🧚 Names of Incense Used., part 3

A Passional Karma1

One of the never-failing attractions of the Tōkyō stage is the performance, by the famous Kikugorō and his company, of the _Botan-Dōrō_, or “Peony-Lantern.”2 This weird play, of which the scenes are laid in the middle of the last century, is the dramatization of a romance by the novelist Encho, written in colloquial Japanese, and purely Japanese in local color, though inspired by a Chinese tale.3 I went to see the play; and Kikugorō made me familiar with a new variety of the pleasure of fear.4 “Why not give English readers the ghostly part of the story?”—asked a friend who guides me betimes through the mazes of Eastern philosophy.5 “It would serve to explain some popular ideas of the supernatural which Western people know very little about.6 And I could help you with the translation.”7

I gladly accepted the suggestion; and we composed the following summary of the more extraordinary portion of Enchō’s romance.8 Here and there we found it necessary to condense the original narrative; and we tried to keep close to the text only in the conversational passages,—some of which happen to possess a particular quality of psychological interest.9

—_This is the story of the Ghosts in the Romance of the Peony-Lantern:_—10

I11

There once lived in the district of Ushigomé, in Yedo, a _hatamoto_[1] called Iijima Heizayémon, whose only daughter, Tsuyu, was beautiful as her name, which signifies “Morning Dew.”12 Iijima took a second wife when his daughter was about sixteen; and, finding that O-Tsuyu could not be happy with her mother-in-law, he had a pretty villa built for the girl at Yanagijima, as a separate residence, and gave her an excellent maidservant, called O-Yoné, to wait upon her.13

[1] The _hatamoto_ were samurai forming the special military force of the Shōgun.14 The name literally signifies “Banner-Supporters.”15 These were the highest class of samurai,—not only as the immediate vassals of the Shōgun, but as a military aristocracy.16

O-Tsuyu lived happily enough in her new home until one day when the family physician, Yamamoto Shijō, paid her a visit in company with a young samurai named Hagiwara Shinzaburō, who resided in the Nedzu quarter.17 Shinzaburō was an unusually handsome lad, and very gentle; and the two young people fell in love with each other at sight.18 Even before the brief visit was over, they contrived,—unheard by the old doctor,—to pledge themselves to each other for life.19 And, at parting, O-Tsuyu whispered to the youth,—“_Remember!20 If you do not come to see me again, I shall certainly die!21

Shinzaburō never forgot those words; and he was only too eager to see more of O-Tsuyu.22 But etiquette forbade him to make the visit alone: he was obliged to wait for some other chance to accompany the doctor, who had promised to take him to the villa a second time.23 Unfortunately the old man did not keep this promise.24 He had perceived the sudden affection of O-Tsuyu; and he feared that her father would hold him responsible for any serious results.25 Iijima Heizayémon had a reputation for cutting off heads.26 And the more Shijō thought about the possible consequences of his introduction of Shinzaburō at the Iijima villa, the more he became afraid.27 Therefore he purposely abstained from calling upon his young friend.28

Months passed; and O-Tsuyu, little imagining the true cause of Shinzaburō’s neglect, believed that her love had been scorned.29 Then she pined away, and died.30 Soon afterwards, the faithful servant O-Yoné also died, through grief at the loss of her mistress; and the two were buried side by side in the cemetery of Shin-Banzui-In,—a temple which still stands in the neighborhood of Dango-Zaka, where the famous chrysanthemum-shows are yearly held.31

II32

Shinzaburō knew nothing of what had happened; but his disappointment and his anxiety had resulted in a prolonged illness.33 He was slowly recovering, but still very weak, when he unexpectedly received another visit from Yamamoto Shijō.34 The old man made a number of plausible excuses for his apparent neglect.35 Shinzaburō said to him:—“I have been sick ever since the beginning of spring;—even now I cannot eat anything….36 Was it not rather unkind of you never to call?37 I thought that we were to make another visit together to the house of the Lady Iijima; and I wanted to take to her some little present as a return for our kind reception.38 Of course I could not go by myself.”39

Shijō gravely responded,—“I am very sorry to tell you that the young lady is dead!”40

“Dead!” repeated Shinzaburō, turning white,—“did you say that she is dead?”41

The doctor remained silent for a moment, as if collecting himself: then he resumed, in the quick light tone of a man resolved not to take trouble seriously:—42

“My great mistake was in having introduced you to her; for it seems that she fell in love with you at once.43 I am afraid that you must have said something to encourage this affection—when you were in that little room together.44 At all events, I saw how she felt towards you; and then I became uneasy,—fearing that her father might come to hear of the matter, and lay the whole blame upon me.45 So—to be quite frank with you,—I decided that it would be better not to call upon you; and I purposely stayed away for a long time.46 But, only a few days ago, happening to visit Iijima’s house, I heard, to my great surprise, that his daughter had died, and that her servant O-Yoné had also died.47 Then, remembering all that had taken place, I knew that the young lady must have died of love for you….48 [_Laughing_] Ah, you are really a sinful fellow!49 Yes, you are!50 [_Laughing_] Isn’t it a sin to have been born so handsome that the girls die for love of you?51 [2] [_Seriously_] Well, we must leave the dead to the dead.52 It is no use to talk further about the matter;—all that you now can do for her is to repeat the Nembutsu[3]….53 Good-bye.”54

[2] Perhaps this conversation may seem strange to the Western reader; but it is true to life.55 The whole of the scene is characteristically Japanese.56

[3] The invocation _Namu Amida Butsu!57 _ (“Hail to the Buddha Amitâbha!”),—repeated, as a prayer, for the sake of the dead.58

And the old man retired hastily,—anxious to avoid further converse about the painful event for which he felt himself to have been unwittingly responsible.59

III60

Shinzaburō long remained stupefied with grief by the news of O-Tsuyu’s death.61 But as soon as he found himself again able to think clearly, he inscribed the dead girl’s name upon a mortuary tablet, and placed the tablet in the Buddhist shrine of his house, and set offerings before it, and recited prayers.62 Every day thereafter he presented offerings, and repeated the _Nembutsu;_ and the memory of O-Tsuyu was never absent from his thought.63

Nothing occurred to change the monotony of his solitude before the time of the Bon,—the great Festival of the Dead,—which begins upon the thirteenth day of the seventh month.64 Then he decorated his house, and prepared everything for the festival;—hanging out the lanterns that guide the returning spirits, and setting the food of ghosts on the _shōryōdana_, or Shelf of Souls.65 And on the first evening of the Bon, after sun-down, he kindled a small lamp before the tablet of O-Tsuyu, and lighted the lanterns.66

The night was clear, with a great moon,—and windless, and very warm.67 Shinzaburō sought the coolness of his veranda.68 Clad only in a light summer-robe, he sat there thinking, dreaming, sorrowing;—sometimes fanning himself; sometimes making a little smoke to drive the mosquitoes away.69 Everything was quiet.70 It was a lonesome neighborhood, and there were few passers-by.71 He could hear only the soft rushing of a neighboring stream, and the shrilling of night-insects.72