IN the year 1716 of the Kyoho Era--191 years ago--there lived at Momoyama Fushimi, an old gardener, Hambei, who was loved and respected for his kindliness of nature and his great honesty. Though a poor man, Hambei had saved enough to live on; and he had inherited a house and garden from his father. Consequently, he was happy. His favourite pastime was tending the garden and an extraordinarily fine plum tree known in j.a.pan as of the furyo kind (which means 'lying dragon'). Such trees are of great value, and much sought after for the arrangement of gardens. Curiously enough, though one may see many beautiful ones, trees growing on mountains or on wild islands, they are very rarely touched except near the larger commercial centres. Indeed, the j.a.panese have almost a veneration for some of these fantastic furyo-shaped trees, and leave them alone, whether they be pines or plums.

The tree in question Hambei loved so much that no offer people could make would induce him to part with it. So notoriously beautiful were the tints and curves of this old stunted tree, large sums had many times been offered for it. Hambei loved it not only for its beauty but also because it had belonged to his father and grandfather. Now in his old age, with his wife in her dotage and his children gone, it was his chief companion. In the autumn he tended it in its untidiness of dead and dying leaves. He felt sorry and sympathetic for it in its cold and bare state in November and December; but in January he was happily employed in watching the buds which would blossom in February. When they did bloom it was his custom to let the people come at certain hours daily to see the tree and listen to stories of historical facts, and also to stories of romance, regarding the plum tree, of which the j.a.panese mind is ever full. When this again was over Hambei pruned and tied the tree. In the hot season he lingered under it smoking his pipe, and was often rewarded for his care by two or three dozen delicious plums, which he valued and loved as much almost as if they had been his own offspring.

Thus, year after year, the tree had become so much Hambei's companion that a king's ransom would not have bought it from him.

Alas! no man is destined to be let alone in this world. Some one is sure, sooner or later, to covet his property. It came to pa.s.s that a high official at the Emperor's court heard of Hambei's furyo tree and wanted it for his own garden. This dainagon sent his steward, Kotaro Naruse, to see Hambei with a view to purchase, never for a moment doubting that the old gardener would readily sell if the sum offered were sufficient.

Kotaro Naruse arrived at Momoyama Fushimi, and was received with due ceremony. After drinking a cup of tea, he announced that he had been sent to inspect and make arrangements to take the furyo plum tree for the dainagon.

Hambei was perplexed. What excuse for refusal should he make to so high a personage? He made a fumbling and rather stupid remark, of which the clever steward soon took advantage.

'On no account,' said Hambei, 'can I sell the old tree. I have refused many offers for it already.'

'I never said that I was sent to buy the tree for money,' said Kotaro. 'I said that I had come to make arrangements by which the dainagon could have it conveyed carefully to his palace, where he proposes to welcome it with ceremony and treat it with the greatest kindness. It is like taking a bride to the palace for the dainagon. Oh, what an honour for the plum tree, to be united by marriage with one of such ill.u.s.trious lineage! You should indeed be proud of such a union for your tree! Please be counselled by me and grant the dainagon's wish!'

What was Hambei now to say? Such a lowly-born person, asked by a gallant samurai to grant a favour to no less a person than the dainagon!

'Sir,' he answered, 'your request in behalf of the dainagon has been so courteously made that I am completely prevented from refusing. You must, however, tell the dainagon that the tree is a present, for I cannot sell it.'

Kotaro was greatly pleased with the success of his manAuvres, and, drawing from his clothes a bag, said: [paragraph continues] 'Please, as is customary on making a gift, accept this small one in return.'

To the gardener's great astonishment, the bag contained gold. He returned it to Kotaro, saying that it was impossible to accept the gift; but on again being pressed by the smooth-tongued samurai he retracted.

The moment Kotaro had left, Hambei regretted this. He felt as if he had sold his own flesh and blood--as if he had sold his daughter--to the dainagon.

That evening he could not sleep. Towards midnight his wife rushed into his room, and, pulling him by the sleeve, shouted: 'You wicked old man! You villainous old rascal! At your age too! Where did you get that girl? I have caught you! Don't tell me lies! You are going to beat me now--I see by your eyes. I am not surprised if you avenge yourself in this way--you must feel an old fool!'

Hambei thought his wife had gone off her head for good this time. He had seen no girl.

'What is the matter with you, obaa San?'A 1 he asked. I have seen no girl, and do not know what you are talking about.'

'Don't tell me lies! I saw her! I saw her myself when I went down to get a cup of water!'

'Saw, saw--what do you mean?' said Hambei. 'I think you have gone mad, talking of seeing girls!'

'I did see her! I saw her weeping outside the door. And a beautiful girl she was, you old sinner,--only seventeen or eighteen years of age.'

Hambei got out of bed, to see for himself whether his wife had spoken the truth or had gone truly mad.

On reaching the door he heard sobbing, and, on opening, beheld a beautiful girl.

'Who are you, and why here?' asked Hambei.

'I am the Spirit of the Plum Tree, which for so many years you have tended and loved, as did, your father before you. I have heard--and grieve greatly at it--that an arrangement has been made whereby I am to be removed to the dainagon's gardens. It may seem good fortune to belong to a n.o.ble family, and an honour to be taken into it. I cannot complain; yet I grieve at being moved from where I have been so long, and from you, who have so carefully tended to my wants. Can you not let me remain here a little longer--as long as I live? I pray you, do!'

'I have made a promise to send you off on Sat.u.r.day to the dainagon in Kyoto; but I cannot refuse your plea, for I love to have you here. Be easy in your mind, and I will see what can be done,' said Hambei.

The spirit dried its tears, smiled at Hambei, and disappeared as it were into the stem of the tree, while Hambei's wife stood looking on in wonder, not at all rea.s.sured that there was not some trick on her husband's part.

At last the fatal Sat.u.r.day on which the tree was to be removed arrived, and Kotaro came with many men and a cart. Hambei told him what had happened--of the tree's spirit and of what it had implored of him.

'Here! take the money, please,' said the old man. Tell the story to the dainagon as I tell it to you, and surely he will have mercy.'

Kotaro was angry, and said: 'How has this change come about? Have you been drinking too much sakA, or are you trying to fool me? You must be careful, I warn you; else you shall find yourself headless. Even supposing the spirit of the tree did appear to you in the form of a girl, did it say that it would be sorry to leave your poor garden for a place of honour in that of the dainagon? You are a fool, and an insulting fool--how dare you return the dainagon's present? How could I explain such an insult to him, and what would he think of me? As you are not keeping your word, I will take the tree by force, or kill you in place of it.'

Kotaro was greatly enraged. He kicked Hambei down the steps, and, drawing his sword, was about to cut off his head, when suddenly there was a little puff of wind scented with plum blossom, and then there stood in front of Kotaro the beautiful girl, the Spirit of the Plum Tree!

'Get out of my way, or you will get hurt,' shouted Kotaro.

'No: I will not go away. You had better kill me, the spirit that has brought such trouble, instead of killing a poor innocent old man,' said the spirit.

'I don't believe in the spirits of plum trees,' said Kotaro. 'That you are a spirit is evident; but you are only that of an old fox. So I will comply with your request, and at all events kill you first.'

No sooner had he said this than he made a cut with his sword, and he distinctly felt that he cut through a body. The girl disappeared, and all that fell was a branch of the plum tree and most of the flowers that were blooming.

Kotaro now realised that what the gardener had told him was true, and made apologies accordingly.

'I will carry this branch to the dainagon,' said he, 'and see if he will listen to the story.'

Thus was Hambei's life saved by the spirit of the tree.

The dainagon heard the story, and was so moved that he sent the old gardener a kind message, and told him to keep the tree and the money, as an expression of his sorrow for the trouble which he had brought about.

Alas, however, the tree withered and died soon after Kotaro's cruel blow and in spite of Hambei's care. The dead stump was venerated for many years.

Footnotes.

322:1 Old woman.

58. Ukon Shows Sayemon that he has Already Sacrificed Himself.

LII THE CHESSBOARD CHERRY TREEA 1.

IN olden times, long before the misfortunes of Europeanisation came to j.a.pan, there lived at Kasamatsu, in Nakasatani, near Shichikwai mura Shinji gun, Hitachi Province, a hotheaded old Daimio, Oda Sayemon. His castle stood on the top of a pine-clad hill about three miles from what is now known as Kamitachi station on the Nippon Railway. Sayemon was noted for his bravery as a soldier, for his abominable play at go (or goban), and for his bad temper and violence when he lost, which was invariably.

His most intimate friends among his retainers had tried hard to reform his manners after losing at go; but it was hopeless. All those who won from him he struck in the face with a heavy iron fan, such as was carried by warriors in those days; and he would just as readily have drawn his sword and cut his best friend's head off as be interfered with on those occasions. To be invited to play go with their lord was what all his bold samurai dreaded most. At last it was agreed among them that sooner than suffer the gross indignity of being struck by him when they won they would let him win. After all, it did not much matter, there being no money on the game. Thus Sayemon's game grew worse and worse, for he never learned anything; yet in his conceit he thought he was better than everybody.

On the 3rd of March, in honour of his little daughter O Chio, he gave a dinner-party to his retainers. The 3rd of March is the Dolls' Day (Hina-no-sekku)--the day upon which girls bring out their dolls. People go from house to house to see them, and the little owners offer you sweet white sakA in a doll's cup with much ceremony. Sayemon, no doubt, chose this day of feasting as a compliment to his daughter--for he gave sweet white sakA after their food, to be drunk to the health of the dolls, instead of men's sakA, which the guests would have liked much better. Sayemon himself absolutely disliked sweet sakA. So as soon as the feast was over he called Saito Ukon, one of his oldest and most faithful warriors, to come and play go with him, leaving the others to drink. Ukon, curiously enough, had not played with his lord before, and he was delighted that he had been chosen. He had made up his mind to die that evening after giving his master a proper lesson.

In a luxuriously decorated room there was placed a goban (chessboard) with two go-cases containing the men, which are made of white and black stones. The white stones are usually taken by the superior player and the black by the inferior. Without any apology or explanation, [paragraph continues] Ukon took the case containing the white stones, and began to place them as if he were without question the superior player.

Sayemon's temper began to work up; but he did not show it. So many games of go had his retainers allowed him to win lately, he was fully confident that he should win again, and that Ukon would have in addition to apologise for presuming to take the white stones.

The game ended in a win for Ukon.

'I must have another game,' said Sayemon. 'I was careless in that one. I will soon show you how I can beat you when I try.'

Again Sayemon was beaten--this time not without losing his temper, for his face turned red, his eyes looked devilish, and with a bullying voice full of pa.s.sion he roared for a third game.

This also Ukon won. Sayemon's wrath knew no bounds. Seizing his iron fan, he was about to smite Ukon a violent blow in the face. His opponent caught him by the wrist, and said: 'My Lord, what ideas have you about games? Your Lordship seems to think curiously about them! It is the better player who wins; while the inferior must fail. If you fail to beat me at go, it is because you are the inferior player. Is this manner of your Lordship's in taking defeat from a superior up to the form of bushido in a samurai, as we are taught it? Be counselled by me, your faithful retainer, and be not so hasty with your anger--it ill befits one in your Lordship's high position.' And, with a look full of reproof at Sayemon, Ukon bowed almost to the ground.

'You insolent rascal!' roared Sayemon. 'How dare you speak to me like that? Don't move! Stand as you are, with your head bowed, so that I may take it off.'

'Your sword is to kill your enemies, not your retainers and friends,' said Ukon. 'Sheathe your sword, my Lord. You need not trouble yourself to kill me, for I have already done seppukuA 1 in order to offer you the advice which I have given, and to save all others. See here, my Lord!' Ukon opened his clothes and exhibited an immense cut across his stomach.

Sayemon stood for a minute taken aback, and while he thus stood Ukon spoke to him once more, telling him how he must control his temper and treat his subjects better.

On hearing this advice again Sayemon's pa.s.sion returned. Seizing his sword, he rushed upon Ukon, and, crying, 'Not even by your dying spirit will I allow myself to be advised,' made a furious cut at Ukon's head. He missed, and cut the go-board in two instead. Then, seeing that Ukon was dying rapidly, Sayemon dropped beside him, crying bitterly and saying: 'Much do I regret to see you thus die, oh faithful Ukon! In losing you I lose my oldest and most faithful retainer. You have served me faithfully and fought most gallantly in all my battles. Pardon me, I beg of you! I will take your advice. It was surely a sign by the G.o.ds that they were displeased at my conduct when they made me miss your head with my sword and cut the go-board.'

Ukon was pleased to find his lord at last repentant. He said: 'I shall not even in death forget the relation between master and servant, and my spirit shall be with you and watch over your welfare as long as you live.'

Then Ukon breathed his last.

Sayemon was so much moved by the faithfulness of Ukon that he caused him to be buried in his own garden, and he buried the broken go-board with him. From that time on the Lord Sayemon's conduct was completely reformed. He was good and kind to all his subjects, and all his people were happy.

A few months after Ukon's death, a cherry tree sprang out of his grave. In three years the tree grew to be a fine one and bloomed luxuriantly.

On the 3rd of March in the third year, the anniversary of Ukon's death, Sayemon was surprised to find it suddenly in bloom. He was looking at it, and thinking of watering it himself, as usual on that day, when he suddenly saw a faint figure standing by the stem of the tree. Just as he said, 'You are, I know, the spirit of faithful Saito Ukon,' the figure disappeared. Sayemon ran to the tree, to pour water over the roots, when he noticed that the bark of some feet of the stem had all cracked up to the size and shape of the squares of a go-board! He was much impressed. For years afterwards--until, in fact, Sayemon's death--the ghost of Ukon appeared on each 3rd of March.

A fence was built round the tree, which was held sacred; and even to the present, they say, the tree is to be seen.

Footnotes.

326:1 This story (with the exception of the ghost) I believe to be true, for the 'seppuku' of Saito Ukon is just the kind of reasoning that would have been held out in the days of the story, and is even to-day possible in many cases. See a case--quoted by Professor Chamberlain--of the servant to an Englishman at Yokohama, and note the number of cases in the recent war.

329:1 'Disembowelled myself.'

p. 331.

LIII THE PRECIOUS SWORD 'NATORI NO HOTO'

IDE KAMMOTSU was a va.s.sal of the Lord of Nakura town, in Kishu. His ancestors had all been brave warriors, and he had greatly distinguished himself in a battle at Shizugatake, which took its name from a mountain in the province of Omi. The great Hideyoshi had successfully fought in the same place so far back as in the eleventh year of the Tensho Era 1573-1592--that is, 1584--with Shibata Katsuiye. Ide Kammotsu's ancestors were loyal men. One of them as a warrior had a reputation second to none. He had cut the heads off no fewer than forty-eight men with one sword. In due time this weapon came to Ide Kammotsu, and was kept by him as a most valuable family treasure. Rather early in life Kammotsu found himself a widower. His young wife left a son, called Fujiwaka. By and by Kammotsu, feeling lonely, married a lady whose name was Sadako. Sadako later bore a son, who was called Goroh. Twelve or fourteen years after that, Kammotsu himself died, leaving the two sons in charge of Sadako. Fujiwaka was at that time nineteen years of age.

Sadako became jealous of Fujiwaka, knowing him, as the elder son, to be the heir to Kammotsu's property. She tried by every means to put her own son Goroh first.

In the meantime a little romance was secretly going on between a beautiful girl called Tae, daughter of Iwasa Shiro, and young Fujiwaka. They had fallen in love with each other, were holding secret meetings to their hearts' content, and vowing promises of marriage. At last they were found out, and Sadako made their conduct a pretext for driving Fujiwaka out of the house and depriving him of all rights in the family property.

Attached to the establishment was a faithful old nurse, Matsue, who had brought up Fujiwaka from his infancy. She was grieved at the injustice which had been done; but little did she think of the loss of money or of property in comparison with the loss of the sword, the miraculous sword, of which the outcast son was the proper owner. She thought night and day of how she might get the heirloom for young Fujiwaka.

After many days she came to the conclusion that she must steal the sword from the Ihai (shrine--or rather a wooden tablet in the interior of the shrine, bearing the posthumous name of an ancestor, which represents the spirit of that ancestor).

One day, when her mistress and the others were absent, Matsue stole the sword. No sooner had she done so than it became apparent that it would be some months perhaps before she should be able to put it into the hands of the rightful owner. For of Fujiwaka nothing had been heard since his stepmother had driven him out. Fearing that she might be accused, the faithful Matsue dug a hole in the garden near the ayumiya--a little house, such as is kept in every j.a.panese gentleman's garden for performing the Tea Ceremony in,--and there she put the sword, meaning to keep it hidden until such time as she should be able to present it to Fujiwaka.

Sadako, having occasion to go to the butsudan the day after, missed the sword; and, knowing O Matsue to have been the only servant left in the house at the time, taxed her with the theft of the sword.

Matsue denied the theft, thinking that in the cause of justice it was right of her to do so; but it was not easy to persuade Sadako, who had Matsue confined in an outhouse and gave orders that neither rice nor water was to be given her until she confessed. No one was allowed to go near Matsue except Sadako herself, who kept the key of the shed, which she visited only once every four or five days.

About the tenth day poor Matsue died from starvation. She had stuck faithfully to her resolution that she would keep the sword and deliver it some day to her young master, the lawful heir. No one knew of Matsue's death. The evening on which she had died found Sadako seated in an old shed in a remote part of the garden, and trying to cool herself, for it was very hot.

After she had sat for about half-an-hour she suddenly saw the figure of an emaciated woman with dishevelled hair. The figure appeared from behind a stone lantern, glided along towards the place where Sadako was seated, and looked full into Sadako's face.

Sadako immediately recognised Matsue, and upbraided her loudly for breaking out of her prison.

'Go back, you thieving woman!' said she. 'I have not half finished with you yet. How dare you leave the place where you were locked up and come to confront me?'

The figure gave no answer, but glided slowly along to the spot where the sword had been buried, and dug it up.

Sadako watched carefully, and, being no coward, rushed at the figure of Matsue, intending to seize the sword. Figure and sword suddenly disappeared.

Sadako then ran at top speed to the shed where Matsue had been imprisoned, and flung the door open with violence. Before her lay Matsue dead, evidently having been so for two or three days; her body was thin and emaciated. '

Sadako perceived that it must have been the ghost of O Matsue that she had seen, and mumbled 'Namu Amida Butsu; Namu Amida Butsu,' the Buddhist prayer asking for protection or mercy.

After having been driven from his family home, Ide Fujiwaka had wandered to many places, begging his food. At last he got some small employment, and was able to support himself at a very cheap inn at Umamachi Asakusa Temple.

One midnight he awoke and found standing at the foot of his bed the emaciated figure of his old nurse, bearing in her hands the precious sword, the heirloom valued beyond all others. It was wrapped in scarlet and gold brocade, as it had been before, and it was laid reverentially by the figure of O Matsue at Fujiwaka's feet.

'Oh, my dear nurse,' said he, 'how glad am I------' Before he had closed his sentence the figure had disappeared.

My story-teller did not say what became of Sadako or of her son.

59. Harada and Gundayu Fencing.

LIV THE WHITE SERPENT G.o.d.

HARADA KURANDO was one of the leading va.s.sals of the Lord of Tsugaru. He was a remarkable swordsman, and gave lessons in fencing. Next in seniority to Harada among the va.s.sals was one Gundayu, who also taught fencing; but he was no match for the famous Harada, and consequently was somewhat jealous.

One day, to encourage the art of fencing amongst his va.s.sals, the Daimio summoned all his people and ordered them to give an exhibition in his presence.

After the younger va.s.sals had performed, the Daimio gave an order that Harada Kurando and Hira Gundayu should have a match. To the winner, he said, he would present a gold image of the G.o.ddess of Kwannon.