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. Hi 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 our. 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
aesthetic 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
Yaso-Kidan, Bukkyo-Hyakkwa-Zensho, Kokon-Chomonshu, Tama-Sudare, and
Hyaku-Monogatari. Some of the stories may have had a Chinese origin: the
very remarkable "Dream of Akinosuke," 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 Chofu,
Nishitama-gori, 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.
Tokyo, Japan,
January 20th, 1904.
KWAIDAN
THE STORY OF
MIMI-NASHI-HOICHI
More than
seven hundred years ago, at Dan-no-ura, in the Straits of Shimonoseki,
was fought the last battle of the long contest between the Heike, or
Taira clan, and the Genji, or Minamoto clan. There the Heike perished
utterly, with their women and children, and their infant emperor
likewise -- now remembered as Antoku Tenno. And that sea and shore have
been haunted for seven hundred years... Elsewhere I told you about the
strange crabs found there, called Heike crabs, which have human faces on
their backs, and are said to be the spirits of the Heike 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 Heike 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 Akamagaseki [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 Heike 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 Akamagaseki a blind man named Hoichi, 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-hoshi he became
famous chiefly by his recitations of the history of the Heike 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, Hoichi 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 Hoichi to the temple, to play and recite. Afterwards,
being much impressed by the wonderful skill of the lad, the priest
proposed that Hoichi should make the temple his home; and this offer was
gratefully accepted. Hoichi 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
Hoichi 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 Hoichi 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 Hoichi 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:--
"Hoichi!"
"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 Akamagaseki, 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. Hoichi
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. Hoichi'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 daimyo of the first class. Presently the
samurai halted; and Hoichi 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 Hoichi." Then came sounds of
feet hurrying, and screens sliding, and rain-doors opening, and voices
of womeni n converse. By the language of the women Hoichi 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.
Hoichi
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 Rojo, or matron in
charge of the female service -- addressed him, saying,--
"It
is now required that the history of the Heike be recited, to the
accompaniment of the biwa."
Now the
entire recital would have required a time of many nights: therefore
Hoichi 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
Hoichi 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 Hoichi!" 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, Hoichi heard the voice of the woman whom he supposed to
be the Rojo.
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 Akamagaseki. 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
Hoichi 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 Hoichi 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 Hoichi 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 Hoichi. 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?"
Hoichi
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 Hoichi'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 Hoichi's movements, and to follow him in
case that he should again leave the temple after dark.
On the very
next night, Hoichi 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, Hoichi 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 Hoichi 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 Hoichi,-- sitting alone
in the rain before the memorial tomb of Antoku Tenno, 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...
"Hoichi
San! -- Hoichi San!" the servants cried,-- "you are
bewitched!... Hoichi 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,--
"Hoichi
San! -- Hoichi 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.
Hoichi
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:--
"Hoichi,
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 Heike; --
and it was before the memorial-tomb of Antoku Tenno 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 Hoichi: 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 sutra called
Hannya-Shin-Kyo. [7] When this had been done, the priest instructed
Hoichi, 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 Hoichi 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.
"Hoichi!"
the deep voice called. But the blind man held his breath, and sat
motionless.
"Hoichi!"
grimly called the voice a second time. Then a third time -- savagely:--
"Hoichi!"
Hoichi
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 Hoichi 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 Hoichi 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 say, by the light of his lantern, that the clamminess was
blood. But he perceived Hoichi sitting there, in the attitude of
meditation -- with the blood still oozing from his wounds.
"My
poor Hoichi!" 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 Hoichi!" 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, Hoichi 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 Akamagaseki 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-Hoichi: "Hoichi-the-Earless."
<<---
From Your Dark Side
