Part 1 (2/2)

A servant was immediately sent to see, and returned, stating that there was neither palanquin nor any one at the gate.

KAnojA, seeing that the samurai was now beginning to look perplexed and angry, drew the golden pin from his clothes, saying: 'See! if you doubt me and think I am lying, here is the pin which O Kei told me to give you!'

'Bik-ku-ri-s.h.i.+-ta-!'A 1 exclaimed O Kei's mother. 'How came this pin into your hands? I myself put it into Ko San's coffin just before it was closed.'

The samurai and KAnojA stared at each other, and the mother at both. Neither knew what to think, or what to say or do. Imagine the general surprise when the sick O Kei walked into the room, having risen from her bed as if she had never been ill for a moment. She was the picture of health and beauty.

'How is this?' asked the samurai, almost shouting. 'How is it, O Kei, that you have come from your sickbed dressed and with your hair done and looking as if you had never known a moment of illness?'

'I am not O Kei, but the spirit of O Ko,' was the answer. 'I was most unfortunate in dying before the return of KAnojA San, for had I lived until then I should have become quite well and been married to him. As it was, my spirit was unhappy. It took the form of my dear sister O Kei, and for a year has lived happily in her body with KAnojA. It is appeased now, and about to take its real rest.'

'There is one condition, however, KAnojA, which I must make,' said the girl, turning to him. 'You must marry my sister O Kei. If you do this my spirit will rest truly in peace, and then O Kei will become well and strong. Will you promise to marry O Kei?'

The old samurai, his wife, and KAnojA were all amazed at this. The appearance of the girl was that of O Kei; but the voice and manners were those of O Ko. Then, there was the golden hairpin as further proof. The mother knew it well. She had placed it in Ko's hair just before the tub coffin was closed. n.o.body could undeceive her on that point.

'But,' said the samurai at last, 'O Ko has been dead and buried for more than a year now. That you should appear to us puzzles us all. Why should you trouble us so?'

'I have explained already,' resumed the girl. 'My spirit could not rest until it had lived with KAnojA, whom it knew to be faithful. It has done this now, and is prepared to rest. My only desire is to see KAnojA marry my sister.'

Hasunuma, his wife, and KAnojA held a consultation. They were quite prepared that O Kei should marry, and KAnojA did not object.

All things being settled, the ghost-girl held out her hand to KAnojA saying: 'This is the last time you will touch the hand of O Ko. Farewell, my dear parents! Farewell to you all! I am about to pa.s.s away.'

Then she fainted away, and seemed dead, and remained thus for half an hour; while the others, overcome with the strange and weird things which they had seen and heard, sat round her, hardly uttering a word.

At the end of half an hour the body came to life, and standing up, said: 'Dear parents, have no more fear for me. I am perfectly well again; but I have no idea how I got down from my sick-room in this costume, or how it is that I feel so well.'

Several questions were put to her; but it was quite evident that O Kei knew nothing of what had happened--nothing of the spirit of O Ko San, or of the golden hairpin!

A week later she and KAnojA were married, and the golden hairpin was given to a shrine at s.h.i.+ogama, to which, until quite recently, crowds used to go and wors.h.i.+p.

Footnotes.

1:1 This story savours of 'Botan DArA,' or Peony Lantern story, told both by Mitford and by Lafcadio Hearn. In this instance, however, the spirit of the dead sister pa.s.ses into the body of the living one, a.s.sumes her form, leaves her sick and ill for over a year, and then allows her to reappear as if she had never been ill at all. It is the first story of its kind I have heard.

3:1 'O' means Honourable Miss; 'San' means Miss. Either will do; but Ko is the name.

4:1 Family shrine.

5:1 Lamp.

9:1 An exclamation, such as 'Great Scot!'

3. Heitaro meets Higo Under the Willow Tree.

II THE SPIRIT OF THE WILLOW TREE.

ABOUT one thousand years ago (but according to the dates of the story 744 years ago) the temple of 'San-jA-san-gen Do' was founded. That was in 1132. 'San-jA-san-gen Do' means hall of thirty-three s.p.a.ces; and there are said to be over 33,333 figures of the G.o.ddess Kwannon, the G.o.ddess of Mercy, in the temple to-day. Before the temple was built, in a village near by stood a willow tree of great size. It marked the playing-ground of all the village children, who swung on its branches, and climbed on its limbs. It afforded shade to the aged in the heat of summer, and in the evenings, when work was done, many were the village lads and la.s.ses who vowed eternal love under its branches. The tree seemed an influence for good to all. Even the weary traveller could sleep peacefully and almost dry under its branches. Alas, even in those times men were often ruthless with regard to trees. One day the villagers announced an intention to cut it down and use it to build a bridge across the river.

There lived in the village a young farmer named.

Heitaro, a great favourite, who had lived near the old tree all his days, as his forefathers had done; and he was greatly against cutting it down.

Such a tree should be respected, thought he. Had it not braved the storms of hundreds of years? In the heat of summer what pleasure it afforded the children! Did it not give to the weary shelter, and to the love-smitten a sense of romance? All these thoughts Heitaro impressed upon the villagers. 'Sooner than approve your cutting it down,' he said, 'I will give you as many of my own trees as you require to build the bridge. You must leave this dear old willow alone for ever.'

The villagers readily agreed. They also had a secret veneration for the old tree.

Heitaro was delighted, and readily found wood with which to build the bridge.

Some days later Heitaro, returning from his work, found standing by the willow a beautiful girl.

Instinctively he bowed to her. She returned the bow. They spoke together of the tree, its age and beauty. They seemed, in fact, to be drawn towards each other by a common sympathy. Heitaro was sorry when she said that she must be going, and bade him good-day. That evening his mind was far from being fixed on the ordinary things of life. 'Who was the lady under the willow tree? How I wish I could see her again!' thought he. There was no sleep for Heitaro that night. He had caught the fever of love.

Next day he was at his work early; and he remained at it all day, working doubly hard, so as to try and forget the lady of the willow tree; but on his way home in the evening, behold, there was the lady again! This time she came forward to greet him in the most friendly way.

'Welcome, good friend!' she said. 'Come and rest under the branches of the willow you love so well, for you must be tired.'

Heitaro readily accepted this invitation, and not only did he rest, but also he declared his love.

Day by day after this the mysterious girl (whom no others had seen) used to meet Heitaro, and at last she promised to marry him if he asked no questions as to her parents or friends. 'I have none,' she said. 'I can only promise to be a good and faithful wife, and tell you that I love you with all my heart and soul. Call me, then, ”Higo,”A 1 and I will be your wife.'

Next day Heitaro took Higo to his house, and they were married. A son was born to them in a little less than a year, and became their absorbing joy. There was not a moment of their spare time in which either Heitaro or his wife was not playing with the child, whom they called ChiyodA. It is doubtful if a more happy home could have been found in all j.a.pan than the house of Heitaro, with his good wife Higo and their beautiful child.

Alas, where in this world has complete happiness ever been known to last? Even did the G.o.ds permit this, the laws of man would not.

When ChiyodA had reached the age of five years--the most beautiful boy in the neighbourhood--the ex-Emperor Toba decided to build in Kyoto an immense temple to Kwannon. He would contribute 1001 images of the G.o.ddess of Mercy. (Now, in 1907, as we said at the beginning, this temple is known as 'San-jA-san-gen Do,' and contains 33,333 images.) The ex-Emperor Toba's wish having become known, orders were given by the authorities to collect timber for the building of the vast temple; and so it came to pa.s.s that the days of the big willow tree were numbered, for it would be wanted, with many others, to form the roof.

Heitaro tried to save the tree again by offering every other he had on his land for nothing; but that was in vain. Even the villagers became anxious to see their willow tree built into the temple. It would bring them good luck, they thought, and in any case be a handsome gift of theirs towards the great temple.

The fatal time arrived. One night, when Heitaro and his wife and child had retired to rest and were sleeping, Heitaro was awakened by the sound of axes chopping. To his astonishment, he found his beloved wife sitting up in her bed, gazing earnestly at him, while tears rolled down her cheeks and she was sobbing bitterly.

'My dearest husband,' she said with choking voice, pray listen to what I tell you now, and do not doubt me. This is, unhappily, not a dream. When we married I begged you not to ask me my history, and you have never done so; but I said I would tell you some day if there should be a real occasion to do so. Unhappily, that occasion has now arrived, my dear husband. I am no less a thing than the spirit of the willow tree you loved, and so generously saved six years ago. It was to repay you for this great kindness that I appeared to you in human form under the tree, hoping that I could live with you and make you happy for your whole life. Alas, it cannot be! They are cutting down the willow. How I feel every stroke of their axes! I must return to die, for I am part of it. My heart breaks to think also of leaving my darling child ChiyodA and of his great sorrow when he knows that his mother is no longer in the world. Comfort him, dearest husband! He is old enough and strong enough to be with you now without a mother and yet not suffer. I wish you both long lives of prosperity. Farewell, my dearest! I must be off to the willow, for I hear them striking with their axes harder and harder, and it weakens me each blow they give.'

Heitaro awoke his child just as Higo disappeared, wondering to himself if it were not a dream. No: it was no dream. ChiyodA, awaking, stretched his arms in the direction his mother had gone, crying bitterly and imploring her to come back.

My darling child,' said Heitaro, 'she has gone. She cannot come back. Come: let us dress, and go and see her funeral. Your mother was the spirit of the Great Willow.'

A little later, at the break of day, Heitaro took ChiyodA by the hand and led him to the tree. On reaching it they found it down, and already lopped of its branches. The feelings of Heitaro may be well imagined.

Strange! In spite of united efforts, the men were unable to move the stem a single inch towards the river, in which it was to be floated to Kyoto.

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