The people in Funakami village subscribed one hundred yen for the venerable man, so that he might have the honour and credit of presenting a decent sum to the great shrines.

On a certain day, therefore, Kanshiro started alone, with the money hung in a bag about his neck. He had walked from sunrise to sunset for two days, when on the third in great heat he arrived at the village of Myojo, feeling nearly dead with weakness, for he had another attack of his old complaint.

Kanshiro felt that he could not continue his journey while this lasted, especially as he considered himself in an unclean condition, unfit to carry the holy money which had been entrusted to him by his friends in Funakami. He went, accordingly, to the cheapest inn he could find, and confided both his story and the hundred yen to the landlord, saying: 'Sir, I am an old man, sick with dysentery. If you will take care of me for a day or two I shall be better. Keep also until I am well this sacred money, for it would not do for me to defile it by carrying it with me while I am unwell.'

Jimpachi, the innkeeper, bowed, and gave every a.s.surance that Kanshiro's wish should be followed.

'Fear nothing,' said he: 'I will place the money in its bag in a safe place, and myself attend upon you until you are well, for such good men as you are rare.'

For five days the poor old man was very sick indeed; but with his indomitable pluck he recovered, and on the sixth day decided to start again.

It was a fine day. Kanshiro paid his bill, thanked the landlord for his kindness, and was handed over his moneybag at the door. He did not look into the bag, because there were many coolies and pilgrims about. He did not wish these strangers to see that he carried much money. Instead of hanging it about his neck, as he had done before, he put the bag into his sack of clothing and food, and started off.

Towards midday Kanshiro stopped to rest and eat his cold rice under a pine tree. On examining his bag he found the hundred yen gone, and stones of the same weight placed in it instead. The poor man was greatly disconcerted. He did not even wait to eat his rice, but started back to the inn, which he reached at dusk. He explained as best he could the facts to Jimpachi, the innkeeper.

At first this worthy listened to the story with some sympathy; but when Kanshiro begged him to return the money he flew into a rage.

'You old rascal!' said he. 'A nice story you are telling to try and blackmail me! I'll give you a lesson that you will not forget.' And with that he struck the old man a severe blow on the chest, and then, seizing a stick, beat him unmercifully; the coolies joined in and thrashed him until he was nearly dead.

Poor old fellow! What could he do? Alone as he was, he crawled away half-dead; but he got to the sacred Ise shrines three days later, and after saying his prayers started back to Funakami. Here he arrived seriously ill. On telling his story, some believed him; but others did not. So overcome with grief was he, he sold his small property to refund the money, and with the rest he continued his pilgrimages to various temples and shrines. At last all his money was gone; but even then he continued his pilgrimages, begging food as he went.

Three years later he again visited Myojo village on his way to Ise, and here he learned that his enemy had since made a good deal of money, and now lived in quite a good house. Kanshiro went and found him, and said: 'Three years ago you stole the money entrusted to me. I sold my property to refund the people what they had given me to take to Ise. I have been a beggar and a wanderer ever since. Think not that I shall not be avenged. I shall be. You are young; I am old. Vengeance will overtake you soon.'

Jimpachi still protested innocence and began to get angry, saying: 'You disreputable old blackguard, if you want a meal of rice say so; but do not dare to threaten me.'

At this moment the watchman on his rounds took Kanshiro for a real beggar, and, seizing him by the arm, dragged him to the end of the village, and ordered him not to re-enter it, on pain of arrest; and there the poor old man died of anger and weakness.

The good priest of the neighbouring temple took the body, and buried it with respect, saying prayers.

Jimpachi in the meantime, afflicted with a guilty conscience, became sick, until after a few days he was unable to leave his bed. After he had lost all power of movement a curious thing occurred. Thousands and thousands of fireflies came out of Kanshiro's tomb and flew to the bedroom of Jimpachi. They surrounded his mosquito-curtain and tried to force their way in. The top of the curtain was pressed down with them; the air was foul with them; the glimmer dazzled the sick man's eyes. No rest was possible.

The villagers came in to try and kill them; but they could make no impression, for the string of flies from [paragraph continues] Kanshiro's tomb continued as fast as others were killed. The fireflies went nowhere else than to Jimpachi's room, and there they only surrounded his bed.

One or two villagers, seeing this, said: 'It must be true that Jimpachi stole the money from the old man, and that this is his spirit's revenge.'

Then every one feared to kill the flies. Thicker and thicker they grew until they did at last make a hole in the mosquito-net, and then they settled all over Jimpachi. They got in his mouth, his nose, his ears, and his eyes. He kicked and screamed and lived thus in agony for twenty days, and after his death the flies disappeared completely.

51. Kikuo Prays at the Grave of his Feudal Lord.

XLV THE CHRYSANTHEMUM HERMIT.

MANY years ago there lived at the foot of the Mountains of Nambu, in Adachi gun, Saitama Prefecture, an old man named Kikuo, which means Chrysanthemum-Old-Man.

Kikuo was a faithful retainer of Tsugaru; he was then called Sawada Hayato. Kikuo was a man of great bodily strength and fine appearance, and had much to do with the efficiency of the small fighting force which protected the feudal lord, the castle, and the estates.

Nevertheless, an evil day came. The feudal lord's small force was overthrown; the estates and castle were lost. The lord and his faithful retainer, with the few survivors, escaped to the mountains, where they continued to think that a day might come when they would be able to have their revenge.

During the enforced idleness Kikuo, knowing his lord's love of flowers (especially of the chrysanthemum), made his mind up to devote all his spare time to making chrysanthemum beds. This, he thought, would lessen the pain of defeat and exile.

The feudal lord was greatly pleased; but his cares and anxieties were not abated. He sickened and died in great poverty, much to the sorrow of Kikuo and the rest of his followers. Kikuo wept night and day over the humble and lonely grave; but he busied himself again to please the spirit of his lord by planting chrysanthemums round the tomb and tending them daily. By and by the border of flowers was thirty yards broad--to the wonder of all who saw. It was because of this that Hayato got the name of Chrysanthemum-Old-Man.

The chrysanthemum is in China a holy flower. Ancient history tells of a man called Hoso (great grandson of the Emperor Juikai) who lived to the age of 800 years without showing the slightest sign of decay. This was attributed to his drinking the dew of the chrysanthemum. Besides his devotion to flowers, Kikuo delighted in children; from the village he called them to his poor hut, and as there was no schoolmaster he taught them to write, to read, and jujitsu. The children loved him, and the good villagers revered him as if he were a kind of G.o.d.

In about his eighty-second year Kikuo caught cold, and the fever which came with it gave him great pain.

During the daytime his pupils attended to his wants; but at night the old man was alone in his cottage.

One autumn night he awoke and found standing about his veranda some beautiful children. They did not look quite like any children he knew. They were too beautiful and n.o.ble-looking to belong to the poor of the village.

'Kikuo Sama,' cried two of them, 'do not fear us, though we are not real children. We are the spirits of the chrysanthemum which you love so much, and of which you have taken such care. We have come to tell you how sorry we are to see you so ill, although we have heard that in China there once lived a man called Hoso who lived for 800 years by drinking the dew which falls from the flowers. We have tried all we can to prolong your life; but we find that the Heavens do not allow that you should live to a much greater age than you have already reached. In thirty more days you will die. Make ready, therefore, to depart.'

Saying this, they all wept bitterly.

'Good-bye, then,' said Kikuo. 'I have no further hopes of living. Let my death be easy. In the next world I may be able to serve my old lord and master. The only thing that makes me sad to leave this world is you: I must for ever regret to leave my chrysanthemums!' Saying this, he smiled at them in affection.

'You have been very kind to us,' said the Kiku spirits, 'and we love you for it. Man rejoices at birth, and feels sad at death; yet now you shed no tears. You say you do not mind dying except for leaving us. If you die we shall not survive, for it would be useless misery. Believe us when we say that we shall die with you.'

As the spirits of the chrysanthemums finished speaking a puff of wind came about the house, and they disappeared. As the day dawned the old man grew worse, and, strange to say, all the chrysanthemums began to fade--even those which were just beginning to bloom;--the leaves crumpled up and dried.

As the spirits had foretold, at the end of the thirtieth day the old man died. The Kiku flowers died then. Not one was left in the whole district. The villagers could not account for it. They buried the old man near his lord, and, thinking to honour and please him, planted, time after time, chrysanthemums near his grave; but all faded and died as soon as they were planted.

The two little graves were at last given up, and they remain in their solitude, with wild gra.s.ses only growing about them.

52. 'Aya Hime,' or Princess Aya, is Saved in her Fall by the 'Botan Spirit,' Peony Spirit.

XLVI THE PRINCESS PEONY.

MANY years ago at Gamogun, in the province of Omi, was a castle called Adzuchi-no-shiro. It was a magnificent old place, surrounded by walls and a moat filled with lotus lilies. The feudal lord was a very brave and wealthy man, Yuki Naizen-no-jo. His wife had been dead for some years. He had no son; but he had a beautiful daughter aged eighteen, who (for some reason which is not quite clear to me) was given the t.i.tle of Princess. For a considerable period there had been peace and quiet in the land; the feudal lords were on the best of terms, and every one was happy. Amid these circ.u.mstances Lord Naizen-no-jo perceived that there was a good opportunity to find a husband for his daughter Princess Aya; and after a time the second son of the Lord of Ako, of Harima Province, was selected, to the satisfaction of both fathers, the affair having little to do with the princ.i.p.als. Lord Ako's second son had viewed his bride with approval, and she him. One may say that young people are bound to approve each other when it is the parents' wish that they be united. Many suicides result from this.

Princess Aya made her mind up to try and love her prospective husband. She saw nothing of him; but she thought of him, and talked of him.

One evening when Princess Aya was walking in the magnificent gardens by the moonlight, accompanied by her maids-in-waiting, she wandered down through her favourite peony bed to the pond where she loved to gaze at her reflection on the nights of the full moon, to listen to frogs, and to watch the fireflies.

When nearing the pond her foot slipped, and she would have fallen into the water had it not been that a young man appeared as if by magic and caught her. He disappeared as soon as he had put her on her feet again. The maids-of-honour saw her slip; they saw a glimmer of light, and that was all; but Princess Aya had seen more. She had seen the handsomest young man she could imagine. 'Twenty-one years old,' she said to O Sadayo San, her favourite maid, 'he must have been--a samurai of the highest order. His dress was covered with my favourite peonies, and his swords were richly mounted. Oh that I could have seen him a minute longer, to thank him for saving me from the water! Who can he be? And how could he have got into our gardens, through all the guards?'

So spoke the Princess to her maids, directing them at the same time that they were to say a word to no one, for fear that her father should hear, find the young man, and behead him for trespa.s.s.

After this evening Princess Aya fell sick. She could not eat or sleep, and turned pale. The day for her marriage with the young Lord of Ako came and went without the event; she was far too sick for that. The best of the doctors had been sent from Kyoto, which was then the capital; but none of them had been able to do anything, and the maid grew thinner and thinner. As a last resource, the Lord Naizen-no-jo, her father, sent for her most confidential maid and friend, O Sadayo, and demanded if she could give any reason for his daughter's mysterious sickness. Had she a secret lover? Had she a particular dislike for her betrothed?

'Sir,' said O Sadayo, 'I do not like to tell secrets; but here it seems my duty to your lordship's daughter as well as to your lordship. Some three weeks ago, when the moon was at its full, we were walking in the peony beds down near the pond where the Princess loves to be. She stumbled and nearly fell into the water, when a strange thing happened. In an instant a most beautiful young samurai appeared and held her up, thus preventing her from falling into the pond. We could all see the glimmer of him; but your daughter and I saw him most distinctly. Before your daughter could thank him he had disappeared. None of us could understand how it was possible for a man to get into the gardens of the Princess, for the gates of the castle are guarded on all sides, and the Princess's garden is so much better guarded than the rest that it seems truly incredible that a man could get in. We maids were asked to say nothing for fear of your lordship's anger. Since that evening it is that our beloved Princess Aya has been sick, sir. It is sickness of the heart. She is deeply in love with the young samurai she saw for so brief a s.p.a.ce. Indeed, my lord, there never was such a handsome man in the world before, and if we cannot find him the young Princess, I fear, will die.'

'How is it possible for a man to get into the grounds?' said Lord Yuki Naizen-no-jo. 'People say foxes and badgers a.s.sume the figures of men sometimes; but even so it is impossible for such supernatural beings to enter my castle grounds, guarded as it is at every opening.'

That evening the poor Princess was more wearily unhappy than ever before. Thinking to enliven her a little, the maids sent for a celebrated player on the biwa, called Yashaskita Kengyo. The weather being hot, they were sitting on the gallery (engawa); and while the musician was playing 'Dannoura' there appeared suddenly from behind the peonies the same handsome young samurai. He was visible to all this time--even to the peonies embroidered on his dress.

'There he is! there he is!' they cried; at which he instantly disappeared again. The Princess was highly excited, and seemed more lively than she had been for days; the old Daimio grew more puzzled than ever when he heard of it.

Next night, while two of the maids were playing for their mistress--O Yae San the flute, and O Yak.u.mo the koto--the figure of the young man appeared again. A thorough search having been made during the day in the immense peony beds with absolutely no result, not even the sign of a footmark, the thing was increasingly strange.

A consultation was held, and it was decided by the lord of the castle to invite a veteran officer of great strength and renown, Maki Hiogo, to capture the youth should he appear that evening. Maki Hiogo readily consented, and at the appointed time, dressed in black and consequently invisible, concealed himself among the peonies.

Music seemed to have a fascination for the young samurai. It was while music was being played that he had made his appearances. Consequently, O Yae and O Yak.u.mo resumed their concert, while all gazed eagerly towards the peony beds. As the ladies played a piece called 'Sofuren,' there, sure enough, arose the figure of a young samurai, dressed magnificently in clothes which were covered with embroidered peonies. Every one gazed at him, and wondered why Maki Hiogo did not jump up and catch him. The fact was that Maki Hiogo was so much astonished by the n.o.ble bearing of the youth that at first he did not like to touch him. Recovering himself, and thinking of his duty to his lord, he stealthily approached the young man, and, seizing him round the waist, held him tight. After a few seconds Maki Hiogo felt a kind of wet steam falling on his face; by degrees it made him faint; and he fell to the ground, still grasping the young samurai, for he had made up his mind that he would secure him.

Every one had seen the scuffle, and some of the guards came hurrying to the place. Just as they reached the spot Maki Hiogo came to his senses, and shouted 'Come, gentlemen! I have caught him. Come and see!' But on looking at what he held in his arms he discovered it to be only a large peony!

By this time the Lord Naizen-no-jo had arrived at the spot where Maki Hiogo lay, and so had the Princess Aya and her maids. All were astounded and mystified except the Daimio himself, who said: 'Ah! it is as I said. No fox or badger spirit could pa.s.s our guards and get into this garden. It is the spirit of the peony flower that took the form of a prince.' Turning to his daughter and her maids, he said: 'You must take this as a compliment, and pay great respect to the peony, and show the one caught by Maki Hiogo kindness as well by taking care of it.'

The Princess Aya carried the flower back to her room, where she put it in a vase of water and placed it near her pillow. She felt as if she had her sweetheart with her. Day by day she got better. She tended the peony herself, and, strange to say, the flower seemed to get stronger and stronger, instead of fading. At last the Princess recovered. She became radiantly beautiful, while the peony continued to remain in perfect bloom, showing no sign of dying.

The Princess Aya being now perfectly well, her father could no longer put off the wedding. Consequently, some days later, the Lord of Ako and his family arrived at the Castle, and his second son was married to the Princess.

As soon as the wedding was over the peony was found still in its vase--but dead and withered. The villagers always after this, instead of speaking of the Princess Aya, or Aya Hime, called her Botan Hime or Peony Princess.

53. The Girl brings the Kakemono to Kihachi's Shop in the Middle of the Night.

XLVII THE MEMORIAL CHERRY TREEA 1.

IN the compound or enclosure of the temple called Bukoji, at Takatsuji (high cross street), formerly called Yabugas.h.i.ta, which means 'under the bush,' in Kyoto, a curio-dealer had his little shop. His name was Kihachi.

Kihachi had not much to sell; but what little he had was usually good. Consequently, his was a place that the better people looked into when they came to pray--to see, if not to buy;--for they knew full well if there was a good thing to be bought, Kihachi bought it. It was a small and ancient kind of Christie's, in fact, except that things were not sold by auction. One day, the day on which this story starts, Kihachi was sitting in his shop ready either to gossip or to sell, when in walked a young knight or court n.o.ble--'Kuge,' the j.a.panese called him in those days; and very different was such an one from a knight of a feudal lord or of a Daimio, who was usually a bl.u.s.terer. This particular knight had been to the temple to pray.

'You have many pretty and interesting things here,' said he. 'May I come in and look at them until this shower of rain has pa.s.sed? My name is Sakata, and I belong to the court.'

'Come in, come in,' said Kihachi, 'by all means. Some of my things are pretty, and all are undoubtedly good; but the gentry part with little at present. One wants to live two lives of a hundred years each in my trade--one hundred of distress, revolution, and trouble, wherein one may collect the things cheap; and the next hundred of peace, wherein one may sell them and enjoy the proceeds. My business is rotten and unprofitable; yet, in spite of that, I love the things I buy, and often look at them long before I put them up for sale. Where, sir, are you bound for? I see that you are going to travel--by the clothes you wear and carry.'

'That's true,' answered Sakata: 'you are very shrewd. I am going to travel as far as Toba, in Yamato, to see my dearest friend, who has been taken suddenly and mysteriously ill. It is feared he may not live until I get there!'

'At Toba!' answered the old curio-dealer. 'Pardon me if I ask the name of your friend?'

'Certainly,' said Sakata. 'My friend's name is Matsui.'

'Then,' said the curio-dealer, 'he is the gentleman who is said to have killed the ghost or spirit of the old cherry tree near Toba, growing in the grounds of the temple in which he lives at present with the priests. The people say that this cherry tree is so old that the spirit left it. It appeared in the form of a beautiful woman, and Matsui, either fearing or not liking it, killed it, with the result, they say, that from that very evening, which was about ten days ago, your friend Matsui has been sick; and I may add that when the spirit was killed the tree withered and died.'

Sakata, thanking Kihachi for this information, went on his way, and eventually found his friend Matsui being carefully nursed by the priest of the Shonen Temple, Toba, with whom he was closely connected.

Soon after the young knight had left the old curio-dealer Kihachi in his shop it began to snow, and so it continued, and appeared likely to continue for some time. Kihachi, therefore, put up his shutters and retired to bed, as is often very sensibly done in j.a.pan; and he no doubt retired with many old wood-carvings to rub and give an ancient appearance to during the period of darkness.

Not very late in the evening there was a knock at the shutters. Kihachi, not wishing to get out of his warm bed, shouted: 'Who are you? Come back in the morning. I do not feel well enough to get up to-night.'

'But you must--you must get up! I am sent to sell you a good kakemono,'A 1 called the voice of a young girl, so sweetly and entreatingly that the old curio-dealer got up, and after much fumbling with his numbed fingers opened the door.

Snow had fallen thickly; but now it was clear moonlight, and Kihachi saw standing before him a beautiful girl of fifteen, barefooted, and holding in her hands a kakemono half-unfolded.

'See,' said she, 'I have been sent to sell you this!' She was the daughter of Matsui of Toba, she said.

The old man called her in, and saw that the picture was that of a beautiful woman, standing up. It was well done, and the old man took a fancy to it.

'I will give you one rio for it,' said he; and to his astonishment the young girl accepted his offer eagerly--so much so that he thought that perhaps she had stolen it. Being a curio-dealer, he said nothing on that point, but paid her the money. She ran away with haste.

'Yes: she has stolen it--stolen it, undoubtedly,' muttered the old man. 'But what am I supposed to know about that? The kakemono is worth fully 50 rio if it is worth a cent, and not often do such chances come to me.'

So delighted was Kihachi with his purchase, he lit his lamp, hung the picture in his kakemono corner, arid sat watching it. It was indeed a beautiful woman well painted, and worth more even than the so rio he at first thought. But, by all the saints, it seems to change! Yes: it is no longer a beautiful woman. The face has changed to that of a fearful and horrible figure. The face of the woman has become haggard. It is covered with blood. The eyes open and shut, and the mouth gasps. Kihachi feels blood dropping on his head; it comes from a wound in the woman's shoulder. To shut out so horrid a sight, he put his head under the bed-clothes and remained thus, sleeplessly, until dawn.

When he opened his eyes, the kakemono was the same as when he had bought it: a beautiful woman. He supposed that his delight in having made a good bargain must have made him dream so he thought nothing more about the horror.

Kihachi, however, was mistaken. The kakemono again kept him awake all night, showing the same b.l.o.o.d.y face, and occasionally even shrieking. Kihachi got no sleep, and perceived that instead of a cheap bargain he had got a very expensive one; for he felt that he must go to Toba and return it to Matsui, and he knew that he could claim no expenses.

After fully two days of travel, Kihachi reached the Shonen Temple, near Toba, where he asked to see Matsui. He was ushered ceremoniously into his room. The invalid was better; but on being handed the kakemono with the figure of a lady painted on it he turned pale, tore it to fragments, and threw it into the temple fire ('irori'A 1); after which he jumped in with his daughter himself, and both were burned to death.

Kihachi was sick for many days after this sight. The story soon spread over the whole surrounding country.

Prince Nijo, Governor of Kyoto, had a thorough inquiry made into the circ.u.mstances of the case; and it was found beyond doubt that the trouble to Matsui and his family came through his having killed the spirit of the old cherry tree. The spirit, to punish him and show that there was invisible life in old and dead things and often of the best, appeared to Matsui as a beautiful woman being killed; the spirit went into his beautiful picture and haunted him.

Prince Nijo had a fine young cherry tree planted on the spot of the old to commemorate the event, and it is called the 'Memorial Cherry Tree' to this day.

Footnotes 297:1 This story begins on the 57th of February in the second year of Kenkyu. As the first year of Kenkyu was in 1190 and the last in 1599, the precise date is February 17, 1192.

299:1 Picture.

301:1 The story says 'furnace'; but, unless cremation went on in those days, it must have been the 'irori' (open floor fire) or else (if a Shinto temple) an open-air bonfire, which is lit on certain days.

54. Jirohei Clings to the Cherry Tree Even in Death.

XLVIII THE 'JIROHEI' CHERRY TREE, KYOTO.