Kwaidan: Stories and Studies of Strange Things
there, I would kill you this moment! And now you had better take very,
very good care of them; for if ever they have reason to complain of
you, I will treat you as you deserve!”...
Even as she screamed, her voice became thin, like a crying of
wind;—then she melted into a bright white mist that spired to the
roof-beams, and shuddered away through the smoke-hole.... Never again
was she seen.
THE STORY OF AOYAGI
In the era of Bummei [1469-1486] there was a young samurai called
Tomotada in the service of Hatakéyama Yoshimuné, the Lord of Noto (1).
Tomotada was a native of Echizen (2); but at an early age he had been
taken, as page, into the palace of the daimyō of Noto, and had been
educated, under the supervision of that prince, for the profession of
arms. As he grew up, he proved himself both a good scholar and a good
soldier, and continued to enjoy the favor of his prince. Being gifted
with an amiable character, a winning address, and a very handsome
person, he was admired and much liked by his samurai-comrades.
When Tomotada was about twenty years old, he was sent upon a private
mission to Hosokawa Masamoto, the great daimyō of Kyōto, a kinsman of
Hatakéyama Yoshimuné. Having been ordered to journey through Echizen,
the youth requested and obtained permission to pay a visit, on the way,
to his widowed mother.
It was the coldest period of the year when he started; and, though
mounted upon a powerful horse, he found himself obliged to proceed
slowly. The road which he followed passed through a mountain-district
where the settlements were few and far between; and on the second day
of his journey, after a weary ride of hours, he was dismayed to find
that he could not reach his intended halting-place until late in the
night. He had reason to be anxious;—for a heavy snowstorm came on, with
an intensely cold wind; and the horse showed signs of exhaustion. But
in that trying moment, Tomotada unexpectedly perceived the thatched
room of a cottage on the summit of a near hill, where willow-trees were
growing. With difficulty he urged his tired animal to the dwelling; and
he loudly knocked upon the storm-doors, which had been closed against
the wind. An old woman opened them, and cried out compassionately at
the sight of the handsome stranger: “Ah, how pitiful!—a young gentleman
traveling alone in such weather!... Deign, young master, to enter.”
Tomotada dismounted, and after leading his horse to a shed in the rear,
entered the cottage, where he saw an old man and a girl warming
themselves by a fire of bamboo splints. They respectfully invited him
to approach the fire; and the old folks then proceeded to warm some
rice-wine, and to prepare food for the traveler, whom they ventured to
question in regard to his journey. Meanwhile the young girl disappeared
behind a screen. Tomotada had observed, with astonishment, that she was
extremely beautiful,—though her attire was of the most wretched kind,
and her long, loose hair in disorder. He wondered that so handsome a
girl should be living in such a miserable and lonesome place.
The old man said to him:—
“Honored Sir, the next village is far; and the snow is falling thickly.
The wind is piercing; and the road is very bad. Therefore, to proceed
further this night would probably be dangerous. Although this hovel is
unworthy of your presence, and although we have not any comfort to
offer, perhaps it were safer to remain to-night under this miserable
roof... We would take good care of your horse.”
Tomotada accepted this humble proposal,—secretly glad of the chance
thus afforded him to see more of the young girl. Presently a coarse but
ample meal was set before him; and the girl came from behind the
screen, to serve the wine. She was now reclad, in a rough but cleanly
robe of homespun; and her long, loose hair had been neatly combed and
smoothed. As she bent forward to fill his cup, Tomotada was amazed to
perceive that she was incomparably more beautiful than any woman whom
he had ever before seen; and there was a grace about her every motion
that astonished him. But the elders began to apologize for her, saying:
“Sir, our daughter, Aoyagi,[1] has been brought up here in the
mountains, almost alone; and she knows nothing of gentle service. We
pray that you will pardon her stupidity and her ignorance.” Tomotada
protested that he deemed himself lucky to be waited upon by so comely a
maiden. He could not turn his eyes away from her—though he saw that his
admiring gaze made her blush;—and he left the wine and food untasted
before him. The mother said: “Kind Sir, we very much hope that you will
try to eat and to drink a little,—though our peasant-fare is of the
worst,—as you must have been chilled by that piercing wind.” Then, to
please the old folks, Tomotada ate and drank as he could; but the charm
of the blushing girl still grew upon him. He talked with her, and found
that her speech was sweet as her face. Brought up in the mountains as
she might have been;—but, in that case, her parents must at some time
been persons of high degree; for she spoke and moved like a damsel of
rank. Suddenly he addressed her with a poem—which was also a
question—inspired by the delight in his heart:—
“Tadzunétsuru,
Hana ka toté koso,
Hi wo kurasé,
Akénu ni otoru
Akané sasuran?”
[“_Being on my way to pay a visit, I found that which I took to be a
flower: therefore here I spend the day... Why, in the time before dawn,
the dawn-blush tint should glow—that, indeed, I know not._”][2]
Without a moment’s hesitation, she answered him in these verses:—
“Izuru hi no
Honoméku iro wo
Waga sodé ni
Tsutsumaba asu mo
Kimiya tomaran.”
[“_If with my sleeve I hid the faint fair color of the dawning
sun,—then, perhaps, in the morning my lord will remain._”][3]
Then Tomotada knew that she accepted his admiration; and he was
scarcely less surprised by the art with which she had uttered her
feelings in verse, than delighted by the assurance which the verses
conveyed. He was now certain that in all this world he could not hope
to meet, much less to win, a girl more beautiful and witty than this
rustic maid before him; and a voice in his heart seemed to cry out
urgently, “Take the luck that the gods have put in your way!” In short
he was bewitched—bewitched to such a degree that, without further
preliminary, he asked the old people to give him their daughter in
marriage,—telling them, at the same time, his name and lineage, and his
rank in the train of the Lord of Noto.
They bowed down before him, with many exclamations of grateful
astonishment. But, after some moments of apparent hesitation, the
father replied:—
“Honored master, you are a person of high position, and likely to rise
to still higher things. Too great is the favor that you deign to offer
us;—indeed, the depth of our gratitude therefor is not to be spoken or
measured. But this girl of ours, being a stupid country-girl of vulgar
birth, with no training or teaching of any sort, it would be improper
to let her become the wife of a noble samurai. Even to speak of such a
matter is not right... But, since you find the girl to your liking, and
have condescended to pardon her peasant-manners and to overlook her
great rudeness, we do gladly present her to you, for an humble
handmaid. Deign, therefore, to act hereafter in her regard according to
your august pleasure.”
Ere morning the storm had passed; and day broke through a cloudless
east. Even if the sleeve of Aoyagi hid from her lover’s eyes the
rose-blush of that dawn, he could no longer tarry. But neither could he
resign himself to part with the girl; and, when everything had been
prepared for his journey, he thus addressed her parents:—
“Though it may seem thankless to ask for more than I have already
received, I must again beg you to give me your daughter for wife. It
would be difficult for me to separate from her now; and as she is
willing to accompany me, if you permit, I can take her with me as she
is. If you will give her to me, I shall ever cherish you as parents...
And, in the meantime, please to accept this poor acknowledgment of your
kindest hospitality.”
So saying, he placed before his humble host a purse of gold _ryō_. But
the old man, after many prostrations, gently pushed back the gift, and
said:—
“Kind master, the gold would be of no use to us; and you will probably
have need of it during your long, cold journey. Here we buy nothing;
and we could not spend so much money upon ourselves, even if we
wished... As for the girl, we have already bestowed her as a free
gift;—she belongs to you: therefore it is not necessary to ask our
leave to take her away. Already she has told us that she hopes to
accompany you, and to remain your servant for as long as you may be
willing to endure her presence. We are only too happy to know that you
deign to accept her; and we pray that you will not trouble yourself on
our account. In this place we could not provide her with proper
clothing,—much less with a dowry. Moreover, being old, we should in any
event have to separate from her before long. Therefore it is very
fortunate that you should be willing to take her with you now.”
It was in vain that Tomotada tried to persuade the old people to accept
a present: he found that they cared nothing for money. But he saw that
they were really anxious to trust their daughter’s fate to his hands;
and he therefore decided to take her with him. So he placed her upon
his horse, and bade the old folks farewell for the time being, with
many sincere expressions of gratitude.
“Honored Sir,” the father made answer, “it is we, and not you, who have
reason for gratitude. We are sure that you will be kind to our girl;
and we have no fears for her sake.”...
[_Here, in the Japanese original, there is a queer break in the natural
course of the narration, which therefrom remains curiously
inconsistent. Nothing further is said about the mother of Tomotada, or
about the parents of Aoyagi, or about the daimyō of Noto. Evidently the
writer wearied of his work at this point, and hurried the story, very
carelessly, to its startling end. I am not able to supply his
omissions, or to repair his faults of construction; but I must venture
to put in a few explanatory details, without which the rest of the tale
would not hold together... It appears that Tomotada rashly took Aoyagi
with him to Kyōto, and so got into trouble; but we are not informed as
to where the couple lived afterwards._]
...Now a samurai was not allowed to marry without the consent of his
lord; and Tomotada could not expect to obtain this sanction before his
mission had been accomplished. He had reason, under such circumstances,
to fear that the beauty of Aoyagi might attract dangerous attention,
and that means might be devised of taking her away from him. In Kyōto
he therefore tried to keep her hidden from curious eyes. But a retainer
of Lord Hosokawa one day caught sight of Aoyagi, discovered her
relation to Tomotada, and reported the matter to the daimyō. Thereupon
the daimyō—a young prince, and fond of pretty faces—gave orders that
the girl should be brought to the place; and she was taken thither at
once, without ceremony.
Tomotada sorrowed unspeakably; but he knew himself powerless. He was
only an humble messenger in the service of a far-off daimyō; and for
the time being he was at the mercy of a much more powerful daimyō,
whose wishes were not to be questioned. Moreover Tomotada knew that he
had acted foolishly,—that he had brought about his own misfortune, by
entering into a clandestine relation which the code of the military
class condemned. There was now but one hope for him,—a desperate hope:
that Aoyagi might be able and willing to escape and to flee with him.