Ancient Tales and Folk-Lore of Japan by Richard Gordon Smith (ebook reader android TXT) 📖

can be influenced and even ordered to marry men they hate. Their minds are, oftener than not, stronger than those of us men. I always did what Kinu’s mother told me I was to do, and could not influence Kinu in such a thing as her marriage. I might give you my advice, and should do so; but, sir, in this case I must agree with my daughter, that, great as the honour done to her, she would be unwise to marry one above her own station in life.’

Takadai’s heart was broken. There was nothing more that he could say and nothing more that he could do. Bowing low, he left the fisherman and retired forthwith to his room in the inn, which he never left, much to the consternation of his servant.

Day by day he grew thinner, and as the day approached for his return from leave, Takadai was far more of an invalid than he had been on his arrival at Oiso. What was he to do? The sentiment of the old proverb that ‘there are as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it’ did not in any way appeal to him. He felt that life was no longer worth having. He resolved to end it in the sea, where his spirit might perhaps linger and catch sight occasionally of the beautiful diving-girl who had bewitched his heart.

Takadai that evening wrote a last note to Kinu, and as soon as the villagers of Oiso were asleep he arose and went to the cottage, slipping the note under the door. Then he went to the beach, and, after tying a large stone to a rope and to his neck, he got into a boat and rowed himself about a hundred yards from shore, where he took the stone in his arms and jumped overboard.

Next morning O Kinu was shocked to read in the note that Jiro Takadai was to kill himself for love of her. She rushed down to the beach, but could see only an empty fishing-boat some three or four hundred yards from shore, to which she swam. There she found Takadai’s tobacco box and his juro (medicine box). O Kinu thought that Takadai must have thrown himself into the sea somewhere hereabouts: so she began to dive, and was not long before she found the body, which she brought to the surface, after some trouble on account of the weight of the stone which the arms rigidly grasped. O Kinu took the body back to shore, where she found Takadai’s old servant wringing his hands in grief.

The body was taken back to Kamakura, where it was buried. O Kinu was sufficiently touched to vow that she would never marry any one. True, she had not loved Takadai; but he had loved, and had died for her. If she married, his spirit would not rest in peace.

No sooner had O Kinu mentally undertaken this generous course than a strange thing came to pass.

Seagulls, which were especially uncommon in Oiso Bay, began to swarm into it; they settled over the exact spot where Takadai had drowned himself. In stormy weather they hovered over it on the wing; but they never went away from the place. Fishermen thought it extraordinary; but Kinu knew well enough that the spirit of Takadai must have passed into the gulls, and for it she prayed regularly at the temple, and out of her small savings built a little tomb sacred to the memory of Takadai Jiro.

By the time Kinu was twenty years of age her beauty was celebrated, and many were the offers she had in marriage; but she refused them all, and kept her vow of celibacy. During her entire life the seagulls were always on the spot where Takadai had been drowned. She died by drowning in a severe typhoon some nine years later than Takadai; and from that day the seagulls disappeared, showing that his spirit was now no longer in fear of O Kinu marrying.

1. Iganosuke Dives for the Pipe and Finds the Idol

XXIV THEFT AND RECOVERY OF A GOLDEN KWANNON

IN the period of Gen-roku, which lasted from 1688 to 1704, when the Shogun or military ruler Tsunayoshi’s power was in full sway, he presented a solid gold figure of Kwannon, the Goddess of Mercy, to each of the three leading families of the provinces of Kii, Mito, and Owari, and they were considered as of the highest and greatest value by each of these leading Lords or Daimios, who had them kept in their inner palaces, so that they were almost impossible to get at, and were considered at least absolutely safe from robbers; but even in spite of this the Lord of Kii took additional precautions by always having a man night and day to guard his idol.

At the same period lived a most redoubtable robber whose name was Yayegumo. He was more than an ordinary robber, and was what the people called a ‘fuin-kiri,’ which means ‘seal breaker’ or ‘seal cutter’; a first-class burglar, in fact, who never descended to robbing the poor, but only robbed the richest and most difficult palaces and castles that were to be got at, taking from them only the highest and most valuable treasures they possessed.

This bold robber broke into the Lord of Kii’s Palace—no one knew how—took the idol of Kwannon, and left his name written on a piece of paper. The Lord of Kii, very angry, sent for the guard, whose name was Mumashima Iganosuke, and reprimanded him severely, asking him what excuse he had to make. ‘None, my lord: tiredness overcame me and I slept. There is but one way in which I can show my regret, and that I will do by destroying myself.’

The Lord of Kii, who was a man of wisdom, answered that before he did this it would be more useful if Iganosuke would follow up the robber and try to recover the idol. Iganosuke, who had always been a faithful servant, readily consented, and, having obtained indefinite leave, went away. For fully four months he was quite unsuccessful, though he had travelled half over the country. At last he heard reports of robberies in Chugoku, and then later in Shikoku Province. Hurrying down from Izumo to Okayama, he there got on board a ship bound across the Inland Sea for Takamatsu, in Shikoku. The weather was fine and the sea smooth, and Iganosuke was in high spirits, for he had heard that one or two of the robberies had undoubtedly been done by Yayegumo, and he felt that at last he must be getting nearer the man he wished to catch—perhaps, even, he was on that very boat! Who could tell? Thinking of these possibilities, Iganosuke kept very much to himself, watching the people, whose spirits all seemed to be affected by the beautiful weather, for, though mostly strangers, they were all sociable.

Among them was a good-looking young samurai who had attracted Iganosuke by his refined appearance, as also by a beautiful gold pipe which he drew out from its case and smoked while chatting to his neighbour. By and by a samurai of some sixty years of age came up to the young man, and said:

‘Sir, I have lost my pipe and tobacco-pouch somewhere on this ship. I am a confirmed smoker, and almost dying for a whiff of tobacco. Might I borrow yours for a moment or two?’

The young samurai handed both his pipe and his pouch to the old man with a bow, saying that this afforded him great pleasure.

The old samurai, after his three puffs of the pipe, was about to empty out the ash and refill it. To do so, without thinking what he was about, he knocked the pipe on the outside of the ship. To his horror the gankubi (the bowl) dropped off into the sea. The old man knew that the pipe was gold and of great value, and was utterly confused. He did not know what to say. His apologies were profuse; but they did not bring back the end of the pipe. The young samurai, of course, was much annoyed; but it would be no use getting angry. In any case that would have been an excessively vulgar proceeding, more especially with so old a man. He said:

‘Ah! the pipe was given to me by the lord of my clan for meritorious service rendered in the big hunt last year, and truly I do not know how I shall be able to face the disgrace of incurring his anger.’ He grew pale as he mused.

The old samurai felt more sorry than ever when he heard this, and said:

‘There is only one way I see that you can face your lord, and that is by my death. I also was a samurai of some importance when younger, and know how to conduct myself. It is right that I should disembowel myself as an apology to you for my carelessness.’ And, saying this, the old samurai drew his right arm and shoulder from under his kimono.

Surprised at the old man’s high sense of honour, the young samurai seized the hand in which he held his sword and prevented him, saying:

‘That will really do no good. It would not make it easier for me to explain to my lord. Your death can bring no apology to him. It was I to whom he gave the pipe, and it is I who have lost it by lending it to you. It is I, therefore, who should offer the apology to my lord by doing harakiri!’ Then the young samurai prepared to kill himself.

Iganosuke, who had been watching the incident, stepped forward and said:

‘Gentlemen, I also am a samurai, and I have heard what you say. Let me say that, though the pipe-end has fallen into the sea, it in no way follows that it is lost beyond recovery. Both of you appear to me to be unnecessarily hasty. I am a good diver and swimmer; our ship is becalmed; and the water hereabouts is not very deep. I am quite ready to try and help you to recover the pipe if you will allow me.’

Of course, both the other samurai were pleased at this idea, of which, being no swimmers themselves, they had never thought, And Iganosuke. lost no time in throwing off his kimono and diving into the sea, where he was thoroughly at home, having been in his younger days so expert a swimmer that he gave lessons to many of the samurai at Kii.

Down he went to the bottom, finding not much more than seven Japanese fathoms of five feet each. The bottom was composed almost entirely of stones and was very clear. Iganosuke had not moved many feet along before he saw the end of the gold pipe, and at the same time something else gleaming between the stones. Thrusting the pipe between his teeth, he seized the other object, and to his great astonishment found it to be no less a thing than the gold figure of Kwannon which had been stolen from the castle of the Lord of Kii.

Carefully returning to the surface, Iganosuke scrambled on board, and handed the pipe-end to the grateful young samurai, who, with the old one, bowed to the ground.

When Iganosuke had thrown on his clothes, he said:

‘I am a retainer of the Lord of Kii, and I have come from our castle of Takegaki to hunt for the robber who stole the very figure of Kwannon which I have just by good fortune while looking for your pipe recovered. Is it not wonderful? Truly the old saying, “Nasakewa hito no tame naradzu” 1 is quite true!’

Then the old man, in a wild state of delight, cried: ‘Even more curious