Part 9
Then the Yamabushi, fleeing, came as he fled to the river of Amoda, and cried to the boatman of the river of Amoda,--"O good boatman, good sir boatman, behind me comes a maid pursuing!--pray do not take her across, good boatman,--
"_Good sir boatman!_"
_DEBOKU, DEBOKU, DEBOKU, DENDEN!_[111]
[111] These onomatopes, chanted by all the dancers together in chorus, with appropriate gesture, represent the sound of the ferryman's single oar, or scull, working upon its wooden peg. The syllables have no meaning in themselves.
Then the damsel, pursuing, came to the river of Amoda and called to the boatman, "Bring hither the boat!--take me over in the boat!"--"No, I will not bring the boat; I will not take you over: my boat is forbidden to carry women!--
"_Forbidden to carry women!_"
"If you do not take me over, I will cross!--if you do not take me over, I will cross!--there is a way to cross the river of Amoda!" Taking off her sandals and holding them aloft, she entered the water, and at once turned into a dragon with twelve horns fully grown,--
_With twelve horns fully grown._
Then the Yamabushi, fleeing, reached the temple Dojoji, and cried to the priests of the temple Dojoji:--"O good priests, behind me a damsel comes pursuing!--hide me, I beseech you, good sir priests!--
"_Good sir priests!_"
Then the priests, after holding consultation, took down from its place the big bell of the temple; and under it they hid him,--
_Under it they hid him_.
Then the dragon-maid, pursuing, followed him to the temple Dojoji. For a moment she stood in the gate of the temple: she saw that bell, and viewed it with suspicion. She thought:--"I must wrap myself about it once." She thought:--"I must wrap myself about it twice!" At the third wrapping, the bell was melted, and began to flow like boiling water,--
_Like boiling water_.
So is told the story of the Wrapping of the Bell. Many damsels dwell by the seashore of Japan;--but who among them, like the daughter of the Choja, will become a dragon?--
_Become a dragon?_
This is all the Song of the Wrapping of the Bell!--this is all the Song,--
_All the song!_[112]
[112] This legend forms the subject of several Japanese dramas, both ancient and modern. The original story is that a Buddhist priest, called Anchin, having rashly excited the affection of a maiden named Kiyohime, and being, by reason of his vows, unable to wed her, sought safety from her advances in flight. Kiyohime, by the violence of her frustrated passion, therewith became transformed into a fiery dragon; and in that shape she pursued the priest to the temple called Dojoji, in Kumano (modern Kishu), where he tried to hide himself under the great temple-bell. But the dragon coiled herself round the bell, which at once became red-hot, so that the body of the priest was totally consumed.
In this rude ballad Kiyohime figures only as the daughter of an inn-keeper,--the _Choja_, or rich man of his village; while the priest Anchin is changed into a Yamabushi. The Yamabushi are, or at least were, wandering priests of the strange sect called Shugendo,--itinerant exorcists and diviners, professing both Shinto and Buddhism. Of late years their practices have been prohibited by law; and a real Yamabushi is now seldom to be met with.
The temple Dojoji is still a famous place of pilgrimage. It is situated not far from Gobo, on the western coast of Kishu. The incident of Anchin and the dragon is said to have occurred in the early part of the tenth century.
I shall give only one specimen of the true street-ballad,--the kind of ballad commonly sung by wandering samisen-players. It is written in an irregular measure, varying from twelve to sixteen syllables in length; the greater number of lines having thirteen syllables. I do not know the date of its composition; but I am told by aged persons who remember hearing it sung when they were children, that it was popular in the period of Tenpo (1830-1843). It is not divided into stanzas; but there are pauses at irregular intervals,--marked by the refrain, _Yanrei!_
O-KICHI-SEIZA KUDOKI
("_The Ditty of O-Kichi and Seiza_")
Now hear the pitiful story of two that died for love.--In Kyoto was the thread-shop of Yoemon, a merchant known far and near,--a man of much wealth. His business prospered; his life was fortunate. One daughter he had, an only child, by name O-Kichi: at sixteen years she was lovely as a flower. Also he had a clerk in his house, by name Seiza, just in the prime of youth, aged twenty-and-two.
_Yanrei!_
Now the young man Seiza was handsome; and O-Kichi fell in love with him at sight. And the two were so often together that their secret affection became known; and the matter came to the ears of the parents of O-Kichi; and the parents, hearing of it, felt that such a thing could not be suffered to continue.
_Yanrei!_
So at last, the mother, having called O-Kichi into a private room, thus spoke to her:--"O my daughter, I hear that you have formed a secret relation with the young man Seiza, of our shop. Are you willing to end that relation at once, and not to think any more about that man, O-Kichi?--answer me, O my daughter."
_Yanrei!_
"O my dear mother," answered O-Kichi, "what is this that you ask me to do? The closeness of the relation between Seiza and me is the closeness of the relation of the ink to the paper that it penetrates.[113] Therefore, whatever may happen, O mother of mine, to separate from Seiza is more than I can bear."
_Yanrei!_
[113] Lit.:--"that affinity as-for, ink-and-paper-soaked-like affinity."
Then, the father, having called Seiza to the innermost private room, thus spoke to him:--"I called you here only to tell you this: You have turned the mind of our daughter away from what is right; and even to hear of such a matter is not to be borne. Pack up your things at once, and go!--to-day is the utmost limit of the time that you remain in this house."
_Yanrei!_
Now Seiza was a native of Osaka. Without saying more than "Yes--yes," he obeyed and went away, returning to his home. There he remained four or five days, thinking only of O-Kichi. And because of his longing for her, he fell sick; and as there was no cure and no hope for him, he died.
_Yanrei!_
Then one night O-Kichi, in a moment of sleep, saw the face of Seiza close to her pillow,--so plainly that she could not tell whether it was real, or only a dream. And rising up, she looked about; but the form of Seiza had vanished.
_Yanrei!_
Because of this she made up her mind to go at once to the house of Seiza. And, without being seen by any one, she fled from the home of her parents.
_Yanrei!_
When she came to the ferry at the next village, she did not take the boat, but went round by another road; and making all haste she found her way to the city of Osaka. There she asked for the house of Seiza; and she learned that it was in a certain street, the third house from a certain bridge.
_Yanrei!_
Arriving at last before the home of Seiza, she took off her travelling hat of straw; and seating herself on the threshold of the entrance, she cried out:--"Pardon me kindly!--is not this the house of Master Seiza?"
_Yanrei!_
Then--O the pity of it!--she saw the mother of Seiza, weeping bitterly, and holding in her hand a Buddhist rosary. "O my good young lady," the mother of Seiza asked, "whence have you come; and whom do you want to see?"
_Yanrei!_
And O-Kichi said:--"I am the daughter of the thread-merchant of Kyoto. And I have come all the way here only because of the relation that has long existed between Master Seiza and myself. Therefore, I pray you, kindly permit me to see him."
_Yanrei!_
"Alas!" made answer the mother, weeping, "Seiza, whom you have come so far to see, is dead. To-day is the seventh day from the day on which he died." ... Hearing these words, O-Kichi herself could only shed tears.
_Yanrei!_
But after a little while she took her way to the cemetery. And there she found the sotoba[114] erected above the grave of Seiza; and leaning upon it, she wept aloud.
_Yanrei!_
[114] A wooden lath, bearing Buddhist texts, planted above graves. For a full account of the sotoba see _my Exotics and Retrospectives_: "The Literature of the Dead."
Then--how fearful a thing is the longing of a person[115]--the grave of Seiza split asunder; and the form of Seiza rose up therefrom and spoke.
_Yanrei!_
[115] In the original:--_Hito no omoi wa osoroshi mono yo!_--("how fearful a thing is the thinking of a person!"). The word _omoi_, used here in the sense of "longing," refers to the weird power of Seiza's dying wish to see his sweetheart. Even after his burial, this longing has the strength to burst open the tomb.
--In the old English ballad of "William and Marjorie" (see Child: vol. ii. p. 151) there is also a remarkable fancy about the opening and closing of a grave:--
She followed him high, she followed him low, Till she came to yon churchyard green; _And there the deep grave opened up_, And young William he lay down.
"Ah! is not this O-Kichi that has come? Kind indeed it was to have come to me from so far away! My O-Kichi, do not weep thus. Never again--even though you weep--can we be united in this world. But as you love me truly, I pray you to set some fragrant flowers before my tomb, and to have a Buddhist service said for me upon the anniversary of my death."
_Yanrei!_
And with these words the form of Seiza vanished. "O wait, wait for me!" cried O-Kichi,--"wait one little moment![116] I cannot let you return alone!--I shall go with you in a little time!"
_Yanrei!_
[116] With this episode compare the close of the English ballad "Sweet William's Ghost" (Child: vol. ii., page 148):--
"O stay, my only true love, stay!" The constant Margaret cried: Wan grew her cheeks; she closed her een, Stretched her soft limbs, and died.
Then quickly she went beyond the temple-gate to a moat some four or five _cho_[117] distant; and having filled her sleeves with small stones, into the deep water she cast her forlorn body.
_Yanrei!_
[117] A _cho_ is about one fifteenth of a mile.
And now I shall terminate this brief excursion into unfamiliar song-fields by the citation of two Buddhist pieces. The first is from the famous work _Gempei Seisuiki_ ("Account of the Prosperity and Decline of the Houses of Gen and Hei"), probably composed during the latter part of the twelfth, or at the beginning of the thirteenth century. It is written in the measure called _Imayo_,--that is to say, in short lines alternately of seven and of five syllables (7, 5; 7, 5; 7, 5, _ad libitum_). The other philosophical composition is from a collection of songs called _Ryutachi-bushi_ ("Ryutachi Airs"), belonging to the sixteenth century:--
I
(_Measure, Imayo_)
Sama mo kokoro mo Kawaru kana! Otsuru namida wa Taki no mizu: Myo-ho-renge no Ike to nari; Guze no fune ni Sao sashite; Shizumu waga mi wo Nose-tamae!
Both form and mind-- Lo! how these change! The falling of tears Is like the water of a cataract. Let them become the Pool Of the Lotos of the Good Law! Poling thereupon The Boat of Salvation, Vouchsafe that my sinking Body may ride!
II
(_Period of Bunroku--1592-1596_)
Who twice shall live his youth? What flower faded blooms again? Fugitive as dew Is the form regretted, Seen only In a moment of dream.
FANTASIES
[Decoration]
... Vainly does each, as he glides, Fable and dream Of the lands which the River of Time Had left ere he woke on its breast, Or shall reach when his eyes have been closed. MATTHEW ARNOLD
Noctilucae
[Decoration]
THE moon had not yet risen; but the vast of the night was all seething with stars, and bridged by a Milky Way of extraordinary brightness. There was no wind; but the sea, far as sight could reach, was running in ripples of fire,--a vision of infernal beauty. Only the ripplings were radiant (between them was blackness absolute);--and the luminosity was amazing. Most of the undulations were yellow like candle-flame; but there were crimson lampings also,--and azure, and orange, and emerald. And the sinuous flickering of all seemed, not a pulsing of many waters, but a laboring of many wills,--a fleeting conscious and monstrous,--a writhing and a swarming incalculable, as of dragon-life in some depth of Erebus.
And life indeed was making the sinister splendor of that spectacle--but life infinitesimal, and of ghostliest delicacy,--life illimitable, yet ephemeral, flaming and fading in ceaseless alternation over the whole round of waters even to the sky-line, above which, in the vaster abyss, other countless lights were throbbing with other spectral colors.
* * * * *
Watching, I wondered and I dreamed. I thought of the Ultimate Ghost revealed in that scintillation tremendous of Night and Sea;--quickening above me, in systems aglow with awful fusion of the past dissolved, with vapor of the life again to be;--quickening also beneath me, in meteor-gushings and constellations and nebulosities of colder fire,--till I found myself doubting whether the million ages of the sun-star could really signify, in the flux of perpetual dissolution, anything more than the momentary sparkle of one expiring noctiluca.
Even with the doubt, the vision changed. I saw no longer the sea of the ancient East, with its shudderings of fire, but that Flood whose width and depth and altitude are one with the Night of Eternity,--the shoreless and timeless Sea of Death and Birth. And the luminous haze of a hundred millions of suns,--the Arch of the Milky Way,--was a single smouldering surge in the flow of the Infinite Tides.
* * * * *
Yet again there came a change. I saw no more that vapory surge of suns; but the living darkness streamed and thrilled about me with infinite sparkling; and every sparkle was beating like a heart,--beating out colors like the tints of the sea-fires. And the lampings of all continually flowed away, as shivering threads of radiance, into illimitable Mystery....
Then I knew myself also a phosphor-point,--one fugitive floating sparkle of the measureless current;--and I saw that the light which was mine shifted tint with each changing of thought. Ruby it sometimes shone, and sometimes sapphire: now it was flame of topaz; again, it was fire of emerald. And the meaning of the changes I could not fully know. But thoughts of the earthly life seemed to make the light burn red; while thoughts of supernal being,--of ghostly beauty and of ghostly bliss,--seemed to kindle ineffable rhythms of azure and of violet.
* * * * *
But of white lights there were none in all the Visible. And I marvelled.
Then a Voice said to me:--
"The White are of the Altitudes. By the blending of the billions they are made. Thy part is to help to their kindling. Even as the color of thy burning, so is the worth of thee. For a moment only is thy quickening; yet the light of thy pulsing lives on: by thy thought, in that shining moment, thou becomest a Maker of Gods."
A Mystery of Crowds
[Decoration]
WHO has not at some time leaned over the parapet of a bridge to watch the wrinklings and dimplings of the current below,--to wonder at the trembling permanency of surface-shapes that never change, though the substance of them is never for two successive moments the same? The mystery of the spectacle fascinates; and it is worth thinking about. Symbols of the riddle of our own being are those shuddering forms. In ourselves likewise the substance perpetually changes with the flow of the Infinite Stream; but the shapes, though ever agitated by various inter-opposing forces, remain throughout the years.
And who has not been fascinated also by the sight of the human stream that pours and pulses through the streets of some great metropolis? This, too, has its currents and counter-currents and eddyings,--all strengthening or weakening according to the tide-rise or tide-ebb of the city's sea of toil. But the attraction of the greater spectacle for us is not really the mystery of motion: it is rather the mystery of man. As outside observers we are interested chiefly by the passing forms and faces,--by their intimations of personality, their suggestions of sympathy or repulsion. We soon cease to think about the general flow. For the atoms of the human current are visible to our gaze: we see them walk, and deem their movements sufficiently explained by our own experience of walking. And, nevertheless, the motions of the visible individual are more mysterious than those of the always invisible molecule of water.--I am not forgetting the truth that all forms of motion are ultimately incomprehensible: I am referring only to the fact that our common relative knowledge of motions, which are supposed to depend upon will, is even less than our possible relative knowledge of the behavior of the atoms of a water-current.
* * * * *
Every one who has lived in a great city is aware of certain laws of movement which regulate the flow of population through the more crowded thoroughfares. (We need not for present purposes concern ourselves about the complex middle-currents of the living river, with their thunder of hoofs and wheels: I shall speak of the side-currents only.) On either footpath the crowd naturally divides itself into an upward and a downward stream. All persons going in one direction take the right-hand side; all going in the other direction take the left-hand side. By moving with either one of these two streams you can proceed even quickly; but you cannot walk against it: only a drunken or insane person is likely to attempt such a thing. Between the two currents there is going on, by reason of the pressure, a continual self-displacement of individuals to left and right, alternately,--such a yielding and swerving as might be represented, in a drawing of the double-current, by zigzag medial lines ascending and descending. This constant yielding alone makes progress possible: without it the contrary streams would quickly bring each other to a standstill by lateral pressure. But it is especially where two crowd-streams intersect each other, as at street-angles, that this systematic self-displacement is worthy of study. Everybody observes the phenomenon; but few persons think about it. Whoever really thinks about it will discover that there is a mystery in it,--a mystery which no individual experience can fully explain.
* * * * *
In any thronged street of a great metropolis thousands of people are constantly turning aside to left or right in order to pass each other. Whenever two persons walking in contrary directions come face to face in such a press, one of three things is likely to happen:--Either there is a mutual yielding,--or one makes room for the other,--or else both, in their endeavor to be accommodating, step at once in the same direction, and as quickly repeat the blunder by trying to correct it, and so keep dancing to and fro in each other's way,--until the first to perceive the absurdity of the situation stands still, or until the more irritable actually pushes his _vis-a-vis_ to one side. But these blunders are relatively infrequent: all necessary yielding, as a rule, is done quickly and correctly.
Of course there must be some general law regulating all this self-displacement,--some law in accord with the universal law of motion in the direction of least resistance. You have only to watch any crowded street for half an hour to be convinced of this. But the law is not easily found or formulated: there are puzzles in the phenomenon.
* * * * *
If you study the crowd-movement closely, you will perceive that those encounters in which one person yields to make way for the other are much less common than those in which both parties give way. But a little reflection will convince you that, even in cases of mutual yielding, one person must of necessity yield sooner than the other,--though the difference in time of the impulse-manifestation should be--as it often is--altogether inappreciable. For the sum of character, physical and psychical, cannot be precisely the same in two human beings. No two persons can have exactly equal faculties of perception and will, nor exactly similar qualities of that experience which expresses itself in mental and physical activities. And therefore in every case of apparent mutual yielding, the yielding must really be successive, not simultaneous. Now although what we might here call the "personal equation" proves that in every case of mutual yielding one individual necessarily yields sooner than the other, it does not at all explain the mystery of the individual impulse in cases where the yielding is not mutual;--it does not explain why you feel at one time that you are about to make your _vis-a-vis_ give place, and feel at another time that you must yourself give place. What originates the feeling?
A friend once attempted to answer this question by the ingenious theory of a sort of eye-duel between every two persons coming face to face in a street-throng; but I feel sure that his theory could account for the psychological facts in scarcely half-a-dozen of a thousand such encounters. The greater number of people hurrying by each other in a dense press rarely observe faces: only the disinterested idler has time for that. Hundreds actually pass along the street with their eyes fixed upon the pavement. Certainly it is not the man in a hurry who can guide himself by ocular snap-shot views of physiognomy;--he is usually absorbed in his own thoughts.... I have studied my own case repeatedly. While in a crowd I seldom look at faces; but without any conscious observation I am always able to tell when I should give way, or when my _vis-a-vis_ is going to save me that trouble. My knowledge is certainly intuitive--a mere knowledge of feeling; and I know not with what to compare it except that blind faculty by which, in absolute darkness, one becomes aware of the proximity of bulky objects without touching them. And my intuition is almost infallible. If I hesitate to obey it, a collision is the invariable consequence.