"hoïchi-the-earless"
in the stories concerning yoshitsune and his loyal retainer benkei we have already referred to the battle of dan-no-ura, the last conflict between the taira and minamoto clans.[2] in this great sea-fight the taira perished, including their infant emperor, antoku tenno. thus is the memorable scene described in the heike monogatari, translated by dr. w. g. aston:
"'this world is the region of sorrow, a remote spot small as a grain of millet. but beneath the waves there is a fair city called the pure land of perfect happiness. thither it is that i am taking you.' with such words she soothed him. the child then tied his top-knot to the imperial robe of the colour of a mountain-dove, and tearfully joined together his lovely little hands. first he turned to the east, and bade adieu to the shrine of the great god of ise and the shrine of hachiman. next he turned to the west, and called upon the name of buddha. when he had done so, niidono made bold to take him in her arms, and, soothing him with the words, 'there is a city away below the waves,' sank down to the bottom one thousand fathoms deep."
it is said that for seven hundred years after this great battle the sea and coast in the vicinity have been haunted by the ghosts of the taira clan. mysterious fires shone on the waves, and the air was filled with the noise of warfare. in order to pacify the unfortunate spirits the temple of amidaji was built at akamagaséki, and a cemetery was made close by, in which were various[pg 301] monuments inscribed with the names of the drowned emperor and his principal followers. this temple and cemetery pacified the ghostly visitants to a certain extent, but from time to time many strange things happened, as we shall gather from the following legend.
there once lived at the amidaji temple a blind priest named hoïchi. he was famous for his recitation and for his marvellous skill in playing upon the biwa (a four-stringed lute), and he was particularly fond of reciting stories in connection with the protracted war between the taira and minamoto clans.
one night hoïchi was left alone in the temple, and as it was a very warm evening he sat out on the verandah, playing now and again upon his biwa. while thus occupied he heard some one approaching, some one stepping across the little back garden of the temple. then a deep voice cried out from below the verandah: "hoïchi!" yet again the voice sounded: "hoïchi!"
hoïchi, now very much alarmed, replied that he was blind, and would be glad to know who his visitor might be.
"my lord," began the stranger, "is now staying at akamagaséki with many noble followers, and he has come for the purpose of viewing the scene of the battle of dan-no-ura. he has heard how excellently you recite the story of the conflict, and has commanded me to escort you to him in order that you may show him your skill. bring your biwa and follow me. my lord and his august assembly now await your honourable presence."
hoïchi, deeming that the stranger was some noble samurai, obeyed immediately. he donned his sandals and took his biwa. the stranger guided him with an iron hand, and they marched along very quickly. hoïchi heard the clank of armour at his side; but all[pg 302] fear left him, and he looked forward to the honour of showing his skill before a distinguished company.
arriving at a gate, the stranger shouted: "kaimon!" immediately the gate was unbarred and opened, and the two men passed in. then came the sound of many hurrying feet, and a rustling noise as of screens being opened. hoïchi was assisted in mounting a number of steps, and, arriving at the top, he was commanded to leave his sandals. a woman then led him forward by the hand till he found himself in a vast apartment, where he judged that a great company of people were assembled. he heard the subdued murmur of voices and the soft movement of silken garments. when hoïchi had seated himself on a cushion the woman who had led him bade him recite the story of the great battle of dan-no-ura.
hoïchi began to chant to the accompaniment of his biwa. his skill was so great that the strings of his instrument seemed to imitate the sound of oars, the movement of ships, the shouting of men, the noise of surging waves, and the whirring of arrows. a low murmur of applause greeted hoïchi's wonderful performance. thus encouraged, he continued to sing and play with even greater skill. when he came to chant of the perishing of the women and children, the plunge of niidono into the sea with the infant emperor in her arms, the company began to weep and wail.
when the performance was over the woman who had led hoïchi told him that her lord was well pleased with his skill, and that he desired him to play before him for the six following nights. "the retainer," added she, "who brought you to-night will visit your temple at the same hour to-morrow. you must keep these visits secret, and may now return to your abode."
once more the woman led hoïchi through the apartment,[pg 303] and having reached the steps the same retainer led him back to the verandah at the back of the temple where he lived.
the next night hoïchi was again led forth to entertain the assembly, and he met with the same success. but this time his absence was detected, and upon his return his fellow priest questioned him in regard to the matter. hoïchi evaded his friend's question, and told him that he had merely been out to attend some private business.
his questioner was by no means satisfied. he regretted hoïchi's reticence and feared that there was something wrong, possibly that, the blind priest had been bewitched by evil spirits. he bade the men-servants keep a strict watch upon hoïchi, and to follow him if he should again leave the temple during the night.
once more hoïchi left his abode. the men-servants hastily lit their lanterns and followed him with all speed; but though they walked quickly, looked everywhere, and made numerous inquiries, they failed to discover hoïchi, or learn anything concerning him. on their return, however, they were alarmed to hear the sound of a biwa in the cemetery of the temple, and on entering this gloomy place they discovered the blind priest. he sat at the tomb of antoku tenno, the infant emperor, where he twanged his biwa loudly, and as loudly chanted the story of the battle of dan-no-ura. about him on every side mysterious fires glowed, like a great gathering of lighted candles.
"hoïchi! hoïchi!" shouted the men. "stop your playing at once! you are bewitched, hoïchi!" but the blind priest continued to play and sing, rapt, it seemed, in a strange and awful dream.
the men-servants now resorted to more extreme[pg 304] measures. they shook him, and shouted in his ear: "hoïchi, come back with us at once!"
the blind priest rebuked them, and said that such an interruption would not be tolerated by the noble assembly about him.
the men now dragged hoïchi away by force. when he reached the temple his wet clothes were taken off and food and drink set before him.
by this time hoïchi's fellow priest was extremely angry, and he not unjustly insisted upon a full explanation of his extraordinary behaviour. hoïchi, after much hesitation, told his friend all that had happened to him. when he had narrated his strange adventures, the priest said:
"my poor fellow! you ought to have told me this before. you have not been visiting a great house of a noble lord, but you have been sitting in yonder cemetery before the tomb of antoku tenno. your great skill has called forth the ghosts of the taira clan. hoïchi, you are in great danger, for by obeying these spirits you have assuredly put yourself in their power, and sooner or later they will kill you. unfortunately i am called away to-night to perform a service, but before i go i will see that your body is covered with sacred texts."
before night approached hoïchi was stripped, and upon his body an acolyte inscribed, with writing-brushes, the text of the sutra known as hannya-shin-kyo. these texts were written upon hoïchi's breast, head, back, face, neck, legs, arms, and feet, even upon the soles thereof.
hoïchi the earless.
then the priest said: "hoïchi, you will be called again to-night. remain silent, sit very still, and continually meditate. if you do these things no harm will befall you."
[pg 305]
that night hoïchi sat alone in the verandah, scarcely moving a muscle and breathing very softly.
once more he heard the sound of footsteps. "hoïchi!" cried a deep voice. but the blind priest made no answer. he sat very still, full of a great fear.
his name was called over and over again, but to no effect. "this won't do," growled the stranger. "i must see where the fellow is." the stranger sprang into the verandah and stood beside hoïchi, who was now shaking all over with the horror of the situation.
"ah!" said the stranger. "this is the biwa, but in place of the player i see—only two ears! now i understand why he did not answer. he has no mouth, only his two ears! those ears i will take to my lord!"
in another moment hoïchi's ears were torn off, but in spite of the fearful pain the blind priest remained mute. then the stranger departed, and when his footsteps had died away the only sound hoïchi heard was the trickling of blood upon the verandah, and thus the priest found the unfortunate man upon his return.
"poor hoïchi!" cried the priest. "it is all my fault. i trusted my acolyte to write sacred texts on every part of your body. he failed to do so on your ears. i ought to have seen that he carried out my instructions properly. however, you will never be troubled with those spirits in future." from that day the blind priest was known as mimi-nashi-hoïchi, "hoïchi-the-earless."
the corpse-eater
muso kokushi, a priest, lost his way while travelling through the province of mino. despairing of finding a human abode, he was about to sleep out in the open, when he chanced to discover a little hermitage, called anjitsu.[pg 306] an aged priest greeted him, and muso requested that he would give him shelter for the night. "no," replied the old priest angrily, "i never give shelter to any one. in yonder valley you will find a certain hamlet; seek a night's repose there."
with these rather uncivil words, muso took his departure, and reaching the hamlet indicated he was hospitably received at the headman's dwelling. on entering the principal apartment, the priest saw a number of people assembled together. he was shown into a separate room, and was about to fall asleep, when he heard the sound of lamentation, and shortly afterwards a young man appeared before him, holding a lantern in his hand.
"good priest," said he, "i must tell you that my father has recently died. we did not like to explain the matter upon your arrival, because you were tired and much needed rest. the number of people you saw in the principal apartment had come to pay their respects to the dead. now we must all go away, for that is the custom in our village when any one dies, because strange and terrible things happen to corpses when they are left alone; but perhaps, being a priest, you will not be afraid to remain with my poor father's body."
muso replied that he was in no way afraid, and told the young man that he would perform a service, and watch by the deceased during the company's absence. then the young man, together with the other mourners, left the house, and muso remained to perform his solitary night vigil.
after muso had undertaken the funeral ceremonies, he sat meditating for several hours. when the night had far advanced, he was aware of the presence of a strange shape, so terrible in aspect that the priest could neither move nor speak. the shape advanced, raised[pg 307] the corpse, and quickly devoured it. not content with this horrible meal, the mysterious form also ate the offerings, and then vanished.
the next morning the villagers returned, and they expressed no surprise, on hearing that the corpse had disappeared. after muso had narrated his strange adventure he inquired if the priest on the hill did not sometimes perform the funeral service. "i visited him last night at his anjitsu, and though he refused me shelter, he told me where i might rest."
the villagers were amazed at these words, and informed muso that there was certainly no priest and no anjitsu on yonder hill. they were positive in their assertion, and assured muso that he had been deluded in the matter by some evil spirit. muso did not reply, and shortly afterwards he took his departure, determined if possible to unravel the mystery.
muso had no difficulty in finding the anjitsu again. the old priest came out to him, bowed, and exclaimed that he was sorry for his former rudeness. "i am ashamed," added he, "not only because i gave you no shelter, but because you have seen my real shape. you have seen me devour a corpse and the funeral offerings. alas! good sir, i am a jikininki [man-eating goblin], and if you will bear with me i will explain my wretched condition.
"many years ago i used to be a priest in this district, and i performed a great number of burial services; but i was not a good priest, for i was not influenced by true religion in performing my tasks, and thought only of the good and fine clothes i could get out of my calling. for that reason i was reborn a jikininki, and have ever since devoured the corpses of all those who died in this district. i beg that you will have pity on my miserable plight, and repeat certain prayers on my behalf, that i[pg 308] may speedily find peace and make an end of my great wickedness."
immediately after these words had been spoken, the recluse and his hermitage suddenly vanished, and muso found himself kneeling beside a moss-covered tomb, which was probably the tomb of the unfortunate priest.
the ghost mother
a pale-faced woman crept down a street called nakabaramachi, entered a certain shop, and purchased a small quantity of midzu-ame.[3] every night, at a late hour, she came, always haggard of countenance and always silent. the shopkeeper, who took a kindly interest in her, followed her one night, but seeing that she entered a cemetery, he turned back, puzzled and afraid.
once again the mysterious woman came to the little shop, and this time she did not buy midzu-ame, but beckoned the shopkeeper to follow her. down the street went the pale-faced woman, followed by the seller of amber syrup and some of his friends. when they reached the cemetery the woman disappeared into a tomb, and those without heard the weeping of a child. when the tomb was opened they saw the corpse of the woman they had followed, and by her side a living child, laughing at the lantern-light and stretching forth its little hands towards a cup of midzu-ame. the woman had been prematurely buried and her babe born in the tomb. every night the silent mother went forth from the cemetery in order that she might bring back nourishment for her child.
[pg 309]
the futon of tottori
in tottori there was a small and modest inn. it was a new inn, and as the landlord was poor he had been compelled to furnish it with goods purchased from a second-hand shop in the vicinity. his first guest was a merchant, who was treated with extreme courtesy and given much warm saké. when the merchant had drunk the refreshing rice wine he retired to rest and soon fell asleep. he had not slumbered long when he heard the sound of children's voices in his room, crying pitifully: "elder brother probably is cold?" "nay, thou probably art cold?" over and over again the children repeated these plaintive words. the merchant, thinking that children had strayed into his room by mistake, mildly rebuked them and prepared to go to sleep again. after a moment's silence the children again cried: "elder brother probably is cold?" "nay, thou probably art cold?"
the guest arose, lit the andon (night-light), and proceeded to examine the room. but there was no one in the apartment; the cupboards were empty, and all the shoji (paper-screens) were closed. the merchant, lay down again, puzzled and amazed. once more he heard the cry, close to his pillow: "elder brother probably is cold?" "nay, thou probably art cold?" the cries were repeated, and the guest, cold with horror, found that the voices proceeded from his futon (quilt).
he hurriedly descended the stairs and told the innkeeper what had happened. the landlord was angry. "you have drunk too much warm saké," said he. "warm saké has brought you evil dreams." but the guest paid his bill and sought lodging elsewhere.
on the following night another guest, slept in the haunted room, and he, too, heard the same mysterious[pg 310] voices, rated the innkeeper, and hastily took his departure. the landlord then entered the apartment himself. he heard the pitiful cries of children coming from one futon, and now was forced to believe the strange story his two guests had told him.
the next day the landlord went to the second-hand shop where he had purchased the futon, and made inquiries. after going from one shop to another, he finally heard the following story of the mysterious futon:
there once lived in tottori a poor man and his wife, with two children, boys of six and eight years respectively. the parents died, and the poor children were forced to sell their few belongings, until one day they were left with only a thin and much-worn futon to cover them at night. at last they had no money to pay the rent, and not even the wherewithal to purchase food of any kind.
when the period of the greatest cold came, the snow gathered so thickly about the humble dwelling that the children could do nothing but wrap the futon about them, and murmur to each other in their sweet, pathetic way: "elder brother probably is cold?" "nay, thou probably art cold?" and sobbing forth these words they clung together, afraid of the darkness and of the bitter, shrieking wind.
while their poor little bodies nestled together, striving to keep each other warm, the hard-hearted landlord entered, and finding that there was no one to pay the rent, he turned the children out of the house, each clad only in one thin kimono. they tried to reach a temple of kwannon, but the snow was too heavy, and they hid behind their old home. a futon of snow covered them and they fell asleep on the merciful bosom of the gods, and were finally buried in[pg 311] the cemetery of the temple of kwannon-of-the-thousand-arms.
when the innkeeper heard this sad story he gave the futon to the priests of the kwannon temple, prayers were recited for the children's souls, and from that hour the futon ceased to murmur its plaintive cries.
the return
in the village of mochida-no-ura there lived a peasant. he was extremely poor, but, notwithstanding, his wife bore him six children. directly a child was born, the cruel father flung it into a river and pretended that it had died at birth, so that his six children were murdered in this horrible way.
at length, as years went by, the peasant found himself in a more prosperous position, and when a seventh child was born, a boy, he was much gratified and loved him dearly.
one night the father took the child in his arms, and wandered out into the garden, murmuring ecstatically: "what a beautiful summer night!"
the babe, then only five months old, for a moment assumed the speech of a man, saying: "the moon looks just as it did when you last threw me in the river!"
when the infant had uttered these words he became like other children; but the peasant, now truly realising the enormity of his crime, from that day became a priest.
a test of love
there was once a certain fair maiden who, contrary to japanese custom, was permitted to choose her own husband. many suitors sought her hand, and they brought her gifts and fair poems, and said many loving words to her. she spoke kindly to each suitor, saying: "i will marry the man who is brave enough to bear a[pg 312] certain test i shall impose upon him, and whatever that test of love may be, i expect him, on the sacred honour of a samurai, not to divulge it." the suitors readily complied with these conditions, but one by one they left her, with horror upon their faces, ceased their wooing, but breathed never a word concerning the mysterious and awful secret.
at length a poor samurai, whose sword was his only wealth, came to the maiden, and informed her that he was prepared to go through any test, however severe, in order that he might make her his wife.
when they had supped together the maiden left the apartment, and long after midnight returned clad in a white garment. they went out of the house together, through innumerable streets where dogs howled, and beyond the city, till they came to a great cemetery. here the maiden led the way while the samurai followed, his hand upon his sword.
when the wooer was able to penetrate the darkness he saw that the maiden was digging the ground with a spade. she dug with extreme haste, and eventually tore off the lid of a coffin. in another moment she snatched up the corpse of a child, tore off an arm, broke it, and commenced to eat one piece, flinging the other to her wooer, crying: "if you love me, eat what i eat!"
without a moment's hesitation the samurai sat down by the grave and began to eat one half of the arm. "excellent!" he cried, "i pray you give me more!" at this point of the legend the horror happily disappears, for neither the samurai nor the maiden ate a corpse—the arm was made of delicious confectionery!
the maiden, with a cry of joy, sprang to her feet, and said: "at last i have found a brave man! i will marry you, for you are the husband i have ever longed for, and until this night have never found."
[1] the legends in this chapter are adapted from stories in lafcadio hearn's kwaidan and glimpses of unfamiliar japan.
[2] see chapter ii.
[3] a syrup made from malt and given to children when milk is not available.
