Ancient Tales and Folk-Lore of Japan by Richard Gordon Smith (best novels ever txt) 📕

they were coming his way the Recluse retained his position, hidden behind the great pine, and grasping more firmly his axe; and as the four approached him he sprang out and blocked their way.

‘Who have you here, and what are you doing with this girl?’ cried he. ‘Let her go, or you will have to suffer!’

Being three to one, the robbers were in no fear, and cried back, ‘Stand out of our way, you fool, and let us pass—unless you wish to lose your life.’ But the woodcutter was not afraid. He raised his axe, and the robbers drew their swords. The woodcutter was too much for them. In an instant he had cut down one and pushed another over the precipice, and the third took to his heels, only too glad to get away with his life.

The Recluse then bent down to attend to the girl, who had fainted. He fetched water and bathed her face, bringing her back to her senses, and as soon as she was able to speak he asked who she was, whether she was hurt, and how she had come into the hands of such ruffians.

Amid sobs and weeping the girl answered:

‘I am Choyo Choka. My home is the village of Teiheigun. This is the anniversary of my father’s death, and I went to pray at his tomb at the foot of Gando Mountain. The day being fine, I decided to make a long tour and come back this way. About an hour ago I was seized by these robbers; and the rest you know. Oh, sir, I am thankful to you for your bravery in saving me. Please tell me your name.’

The woodcutter answered:

‘Ah, then, you are the famous beauty of Teiheigun village, of whom I have so often heard! It is an honour indeed to me that I have been able to help you. As for me, I am a woodcutter. The “Recluse” they call me, and I live at the foot of this mountain. If you will come with me I will take you to my hut, where you can rest; and then I will see you safely to your home.’

Choyo was very grateful to the woodcutter, who shouldered his stack of wood, and, taking her by the hand, led her down the steep and dangerous path. At his hut they rested, and he made her tea; then took her to the outskirts of her village, where, bowing to her in a manner far above that of the ordinary peasant, he left her.

That night Choyo could think of nothing but the brave and handsome woodcutter who had saved her life; so much, indeed, did she think that before the morn had dawned she felt herself in love, deeply and desperately.

The day passed and night came. Choyo had told all her friends of how she had been saved and by whom. The more she talked the more she thought of the woodcutter, until at last she made up her mind that she must go and see him, for she knew that he would not come to see her. ‘I have the excuse of going to thank him,’ she thought; ‘and, besides, I will take him a present of some delicacies and fish.’

Accordingly, next morning she started off at daybreak, carrying her present in a basket. By good fortune she found the Recluse at home, sharpening his axes, but otherwise taking a holiday.

‘I have come, sir, to thank you again for your brave rescue of myself the other day, and 1 have brought a small present, which, I trust, however unworthy, you will deign to accept,’ said the love-sick Choyo.

‘There is no reason to thank me for performing a common duty,’ said the Recluse; but by so fair a pair of lips as yours it is pleasing to be thanked, and I feel the great honour. The gift, however, I cannot accept; for then I should be the debtor, which for a man is wrong.’

Choyo felt both flattered and rebuffed at this speech, and tried again to get the Recluse to accept her present; but, though her attempts led to friendly conversation and to chaff, he would not do so, and Choyo left, saying:

‘Well, you have beaten me to-day; but I will return, and in time I shall beat you and make you accept a gift from me.’

‘Come here when you like,’ answered the Recluse. ‘I shall always be glad to see you, for you are a ray of light in my miserable but; but never shall you place me under an obligation by making me accept a gift.’

It was a curious answer, thought Choyo as she left; but ‘Oh, how handsome he is, and how I love him! and anyway I will visit him again, often, and see who wins in the end.’

Such was the assurance of so beautiful a girl as Choyo. She felt that she must conquer in the end.

For the next two months she visited the Recluse often, and they sat and talked. He brought her wildflowers of great rarity and beauty from the highest mountains, and berries to eat; but never once did he make love to her or even accept the slightest present from her hands. That did not deter Choyo from pursuing her love. She was determined to win in the end, and she even felt that in a way this strange man loved her as she loved him, but for some reason would not say so.

One day in the third month after her rescue Choyo again went to see the Recluse. He was not at home: so she sat and waited, looking round the miserable hut and thinking what a pity it was that so noble a man should live in such a state, when she, who was well off, was only too anxious to marry him;—and of her own beauty she knew well. While she was thus musing, the woodcutter returned, not in his usual rags, but in the handsome costume of a Japanese samurai, and greatly astonished was she as she rose to greet him.

‘Ah, fair Choyo, you are surprised to see me now as I am, and it is also with sorrow that I must tell you what I do, for I know well what is in both your heart and mind. To-day we must part for ever, for I am going away.’

Choyo flung herself upon the floor, weeping bitterly, and then rising, said, between her sobs: ‘Oh, now, this cannot be! You must not leave me, but take me with you. Hitherto I have said nothing, because it is not for a maid to declare her love; but I love you, and have loved you ever since the day you saved me from the robbers. Take me with you, no matter where; even to the Cave where the Demons of Hell live will I follow you if you will but let me! You must, for I cannot be happy without you.’

‘Alas,’ cried the Recluse, ‘this cannot be! It is impossible; for I am a Japanese, not a Korean. Though I love you as much as you love me, we cannot be united. My name is Sawada Shigeoki. I am a samurai from Kurume. Ten years ago I committed a political offence and had to fly from my country. I came to Korea disguised as a woodcutter, and until I met you I had not a happy day. Now our Government is changed and I am free to return home. To you I have told this story, and to you alone. Forgive my heartlessness in leaving you. I do so with tears in my eyes and sorrow in my heart. Farewell!’ So saying, the ‘brave samurai’ (as my raconteur calls him) strode from the hut, never to see poor Choyo again.

Choyo continued to weep until darkness came on and it was too late for her to return home in safety: so she spent the night where she was, in weeping. Next morning she was found by her servants almost demented with fever. She was carried to her home, and for three months was seriously ill. On her recovery she gave most of her money to temples, and in charity; she sold her house, keeping only enough money to buy herself rice, and spent the remainder of her days alone in the little hut at the foot of Mount Kanzanrei, where at the age of twenty-one she was found dead of a broken heart. The samurai was brave; but was he noble in spite of his haughty national pride? To the Japanese mind he acted as did Buddha when he renounced his worldly loves. What chance is there, if all men act thus, of a sincere friendship between Japan and Korea?

Mad Joan, Though Muttering, is Dead and a Skeleton

XXXV WHITE BONE MOUNTAIN

AT the foot of Mount Shumongatake, up in the northwestern province of Echigo, once stood, and probably even still stands in rotten or repaired state, a temple of some importance, inasmuch as it was the burial-ground of the feudal Lord Yamana’s ancestors. The name of the temple was Fumonji, and many high and important priests kept it up generation after generation, owing to the early help received from Lord Yamana’s relations. Among the priests who presided over this temple was one named Ajari Joan, who was the adopted son of the Otomo family.

Ajari was learned and virtuous, and had many followers; but one day the sight of a most attractive girl called Kiku, 1 whose age was eighteen, upset all his religious equilibrium. He fell desperately in love with her, offering to sacrifice his position and reputation if she Would only listen to his prayer and marry him; but the lovely O Kiku San refused all his entreaties. A year later she was taken seriously ill with fever and died, and whispers went abroad that Ajari the priest had cursed her in his jealousy and brought about her illness and her death. The rumour was not exactly without reason, for Ajari went mad within a week of O Kiku’s death. He neglected his services, and then got worse, running wildly about the temple, shrieking at night and frightening all those who came near. Finally, one night he dug up the body of O Kiku and ate part of her flesh.

People declared that he had turned into the Devil, and none dared go near the temple; even the younger priests left, until at last he was alone. So terrified were the people, none approached the temple, which soon ran to rack and ruin. Thorny bushes grew on the roof, moss on the hitherto polished and matted floors; birds built their nests inside, perched on the mortuary tablets, and made a mess of everything; the temple, which had once been a masterpiece of beauty, became a rotting ruin.

One summer evening, some six or seven months later, an old woman who owned a teahouse at the foot of Shumongatake Mountain was about to close her shutters when she was terrified at the sight of a priest with a white cap on his head approaching. ‘The Devil Priest! The Devil Priest!’ she cried as she slammed the last shutter in his face. ‘Get away, get away! We can’t have you here.’

‘What do you mean by “Devil Priest”? I am a travelling or pilgrim priest, not a robber. Let me in at once, for I want both rest and refreshment,’ cried the voice from outside. The old woman looked through a crack in the shutters, and saw that it was not the dreaded maniac, but a venerable pilgrim priest: so she opened the door and let him in, profuse in her apologies, and telling him how they were all frightened out of their wits by the priest of Fumonji Temple who had gone mad over a