; and the loveliness of her lips assured the beholder that their every utterance would sound "as sweet as the voice of a nightingale singing upon a plum-tree." Totaro fell in love with her at sight. When she left the temple he followed her at a respectful distance, and discovered that she and her mother were staying for a few days at a certain house in the neighboring village of Seta. By questioning some of the village folk, he was able also to learn that her name was Tamana; that she was unmarried; and that her family appeared to be unwilling that she should marry a man of ordinary rank,--for they demanded as a betrothal-gift a casket containing ten thousand jewels.[25]

[25] _Tama_ in the original. This word _tama_ has a multitude of meanings; and as here used it is quite as indefinite as our own terms "jewel," "gem," or "precious stone." Indeed, it is more indefinite, for it signifies also a bead of coral, a ball of crystal, a polished stone attached to a hairpin, etc., etc. Later on, however, I venture to render it by "ruby,"--for reasons which need no explanation.

* * * * *

Totaro returned home very much dismayed by this information. The more that he thought about the strange betrothal-gift demanded by the girl's parents, the more he felt that he could never expect to obtain her for his wife. Even supposing that there were as many as ten thousand jewels in the whole country, only a great prince could hope to procure them.

But not even for a single hour could Totaro banish from his mind the memory of that beautiful being. It haunted him so that he could neither eat nor sleep; and it seemed to become more and more vivid as the days went by. And at last he became ill,--so ill that he could not lift his head from the pillow. Then he sent for a doctor.

The doctor, after having made a careful examination, uttered an exclamation of surprise. "Almost any kind of sickness," he said, "can be cured by proper medical treatment, except the sickness of love. Your ailment is evidently love-sickness. There is no cure for it. In ancient times Roya-O Hakuyo died of that sickness; and you must prepare yourself to die as he died." So saying, the doctor went away, without even giving any medicine to Totaro.

* * * * *

About this time the Shark-Man that was living in the garden-pond heard of his master's sickness, and came into the house to wait upon Totaro. And he tended him with the utmost affection both by day and by night. But he did not know either the cause or the serious nature of the sickness until nearly a week later, when Totaro, thinking himself about to die, uttered these words of farewell:--

"I suppose that I have had the pleasure of caring for you thus long, because of some relation that grew up between us in a former state of existence. But now I am very sick indeed, and every day my sickness becomes worse; and my life is like the morning dew which passes away before the setting of the sun. For your sake, therefore, I am troubled in mind. Your existence has depended upon my care; and I fear that there will be no one to care for you and to feed you when I am dead.... My poor friend!... Alas! our hopes and our wishes are always disappointed in this unhappy world!"

No sooner had Totaro spoken these words than the Samebito uttered a strange wild cry of pain, and began to weep bitterly. And as he wept, great tears of blood streamed from his green eyes and rolled down his black cheeks and dripped upon the floor. And, falling, they were blood; but, having fallen, they became hard and bright and beautiful,--became jewels of inestimable price, rubies splendid as crimson fire. For when men of the sea weep, their tears become precious stones.

Then Totaro, beholding this marvel, was so amazed and overjoyed that his strength returned to him. He sprang from his bed, and began to pick up and to count the tears of the Shark-Man, crying out the while: "My sickness is cured! I shall live! I shall live!"

Therewith, the Shark-Man, greatly astonished, ceased to weep, and asked Totaro to explain this wonderful cure; and Totaro told him about the young person seen at Miidera, and about the extraordinary marriage-gift demanded by her family. "As I felt sure," added Totaro, "that I should never be able to get ten thousand jewels, I supposed that my suit would be hopeless. Then I became very unhappy, and at last fell sick. But now, because of your generous weeping, I have many precious stones; and I think that I shall be able to marry that girl. Only--there are not yet quite enough stones; and I beg that you will be good enough to weep a little more, so as to make up the full number required."

But at this request the Samebito shook his head, and answered in a tone of surprise and of reproach:--

"Do you think that I am like a harlot,--able to weep whenever I wish? Oh, no! Harlots shed tears in order to deceive men; but creatures of the sea cannot weep without feeling real sorrow. I wept for you because of the true grief that I felt in my heart at the thought that you were going to die. But now I cannot weep for you, because you have told me that your sickness is cured."

"Then what am I to do?" plaintively asked Totaro. "Unless I can get ten thousand jewels, I cannot marry the girl!"

The Samebito remained for a little while silent, as if thinking. Then he said:--

"Listen! To-day I cannot possibly weep any more. But to-morrow let us go together to the Long Bridge of Seta, taking with us some wine and some fish. We can rest for a time on the bridge; and while we are drinking the wine and eating the fish, I shall gaze in the direction of the Dragon-Palace, and try, by thinking of the happy days that I spent there, to make myself feel homesick--so that I can weep."

Totaro joyfully assented.

Next morning the two, taking plenty of wine and fish with them, went to the Seta bridge, and rested there, and feasted. After having drunk a great deal of wine, the Samebito began to gaze in the direction of the Dragon-Kingdom, and to think about the past. And gradually, under the softening influence of the wine, the memory of happier days filled his heart with sorrow, and the pain of homesickness came upon him, so that he could weep profusely. And the great red tears that he shed fell upon the bridge in a shower of rubies; and Totaro gathered them as they fell, and put them into a casket, and counted them until he had counted the full number of ten thousand. Then he uttered a shout of joy.

Almost in the same moment, from far away over the lake, a delightful sound of music was heard; and there appeared in the offing, slowly rising from the waters, like some fabric of cloud, a palace of the color of the setting sun.

At once the Samebito sprang upon the parapet of the bridge, and looked, and laughed for joy. Then, turning to Totaro, he said:--

"There must have been a general amnesty proclaimed in the Dragon-Realm; the Kings are calling me. So now I must bid you farewell. I am happy to have had one chance of befriending you in return for your goodness to me."

With these words he leaped from the bridge; and no man ever saw him again. But Totaro presented the casket of red jewels to the parents of Tamana, and so obtained her in marriage.

JAPANESE STUDIES

[Decoration]

... Life ere long Came on me in the public ways, and bent Eyes deeper than of old: Death met I too, And saw the dawn glow through. --GEORGE MEREDITH

Semi (CICADAE)

[Decoration]

Koe ni mina Naki-shimote ya-- Semi no kara! --_Japanese Love-Song_

The voice having been all consumed by crying, there remains only the shell of the _semi!_

I

A CELEBRATED Chinese scholar, known in Japanese literature as Riku-Un, wrote the following quaint account of the Five Virtues of the Cicada:--

"I.--The Cicada has upon its head certain figures or signs.[26] These represent its [written] characters, style, literature.

[26] The curious markings on the head of one variety of Japanese _semi_ are believed to be characters which are names of souls.

"II.--It eats nothing belonging to earth, and drinks only dew. This proves its cleanliness, purity, propriety.

"III.--It always appears at a certain fixed time. This proves its fidelity, sincerity, truthfulness.

"IV.--It will not accept wheat or rice. This proves its probity, uprightness, honesty.

"V.--It does not make for itself any nest to live in. This proves its frugality, thrift, economy."

* * * * *

We might compare this with the beautiful address of Anacreon to the cicada, written twenty-four hundred years ago: on more than one point the Greek poet and the Chinese sage are in perfect accord:--

"_We deem thee happy, O Cicada, because, having drunk, like a king, only a little dew, thou dost chirrup on the tops of trees. For all things whatsoever that thou seest in the fields are thine, and whatsoever the seasons bring forth. Yet art thou the friend of the tillers of the land,--from no one harmfully taking aught. By mortals thou art held in honor as the pleasant harbinger of summer; and the Muses love thee. Phoebus himself loves thee, and has given thee a shrill song. And old age does not consume thee. O thou gifted one,--earth-born, song-loving, free from pain, having flesh without blood,--thou art nearly equal to the Gods!_"[27]

[27] In this and other citations from the Greek anthology, I have depended upon Burges' translation.

And we must certainly go back to the old Greek literature in order to find a poetry comparable to that of the Japanese on the subject of musical insects. Perhaps of Greek verses on the cricket, the most beautiful are the lines of Meleager: "_O cricket, the soother of slumber ... weaving the thread of a voice that causes love to wander away!_" ... There are Japanese poems scarcely less delicate in sentiment on the chirruping of night-crickets; and Meleager's promise to reward the little singer with gifts of fresh leek, and with "drops of dew cut up small," sounds strangely Japanese. Then the poem attributed to Anyte, about the little girl Myro making a tomb for her pet cicada and cricket, and weeping because Hades, "hard to be persuaded," had taken her playthings away, represents an experience familiar to Japanese child-life. I suppose that little Myro--(how freshly her tears still glisten, after seven and twenty centuries!)--prepared that "common tomb" for her pets much as the little maid of Nippon would do to-day, putting a small stone on top to serve for a monument. But the wiser Japanese Myro would repeat over the grave a certain Buddhist prayer.

It is especially in their poems upon the cicada that we find the old Greeks confessing their love of insect-melody: witness the lines in the Anthology about the tettix caught in a spider's snare, and "making lament in the thin fetters" until freed by the poet;--and the verses by Leonidas of Tarentum picturing the "unpaid minstrel to wayfaring men" as "sitting upon lofty trees, warmed with the great heat of summer, sipping the dew that is like woman's milk;"--and the dainty fragment of Meleager, beginning: "_Thou vocal tettix, drunk with drops of dew, sitting with thy serrated limbs upon the tops of petals, thou givest out the melody of the lyre from thy dusky skin_." ... Or take the charming address of Evenus to a nightingale:--

"_Thou Attic maiden, honey-fed, hast chirping seized a chirping cicada, and bearest it to thy unfledged young,--thou, a twitterer, the twitterer,--thou, the winged, the well-winged,--thou, a stranger, the stranger,--thou, a summer-child, the summer-child! Wilt thou not quickly cast it from thee? For it is not right, it is not just, that those engaged in song should perish by the mouths of those engaged in song._"

On the other hand, we find Japanese poets much more inclined to praise the voices of night-crickets than those of semi. There are countless poems about semi, but very few which commend their singing. Of course the semi are very different from the cicadae known to the Greeks. Some varieties are truly musical; but the majority are astonishingly noisy,--so noisy that their stridulation is considered one of the great afflictions of summer. Therefore it were vain to seek among the myriads of Japanese verses on semi for anything comparable to the lines of Evenus above quoted; indeed, the only Japanese poem that I could find on the subject of a cicada caught by a bird, was the following:--

Ana kanashi! Tobi ni toraruru Semi no koe. --RANSETSU.

Ah! how piteous the cry of the semi seized by the kite!

Or "caught by a boy" the poet might equally well have observed,--this being a much more frequent cause of the pitiful cry. The lament of Nicias for the tettix would serve as the elegy of many a semi:--

"_No more shall I delight myself by sending out a sound from my quick-moving wings, because I have fallen into the savage hand of a boy, who seized me unexpectedly, as I was sitting under the green leaves._"

Here I may remark that Japanese children usually capture semi by means of a long slender bamboo tipped with bird-lime (_mochi_). The sound made by some kinds of semi when caught is really pitiful,--quite as pitiful as the twitter of a terrified bird. One finds it difficult to persuade oneself that the noise is not a _voice_ of anguish, in the human sense of the word "voice," but the production of a specialized exterior membrane. Recently, on hearing a captured semi thus scream, I became convinced in quite a new way that the stridulatory apparatus of certain insects must not be thought of as a kind of musical instrument, but as an organ of speech, and that its utterances are as intimately associated with simple forms of emotion, as are the notes of a bird,--the extraordinary difference being that the insect has its vocal chords _outside_. But the insect-world is altogether a world of goblins and fairies: creatures with organs of which we cannot discover the use, and senses of which we cannot imagine the nature;--creatures with myriads of eyes, or with eyes in their backs, or with eyes moving about at the ends of trunks and horns;--creatures with ears in their legs and bellies, or with brains in their waists! If some of them happen to have voices outside of their bodies instead of inside, the fact ought not to surprise anybody.

* * * * *

I have not yet succeeded in finding any Japanese verses alluding to the stridulatory apparatus of semi,--though I think it probable that such verses exist. Certainly the Japanese have been for centuries familiar with the peculiarities of their own singing insects. But I should not now presume to say that their poets are incorrect in speaking of the "voices" of crickets and of cicadae. The old Greek poets who actually describe insects as producing music with their wings and feet, nevertheless speak of the "voices," the "songs," and the "chirruping" of such creatures,--just as the Japanese poets do. For example, Meleager thus addresses the cricket:

"_O thou that art with shrill wings the self-formed imitation of the lyre, chirrup me something pleasant while beating your vocal wings with your feet!_ ..."

II

BEFORE speaking further of the poetical literature of semi, I must attempt a few remarks about the semi themselves. But the reader need not expect anything entomological. Excepting, perhaps, the butterflies, the insects of Japan are still little known to men of science; and all that I can say about semi has been learned from inquiry, from personal observation, and from old Japanese books of an interesting but totally unscientific kind. Not only do the authors contradict each other as to the names and characteristics of the best-known semi; they attach the word semi to names of insects which are not cicadae.

The following enumeration of semi is certainly incomplete; but I believe that it includes the better-known varieties and the best melodists. I must ask the reader, however, to bear in mind that the time of the appearance of certain semi differs in different parts of Japan; that the same kind of semi may be called by different names in different provinces; and that these notes have been written in Tokyo.

I.--HARU-ZEMI.

VARIOUS small semi appear in the spring. But the first of the big semi to make itself heard is the _haru-zemi_ ("spring-semi"), also called _uma-zemi_ ("horse-semi"), _kuma-zemi_ ("bear-semi"), and other names. It makes a shrill wheezing sound,--_ji-i-i-i-i-iiiiiiii_,--beginning low, and gradually rising to a pitch of painful intensity. No other cicada is so noisy as the _haru-zemi;_ but the life of the creature appears to end with the season. Probably this is the semi referred to in an old Japanese poem:--

Hatsu-semi ya! "Kore wa atsui" to Iu hi yori. --TAIMU.

The day after the first day on which we exclaim, "Oh, how hot it is!" the first semi begins to cry.

II.--"SHINNE-SHINNE."

THE _shinne-shinne_--also called _yama-zemi_, or "mountain-semi"; _kuma-zemi_, or "bear-semi"; and _o-semi_, or "great semi"--begins to sing as early as May. It is a very large insect. The upper part of the body is almost black, and the belly a silvery-white; the head has curious red markings. The name _shinne-shinne_ is derived from the note of the creature, which resembles a quick continual repetition of the syllables _shinne_. About Kyoto this semi is common: it is rarely heard in Tokyo.

[My first opportunity to examine an _o-semi_ was in Shidzuoka. Its utterance is much more complex than the Japanese onomatope implies; I should liken it to the noise of a sewing-machine in full operation. There is a double sound: you hear not only the succession of sharp metallic clickings, but also, below these, a slower series of dull clanking tones. The stridulatory organs are light green, looking almost like a pair of tiny green leaves attached to the thorax.]

III.--ABURAZEMI.

THE _aburazemi_, or "oil-semi," makes its appearance early in the summer. I am told that it owes its name to the fact that its shrilling resembles the sound of oil or grease frying in a pan. Some writers say that the shrilling resembles the sound of the syllables _gacharin-gacharin_; but others compare it to the noise of water boiling. The _aburazemi_ begins to chant about sunrise; then a great soft hissing seems to ascend from all the trees. At such an hour, when the foliage of woods and gardens still sparkles with dew, might have been composed the following verse,--the only one in my collection relating to the _aburazemi_:--

Ano koe de Tsuyu ga inochi ka?-- Aburazemi!

Speaking with that voice, has the dew taken life?--Only the _aburazemi_!

IV.--MUGI-KARI-ZEMI.

THE _mugi-kari-zemi_, or "barley-harvest semi," also called _goshiki-zemi_, or "five-colored semi," appears early in the summer. It makes two distinct sounds in different keys, resembling the syllables _shi-in, shin--chi-i, chi-i_.

V.--HIGURASHI, OR "KANA-KANA."

THIS insect, whose name signifies "day-darkening," is the most remarkable of all the Japanese cicadae. It is not the finest singer among them; but even as a melodist it ranks second only to the _tsuku-tsuku-boshi_. It is the special minstrel of twilight, singing only at dawn and sunset; whereas most of the other semi make their music only in the full blaze of day, pausing even when rain-clouds obscure the sun. In Tokyo the _higurashi_ usually appears about the end of June, or the beginning of July. Its wonderful cry,--_kana-kana-kana-kana-kana_,--beginning always in a very high clear key, and slowly descending, is almost exactly like the sound of a good hand-bell, very quickly rung. It is not a clashing sound, as of violent ringing; it is quick, steady, and of surprising sonority. I believe that a single _higurashi_ can be plainly heard a quarter of a mile away; yet, as the old Japanese poet Yayu observed, "no matter how many _higurashi_ be singing together, we never find them noisy." Though powerful and penetrating as a resonance of metal, the _higurashi's_ call is musical even to the degree of sweetness; and there is a peculiar melancholy in it that accords with the hour of gloaming. But the most astonishing fact in regard to the cry of the _higurashi_ is the individual quality characterizing the note of each insect. No two _higurashi_ sing precisely in the same tone. If you hear a dozen of them singing at once, you will find that the timbre of each voice is recognizably different from every other. Certain notes ring like silver, others vibrate like bronze; and, besides varieties of timbre suggesting bells of various weight and composition, there are even differences in tone, that suggest different _forms_ of bell.

I have already said that the name _higurashi_ means "day-darkening,"--in the sense of twilight, gloaming, dusk; and there are many Japanese verses containing plays on the word,--the poets affecting to believe, as in the following example, that the crying of the insect hastens the coming of darkness:--

Higurashi ya! Suteteoitemo Kururu hi wo.

O Higurashi!--even if you let it alone, day darkens fast enough!

This, intended to express a melancholy mood, may seem to the Western reader far-fetched. But another little poem--referring to the effect of the sound upon the conscience of an idler--will be appreciated by any one accustomed to hear the _higurashi_. I may observe, in this connection, that the first clear evening cry of the insect is quite as startling as the sudden ringing of a bell:--

Higurashi ya! Kyo no ketai wo Omou-toki. --RIKEI.

Already, O Higurashi, your call announces the evening! Alas, for the passing day, with its duties left undone!

VI.--"MINMIN"-ZEMI.