TAJIMA
by Miss Mitford
Once
upon a time, a certain ronin, Tajima Shume by name, an able and well-read man,
being on his travels to see the world, went up to Kiyoto by the Tokaido. [The
road of the Eastern Sea, the famous highroad leading from Kiyoto to Yedo. The
name is also used to indicate the provinces through which it runs.] One day, in
the neighbourhood of Nagoya, in the province of Owari, he fell in with a
wandering priest, with whom he entered into conversation. Finding that they
were bound for the same place, they agreed to travel together, beguiling their
weary way by pleasant talk on divers matters; and so by degrees, as they became
more intimate, they began to speak without restraint about their private
affairs; and the priest, trusting thoroughly in the honour of his companion,
told him the object of his journey.
“For
some time past,” said he, “I have nourished a wish that has engrossed all my
thoughts; for I am bent on setting up a molten image in honour of Buddha; with
this object I have wandered through various provinces collecting alms, and (who
knows by what weary toil?) we have succeeded in amassing two hundred ounces of
silver—enough, I trust, to erect a handsome bronze figure.”
What
says the proverb? “He who bears a jewel in his bosom bears poison.” Hardly had
the ronin heard these words of the priest than an evil heart arose within him,
and he thought to himself, “Man’s life, from the womb to the grave, is made up
of good and of ill luck. Here am I, nearly forty years old, a wanderer, without
a calling, or even a hope of advancement in the world. To be sure, it seems a
shame; yet if I could steal the money this priest is boasting about, I could
live at ease for the rest of my days;” and so he began casting about how best
he might compass his purpose. But the priest, far from guessing the drift of
his comrade’s thoughts, journeyed cheerfully on till they reached the town of
Kuana. Here there is an arm of the sea, which is crossed in ferry-boats, that
start as soon as some twenty or thirty passengers are gathered together; and in
one of these boats the two travellers embarked. About half-way across, the
priest was taken with a sudden necessity to go to the side of the boat; and the
ronin, following him, tripped him up while no one was looking, and flung him
into the sea. When the boatmen and passengers heard the splash, and saw the
priest struggling in the water, they were afraid, and made every effort to save
him; but the wind was fair, and the boat running swiftly under the bellying
sails; so they were soon a few hundred yards off from the drowning man, who
sank before the boat could be turned to rescue him.
When
he saw this, the ronin feigned the utmost grief and dismay, and said to his
fellow-passengers, “This priest, whom we have just lost, was my cousin; he was
going to Kiyoto, to visit the shrine of his patron; and as I happened to have
business there as well, we settled to travel together. Now, alas! by this
misfortune, my cousin is dead, and I am left alone.”
He
spoke so feelingly, and wept so freely, that the passengers believed his story,
and pitied and tried to comfort him. Then the ronin said to the boatmen:
“We
ought, by rights, to report this matter to the authorities; but as I am pressed
for time, and the business might bring trouble on yourselves as well, perhaps
we had better hush it up for the present; I will at once go on to Kiyoto and
tell my cousin’s patron, besides writing home about it. What think you,
gentlemen?” added he, turning to the other travellers.
They,
of course, were only too glad to avoid any hindrance to their onward journey,
and all with one voice agreed to what the ronin had proposed; and so the matter
was settled. When, at length, they reached the shore, they left the boat, and
every man went his way; but the ronin, overjoyed in his heart, took the
wandering priest’s luggage, and, putting it with his own, pursued his journey
to Kiyoto.
On
reaching the capital, the ronin changed his name from Shume to Tokubei, and,
giving up his position as a samurai, turned merchant, and traded with the dead
man’s money. Fortune favouring his speculations, he began to amass great
wealth, and lived at his ease, denying himself nothing; and in course of time
he married a wife, who bore him a child.
Thus
the days and months wore on, till one fine summer’s night, some three years
after the priest’s death, Tokubei stepped out on the veranda of his house to
enjoy the cool air and the beauty of the moonlight. Feeling dull and lonely, he
began musing over all kinds of things, when on a sudden the deed of murder and
theft, done so long ago, vividly recurred to his memory, and he thought to
himself, “Here am I, grown rich and fat on the money I wantonly stole. Since
then, all has gone well with me; yet, had I not been poor, I had never turned
assassin nor thief. Woe betide me! what a pity it was!” and as he was revolving
the matter in his mind, a feeling of remorse came over him, in spite of all he
could do. While his conscience thus smote him, he suddenly, to his utter
amazement, beheld the faint outline of a man standing near a fir-tree in the
garden; on looking more attentively, he perceived that the man’s whole body was
thin and worn, and the eyes sunken and dim; and in that poor ghost that was
before him he recognised the very priest whom he had thrown into the sea at
Kuana. Chilled with horror, he looked again, and saw that the priest was
smiling in scorn. He would have fled into the house, but the ghost stretched
forth its withered arm, and, clutching the back of his neck, scowled at him
with a vindictive glare and a hideous ghastliness of mien so unspeakably awful
that any ordinary man would have swooned with fear. But Tokubei, tradesman
though he was, had once been a soldier, and was not easily matched for daring;
so he shook off the ghost, and, leaping into the room for his dirk, laid about
him boldly enough; but, strike as he would, the spirit, fading into the air,
eluded his blows, and suddenly reappeared only to vanish again; and from that
time forth Tokubei knew no rest, and was haunted night and day.
At
length, undone by such ceaseless vexation, Tokubei fell ill, and kept
muttering, “Oh, misery! misery! the wandering priest is coming to torture me!”
Hearing his moans and the disturbance he made, the people in the house fancied
he was mad, and called in a physician, who prescribed for him. But neither pill
nor potion could cure Tokubei, whose strange frenzy soon became the talk of the
whole neighbourhood.
Now
it chanced that the story reached the ears of a certain wandering priest who
lodged in the next street. When he heard the particulars, this priest gravely
shook his head as though he knew all about it, and sent a friend to Tokubei’s
house to say that a wandering priest, dwelling hard by, had heard of his
illness, and, were it never so grievous, would undertake to heal it by means of
his prayers; and Tokubei’s wife, driven half wild by her husband’s sickness,
lost not a moment in sending for the priest and taking him into the sick man’s
room.
But
no sooner did Tokubei see the priest than he yelled out, “Help! help! Here is
the wandering priest come to torment me again. Forgive! forgive!” and hiding
his head under the coverlet, he lay quivering all over. Then the priest turned
all present out of the room, put his mouth to the affrighted man’s ear, and
whispered:
“Three
years ago, at the Kuana ferry, you flung me into the water; and well you
remember it.”
But
Tokubei was speechless, and could only quake with fear.
“Happily,”
continued the priest, “I had learned to swim and to dive as a boy; so I reached
the shore, and, after wandering through many provinces, succeeded in setting up
a bronze figure to Buddha, thus fulfilling the wish of my heart. On my journey
homeward, I took a lodging in the next street, and there heard of your
marvellous ailment. Thinking I could divine its cause, I came to see you, and
am glad to find I was not mistaken. You have done a hateful deed; but am I not
a priest, and have I not forsaken the things of this world, and would it not
ill become me to bear malice? Repent, therefore, and abandon your evil ways. To
see you do so I should esteem the height of happiness. Be of good cheer, now,
and look me in the face, and you will see that I am really a living man, and no
vengeful goblin come to torment you.”
Seeing
he had no ghost to deal with, and overwhelmed by the priest’s kindness, Tokubei
burst into tears, and answered, “Indeed, indeed, I don’t know what to say. In a
fit of madness I was tempted to kill and rob you. Fortune befriended me ever
after; but the richer I grew, the more keenly I felt how wicked I had been, and
the more I foresaw that my victim’s vengeance would some day overtake me.
Haunted by this thought, I lost my nerve, till one night I beheld your spirit,
and from that time fell ill. But how you managed to escape, and are still
alive, is more than I can understand.”
“A
guilty man,” said the priest, with a smile, “shudders at the rustling of the
wind or the chattering of a stork’s beak; a murderer’s conscience preys upon
his mind till he sees what is not. Poverty drives a man to crimes which he
repents of in his wealth. How true is the doctrine of Moshi [Mencius], that the
heart of man, pure by nature, is corrupted by circumstances!”
Thus
he held forth; and Tokubei, who had long since repented of his crime, implored
forgiveness, and gave him a large sum of money, saying, “Half of this is the
amount I stole from you three years since; the other half I entreat you to
accept as interest, or as a gift.”
The
priest at first refused the money; but Tokubei insisted on his accepting it,
and did all he could to detain him, but in vain; for the priest went on his
way, and bestowed the money on the poor and needy. As for Tokubei himself, he
soon shook off his disorder, and thenceforward lived at peace with all men,
revered both at home and abroad, and ever intent on good and charitable deeds.
Grateful
thanks to Project Gutenberg.
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