INTRODUCTION
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. He 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 ours. 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."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.
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 women in 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 ga
[...]