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

the whole of the priests had been killed by a large band of robbers many years beyond the memory of men—for the sake of loot, of course.

So great a horror did this strike into the minds of all, that the temple was allowed to rot and run to ruin.

One year a priest, a pilgrim and a stranger, passed by the temple, and, not knowing its history, went in and sought refuge from the weather, instead of continuing his journey to Fushimi. Having cold rice in his wallet, he felt that he could not do better than pass the night there; for, though the weather might be cold, he would at all events save drenching the only clothes which he had, and be well off in the morning.

The good man took up his quarters in one of the smaller rooms, which was in less bad repair than the rest of the place; and, after eating his meal, said his prayers and lay down to sleep, while the rain fell in torrents on the roof and the wind howled through the creaky buildings. Try as he might, the priest could not sleep, for the cold draughts chilled him to the marrow. Somewhere about midnight the old man heard weird and unnatural noises. They seemed to proceed from the main building.

Prompted by curiosity, he arose; and when he got to the main building he found Hiyakki Yakō (meaning a procession of one hundred ghosts)—a term, I believe, which had been generally applied to a company of ghosts. The ghosts fought, wrestled, danced, and made merry. Though greatly alarmed at first, our priest became interested. After a few moments, however, more awful spirit-like ghosts came on the scene. The priest ran back to the small room, into which he barred himself; and he spent the rest of the night saying masses for the souls of the dead.

At daybreak, though the weather continued wet, the priest departed. He told the villagers what he had seen, and they spread the news so widely that within three or four days the temple was known as the worst-haunted temple in the neighbourhood.

It was at this time that the celebrated painter Tosa Mitsunobu heard of it. Having ever been anxious to paint a picture of Hiyakki Yakō, he thought that a sight of the ghosts in Shozenji temple might give him the necessary material: so off to Fushimi and Shozenji he started.

Mitsunobu went straight to the temple at dusk, and sat up all night in no very happy state of mind; but he saw no ghosts, and heard no noise.

Next morning he opened all the windows and doors and flooded the main temple with light. No sooner had he done this than he found the walls of the place covered, as it were, with the figures or drawings of ghosts of indescribable complexity. There were far more than two hundred, and all different.

Could he but remember them! That was what Tosa Mitsunobu thought. Drawing his notebook and brush from his pocket, he proceeded to take them down minutely. This occupied the best part of the day.

During his examination of the outlines of the various ghosts and goblins which he had drawn, Mitsunobu saw that the fantastic shapes had come from cracks in the damp deserted walls; these cracks were filled with fungi and mildew, which in their turn produced the toning, colouring, and eventually the figures from which he compiled his celebrated picture Hiyakki Yakō. 1 Grateful was he to the imaginative priest whose stories had led him to the place. Without him never would the picture have been drawn; never could the horrible aspects of so many ghosts and goblins have entered the mind of one man, no matter how imaginative.

My painter’s illustration gives a few, copied from a first-hand copy of Mitsunobu’s.

Footnotes

61:1 Somewhere between the years 1400 and 1550 there lived a family of celebrated painters covering three generations, and consequently difficult to be accurate about. There were Tosa Mitsunobu, Kano Mitsunobu, and Hasegawa Mitsunobu; sometimes Tosa Mitsunobu signed his pictures as Fujiwara Mitsunobu. When to this I add that there were other celebrated painters—Kano Masanobu, Kano Motonobu, besides their families, imitators, and name forgers—you will realise the difficulties into which one may fall in fixing on names and dates; but, as usual, I have been placed safely on high ground by a kind friend, H.E. Mr. Hattori, the Governor, whose knowledge of Art is great. Undoubtedly it was Tosa Mitsunobu who painted the picture known as the Hiyakki Yakō, or as ‘The One Hundred Ghosts’ Procession, which is celebrated, and has served as a map of instruction in the drawing of hobgoblins and ghosts, ‘spooks,’ ‘eries,’ or whatever you may choose to call them. As far as I can judge, the picture was painted about the end of the first half of the fifteenth century.

63:1 It is well known that certain fungi and mildews produce phosphorescent light amid certain circumstances. No doubt the priest saw the cracks in the wall amid these p. 64 circumstances, and the noise he heard was made by rats. I once read a story about a haunted country-house in England, the ghost in which was eventually found to be a luminous fungus.

13. Matsuo Declares the Head to be That of Kanshusai

X A FAITHFUL SERVANT 1

IN the reign of the Emperor Engi, which began in the year 901 A.D., there lived a man whose name has ever since been celebrated on account of his beautiful writings, poetic and other. He was the Emperor’s great favourite, and consequently he was the strong man of the day; his name was Sugawara Michizane. Needless to say, it was not very long before, with all these things in his favour, he was the head of the Government, living in luxury.

Things went well enough for a time; but the inevitable came at last. Not all the people agreed with Michizane’s ideas or his politics. Secret enemies lurked at every corner. Among them was one particularly bad man named Tokihira, whose poisonous intrigues at Court were constant.

Tokihira held a Government position under Michizane, and hated him in his heart, thinking that if he could but arrange to get Michizane into the bad graces of the

[paragraph continues] Emperor he himself might become leader of the Government.

Michizane was a man with whom little fault could be found, and so it came to pass that Tokihira was unable to find any cause for starting evil reports about him; but as time went on he became more determined to do evil in the end.

At last an opportunity arrived. Tokihira, who had many secret agents trying to discover something to be reported to the Emperor against Michizane, heard a statement that Prince Toki (Toki no Miya) had fallen secretly in love with the beautiful daughter of Michizane, and that they held secret meetings.

Tokihira was overjoyed at the news, and went straightway to the Emperor, who received him, hearing that he had a marvellous tale of intrigue to tell.

‘Your Majesty,’ said Tokihira, ‘much as I grieve to tell it, a serious plot is about. Sugawara Michizane has so arranged it that your Majesty’s younger brother, Prince Toki, has fallen in love with his daughter. Deeply as I regret to say it, they hold secret meetings. Moreover, Michizane, your Majesty’s Premier, is scheming that your Majesty may be assassinated, or at least dethroned in favour of Prince Toki, who is to marry Michizane’s daughter.’

Naturally the Emperor Engi was infuriated. He was a good and sound monarch, and had ruled the people, with the aid of Michizane, fairly, firmly, and well. He had looked upon Michizane as a personal friend; and to think of Michizane conspiring his assassination, or at all events so scheming as to place Prince Toki on the throne, and to marry his own daughter to the Prince, was more than he could stand.

He sent for Michizane.

Michizane protested his innocence. True it was, he said, that the Prince had fallen in love with his daughter; but that was not much to be wondered at. His daughter was beautiful; the Prince and she were much of the same age, and had seen much of each other from their childhood. Now that they had grown older, they found that their friendship had turned to love. That was all. It was not easy for a Prince of the blood royal to meet the lady of his heart quite so openly as another might; and, no doubt, they had met, for his daughter had told him so. As to the plot asserted by Tokihira, that was absolutely fanciful, and it was an astonishment to hear of so dastardly an accusation.

Tokihira perceived the temper of the Emperor. By loud words and unscrupulous lies he upset all the unfortunate Michizane’s protests; and the Emperor ordered Michizane to be sent for the rest of his life to Tsukushi, in the island of Kyushu.

Accompanied only by his faithful servant Matsuo, Michizane went into exile. The punishment of Michizane, unjust as it was, broke up the employment of many others. All those who had been closely associated with him were dismissed. Among them was Takebayashi Genzo, who had been one of Michizane’s chief attendants. Genzo had been one of Michizane’s literary pupils; consequently it is not astonishing that on losing employment, Genzo fled to a small town, and out of duty took with him Michizane’s wife and young son Kanshusai, aged ten. All changed their names, and Genzo, to support them as well as his own family, established a small school.

Thus it was that for some time Kanshusai escaped the wicked designs against his life that had been planned by Tokihira.

Matsuo, the faithful servant who had followed his master Michizane into banishment, heard of a vile plot to assassinate his master’s son, and after many weary days of thought as to how he could prevent it he perceived that the only way would be to sacrifice his own son instead.

First he told his banished master of his intention, and having obtained leave he journeyed back to Kyoto, and sought out Tokihira himself, to whom he offered his services both as a servant and as a hunter of Michizane’s son Kanshusai. Tokihira readily engaged him, thinking that now he would be sure to find the boy whom he wished to have beheaded. Tokihira had taken the place of Michizane in the Emperor’s favour, and had great power; his will was almost law.

So well did Matsuo play his part in Tokihira’s household and among his servants, it was not long before they were all agreed that Matsuo was most faithful to his new master, and the greatest confidence was placed in him.

Shortly after this, it came to the knowledge of Tokihira that Kanshusai was hidden, under a different name, in the school which belonged to Genzo. Genzo was ordered to send the boy’s head to Tokihira within forty-eight hours.

Matsuo, ever faithful, hearing of this, went to Genzo’s school in disguise and disclosed to the schoolmaster, who readily assented, his scheme for saving Kanshusai. Then Matsuo sent his son Kotaro to Genzo’s school, from which he never returned alive, poor boy; and though (in all honour be it said) Genzo did not like the killing of this boy, he steeled his nerves, for the sake of his former master and to save Kanshusai’s life.

With one blow of his sword he took off the innocent head.

At the appointed time Tokihira’s officials called at the school to fetch it, and they carried it back to Tokihira, saying: ‘Now, Lord Tokihira, there is no longer fear for the future from Michizane’s son, for here is his head in this box. See! And here is the schoolmaster Takebayashi Genzo, who followed your lordship’s orders and cut it off.’

Tokihira was pleased, but