守られた約束
Of a Promise Kept
 
"I SHALL return in the early autumn," said Akana Soyemon several hundred years ago,―when bidding good-bye to his brother by adoption, young Hasebe Samon. The time was spring; and the place was the village of Kato in the province of Harima. Akana was an Izumo samurai; and he wanted to visit his birthplace.
Hasebe said:―
"Your Izumo,―the Country of the Eight-Cloud Rising,―is very distant. Perhaps it will therefore be difficult for you to promise to return here upon any particular day. But, if we were to know the exact day, we should feel happier. We could then prepare a feast of welcome; and we could watch at the gateway for your coming."
"Why, as for that," responded Akana, "I have been so much accustomed to travel that I can usually tell beforehand how long it will take me to reach a place; and I can safely promise you to be here upon a particular day. Suppose we say the day of the festival Choyo?"
"That is the ninth day of the ninth month," said Hasebe;―"then the chrysanthemums will be in bloom, and we can go together to look at them. How pleasant!... So you promise to come back on the ninth day of the ninth month?"
"On the ninth day of the ninth month," repeated Akana, smiling farewell. Then he strode away from the village of Kato in the province of Harima;―and Hasebe Samon and the mother of Hasebe looked after him with tears in their eyes.
 
"Neither the Sun nor the Moon," says an old Japanese proverb, "ever halt upon their journey." Swiftly the months went by; and the autumn came,―the season of chrysanthemums. And early upon the morning of the ninth day of the ninth month Hasebe prepared to welcome his adopted brother. He made ready a feast of good things, bought wine, decorated the guest-room, and filled the vases of the alcove with chrysanthemums of two colors. Then his mother, watching him, said:―"The province of Izumo, my son, is more than one hundred ri from this place; and the journey thence over the mountains is difficult and weary; and you cannot be sure that Akana will be able to come to-day. Would it not be better, before you take all this trouble, to wait for his coming?" "Nay, mother!" Hasebe made answer―"Akana promised to be here to-day: he could not break a promise! And if he were to see us beginning to make preparation after his arrival, he would know that we had doubted his word; and we should be put to shame."
 
The day was beautiful, the sky without a cloud, and the air so pure that the world seemed to be a thousand miles wider than usual. In the morning many travellers passed through the village―some of them samurai; and Hasebe, watching each as he came, more than once imagined that he saw Akana approaching. But the temple-bells sounded the hour of midday; and Akana did not appear. Through the afternoon also Hasebe watched and waited in vain. The sun set; and still there was no sign of Akana. Nevertheless Hasebe remained at the gate, gazing down the road. Later his mother went to him, and said:―"The mind of a man, my son,― as our proverb declares―may change as quickly as the sky of autumn. But your chrysanthemum-flowers will still be fresh to-morrow. Better now to sleep; and in the morning you can watch again for Akana, if you wish." "Rest well, mother," returned Hasebe;―"but I still believe that he will come." Then the mother went to her own room; and Hasebe lingered at the gate.
The right was pure as the day had been: all the sky throbbed with stars; and the white River of Heaven shimmered with unusual splendor. The village slept;― the silence was broken only by the noise of a little brook, and by the far-away barking of peasants' dogs. Hasebe still waited,―waited until he saw the thin moon sink behind the neighboring hills. Then at last he began to doubt and to fear. Just as he was about to re-enter the house, he perceived in the distance a tall man approaching,―very lightly and quickly; and in the next moment he recognized Akana.
"Oh!" cried Hasbe, springing to meet him―"I have been waiting for you from the morning until now!... So you really did keep your promise after all.... But you must be tired, poor brother!―come in;―everything is ready for you." He guided Akana to the place of honor in the guest-room, and hastened to trim the lights, which were burning low. "Mother," continued Hasebe, "felt a little tired this evening, and she has already gone to bed; but I shall awaken her presently." Akana shook his head, and made a little gesture of disapproval. "As you will, brother," said Hasebe; and he set warm food and wine before the traveller. Akana did not touch the food or the wine, but remained motionless and silent for a short time. Then, speaking in a whisper,―as if fearful of awakening the mother, he said:―
"Now I must tell you how it happened that I came thus late. When I returned to Izumo I found that the people had almost forgotten the kindness of our former ruler, the good Lord Enya, and were seeking the favor of the usurper Tsunehisa, who had possessed himself of the Tonda Castle. But I had to visit my cousin, Akana Tanji, though he had accepted service under Tsunehisa, and was living, as a retainer, within the castle grounds. He persuaded me to present myself before Tsunehisa: I yielded chiefly in order to observe the character of the new ruler, whose face I had never seen. He is a skilled soldier, and of great courage; but he is cunning and cruel. I found it necessary to let him know that I could never enter into his service. After I left his presence he ordered my cousin to detain me―to keep me confined within the house. I protested that I had promised to return to Harima upon the ninth day of the ninth month; but I was refused permission to go. I then hoped to escape from the castle at night; but I was constantly watched; and until to-day I could find no way to fulfil my promise...."
"Until to-day!" exclaimed Hasebe in bewilderment;― "the castle is more than a hundred ri from here!"
"Yes," returned Akana; "and no living man can travel on foot a hundred ri in one day. But I felt that, if I did not keep my promise, you could not think well of me; and I remembered the ancient proverb, Tama yoku ichi nichi ni sen ri wo yuku ["The soul of a man can journey a thousand ri in a day"]. Fortunately I had been allowed to keep my sword;―thus only was I able to come to you.... Be good to our mother."
With these words he stood up, and in the same instant disappeared.
 Then Hasebe knew that Akana had killed himself in order to fulfil the promise.
 
 At earliest dawn Hasebe Samon set out for the Castle Tonda, in the province of Izumo. Reaching Matsue, he there learned that, on the night of the ninth day of the ninth month, Akana Soyemon had performed harakiri in the house of Akana Tanji, in the grounds of the castle. Then Hasebe went to the house of Akana Tanji, and reproached Akana Tanji for the treachery done, and slew him in the midst of his family, and escaped without hurt. And when the Lord Tsunehisa had heard the story, he gave commands that Hasebe should not be pursued. For, although an unscrupulous and cruel man himself, the Lord Tsunehisa could respect the love of truth in others, and could admire the friendship and the courage of Hasebe Samon.
 
※人名のSoemonのeにウムラウト、Hasebeの二つのeにアクセント。重陽の意味のChoyoの二つのoに長音記号。
 
 
破られた約束
 
Of a Promise Broken
 
     I
 
"I AM not afraid to die," said the dying wife;―"there is only one thing that troubles me now. I wish that I could know who will take my place in this house."
"My dear one," answered the sorrowing husband, "nobody shall ever take your place in my home. I will never, never marry again."
At the time that he said this he was speaking out of his heart; for he loved the woman whom he was about tolose.
"On the faith of a samurai?" she questioned, with a feeble smile.
"On the faith of a samurai," he responded,-stroking the pale thin face.
"Then, my dear one," she said, "you will let me be buried in the garden,-will you not?-near those plum-trees that we planted at the further end? I wanted long ago to ask this; but I thought, that if you were to marry again, you would not like to have my grave so near you. Now you have promised that no other woman shall take my place;-so I need not hesitate to speak of my wish.... I want so much to be buried in the garden! I think that in the garden I should sometimes hear your voice, and that I should still be able to see the flowers in the spring."
"It shall be as you wish," he answered. "But do not now speak of burial: you are not so ill that we have lost all hope."
"I have," she returned;-"I shall die this morning.... But you will bury me in the garden?"
"Yes," he said,-"under the shade of the plum-trees that we planted;-and you shall have a beautiful tomb there."
"And will you give me a little bell?"
"Bell-? "
"Yes.. I want you to put a little bell in the coffin,- such a little bell as the Buddhist pilgrims carry. Shall I have it?"
"You shall have the little bell,-and anything else that you wish."
"I do not wish for anything else," she said.... "My dear one, you have been very good to me always. Now I can die happy."
Then she closed her eyes and died-as easily as a tired child falls asleep. She looked beautiful when she was dead; and there was a smile upon her face.
 
She was buried in the garden, under the shade of the trees that she loved; and a small bell was buried with her. Above the grave was erected a handsome monument, decorated with the family
crest, and bearing the kaimyo:-"Great Elder Slster, Luminous-
Shadow-of-the-Plum-flower-Chamber, dwelling in the Mansion of the Great Sea of Compassion."
  ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ 
 
But, within a twelve-month after the death of his wife, the relatives and friends of the samurai began to insist that he should marry again. "You are still a young man," they said, "and an only son; and you have no children. It is the duty of a samurai to marry. If you die childless, who will there be to make the offerings and to remember the ancestors?"
By many such representations he was at last persuaded to marry again. The bride was only seventeen years old; and he found that he could love her dearly, notwithstanding the dumb reproach of the tomb in the garden.
 
      U
 
NOTHING took place to disturb the happiness of the young wife until the seventh day after the wedding,-when her husband was ordered to undertake certain duties requiring his presence at the castle by night. On the first evening that he was obliged to leave her alone, she felt uneasy in a way that she could not explain,-vaguely afraid without knowing why. When she went to bed she could not sleep. There was a strange oppression in the air,-an indefinable heaviness like that which sometimes precedes the coming of a storm.
About the Hour of the Ox she heard, outside in the night, the clanging of a bell,-a Buddhist pilgrim's bell;-and she wondered what pilgrim could be passing through the samurai quarter at such a time. Presently, after a pause, the bell sounded much nearer. Evidently the pilgrim was approaching the house;-but why approaching from the rear, where no road was?... Suddenly the dogs began to whine and howl in an unusual and horrible way;-and a fear came upon her like the fear of dreams.... That ringing was certainly in the garden.... She tried to get up to waken a servant. But she found that she could not rise,-could not move,-could not call.... And nearer, and still more near, came the clang of the bell;-and oh! how the dogs howled!... Then, lightly as a shadow steals, there glided into the room a Woman,-though every door stood fast, and every screen unmoved,-a Woman robed in a grave-robe, and carrying a pilgrim's bell. Eyeless she came,-because she had long been dead,.-and her loosened hair streamed down about her face;-and she looked without eyes through the tangle of it, and spoke without a tongue:-
 
"Not in this house,-not in this house shall you stay! Here I am mistress still. You shall go; and you shall tell to none the reason of your going. If you tell HIM, I will tear you into pieces!"
 
So speaking, the haunter vanished. The bride became senseless with fear. Until the dawn she so remained.
 
Nevertheless, in the cheery light of day, she doubted the reality of what she had seen and heard. The memory of the warning still weighed upon her so heavily that she did not dare to speak of the vision, either to her husband or to any one else; but she was almost able to persuade herself that she had only dreamed an ugly dream, which had made her ill.
On the following night, however, she could not doubt. Again, at the Hour of the Ox, the dogs began to howl and whine;-again the bell resounded,-approaching slowly from the garden;-again the listener vainly strove to rise and call;-again the dead came into the room, and hissed,-
 
"You shall go; and you shall tell to no one why you must go! If you even whisper it to HIM, I wilt tear you in pieces!"...
 
This time the haunter came close to the couch,-and bent and muttered and mowed above it....
Next morning, when the samurai returned from the castle, his young wife prostrated herself before him in supplication:-
"I beseech you," she said, "to pardon my ingratitude and my great rudeness in thus addressing you: but I want to go home;-I want to go away at once."
"Are you not happy here?" he asked, in sincere surprise. "Has any one dared to be unkind to you during my absence?"
"It is not that-" she answered, sobbing. "Everybody here has been only too good to me.... But I cannot continue to be your wife;-I must go away...."
"My dear," he exclaimed, in great astonislment, "it is very painful to know that you have had any cause for unhappiness in this house. But I cannot even imagine why you should want to go away-unless somebody has been very unkind to you.... Surely you do not mean that you wish for a divorce?"
She responded, trembling and weeping,-
"If you do not give me a divorce, I shall die!"
He remained for a little while silent,-vainly trying to think of some cause for this amazing declaration. Then, without betraying any emotion, he made answer:-
"To send you back now to your people, without any fault on your part, would seem a shameful act. If you will tell me a good reason for your wish,-any reason that will enable me to explain matters honorably,-I can write you a divorce. But unless you give me a reason, a good reason, I will not divorce you,-for the honor of our house must be kept above reproach."
And then she felt obliged to speak; and she told him everything,-adding, in an agony of terror,- "Now that I have let you know, she will kill me!-she will kill me!..."
Although a brave man, and little inclined to believe in phantoms, the samurai was more than startled for the moment. But a simple and natural explanation of the matter soon presented itself to his mind.
"My dear," he said, "you are now very nervous; and I fear that some one has been telling you foolish stories. I cannot give you a divorce merely because you have had a bad dream in this house. But I am very sorry indeed that you should have been suffering in such a way during my absence. To-night, also, I must be at the castle; but you shall not be alone. I will order two of the retainers to keep watch in your room; and you will be able to sleep in peace. They are good men; and they will take all possible care of you."
Then he spoke to her so considerately and so affectionately that she became almost ashamed of her terrors, and resolved to remain in the house.
 
       V
 
THE two retainers left in charge of the young wife were big, brave, simple-hearted men,-experienced guardians of women and children. They told the bride pleasant stories to keep her cheerful. She talked with them a long time, laughed at their good-humored fun, and almost forgot her fears. When at last she lay down to sleep, the men-at-arms took their places in a corner of the room, behind a screen, and began a game of go,-speaking only in whispers, that she might not be disturbed. She slept like an infant.
But again at the Hour of the Ox she awoke with a moan of terror,-for she heard the bell!... It was already near, and was coming nearer. She started up; she screamed;-but in the room there was no stir,-only a silence as of death,-a silence growing,-a silence thickening. She rushed to the men-at-arms: they sat before their checker-table,-motionless,-each staring at the other with fixed eyes. She shrieked to them: she shook them: they remained as if frozen....
 
Afterwards they said that they had heard the bell,-heard also the cry of the bride,-even felt her try to shake them into wakefulness;-and that, nevertheless, they had not been able to move or speak. From the same moment they had ceased to hear or to see: a black sleep had seized upon them.
 
   ・  ・  ・  ・  ・  ・
 
Entering his bridal-chamber at dawn, the samurai beheld, by the light of a dying lamp, the headless body of his young wife, lying in a pool of blood. Still squatting before their unfinished game, the two retainers slept. At their master's cry they sprang up, and stupidly stared at the horror on the floor....
The head was nowhere to be seen;-and the hideous wound showed that it had not been cut off, but torn off. A trail of blood led from the chamber to an angle of the outer gallery, where the storm-doors appeared to have been riven apart. The three men followed that trail into the garden,-over reaches of grass;.-over spaces of sand,-along the bank of an iris-bordered pond,- under heavy shadowings of cedar and bamboo. And suddenly, at a turn, they found themselves face to face with a nightmare-thing that chippered like a bat: the figure of the long-buried woman, erect before her tomb,-in one hand clutching a bell, in the other the dripping head.... For a moment the three stood numbed. Then one of the men-at-arms, uttering a Buddhist invocation, drew, and struck at the shape. Instantly it crumbled down upon the soil,-an empty scattering of grave-rags, bones, and hair;-and the bell rolled clanking out of the ruin. But the fleshless right hand, though parted from the wrist, still writhed;-and its angers still gripped at the bleeding head,-and tore, and mangled,-as the claws of the yellow crab cling fast to a fallen fruit....
                 *
                *  *
["That is a wicked story," I said to the friend who had related it. "The vengeance of the dead-if taken at all-should have been taken upon the man."
"Men think so," he made answer. "But that is not the way that a woman feels...."
 
He was right.]
 
閻魔の庁で
 
Before the Supreme Court
 
THE great Buddhist priest, Mongaku Shonin, says in his book Kyo-gyo Shin-sho:-"Many of those gods whom the people worship are unjust gods [jajin]: therefore such gods are not worshipped by persons who revere the Three Precious Things. And even persons who obtain favors from those gods, in answer to prayer, usually find at a later day that such favors cause misfortune." This truth is well exemplified by a story recorded in the book Nihon-Rei-Iki.
 
During the time of the Emperor Shomu there lived in the district called Yamadagori, in the province of Sanuki, a man named Fushiki no Shin. He had but one child, a daughter called Kinume. Kinume was a fine-1ooking girl, and very strong; but, shortly after she had reached her eighteenth year, a dangerous sickness began to prevail in that part of the country, and she was attacked by it. Her parents and friends then made offerings on her behalf to a certain Pest-God, and performed great austerities in honor of the Pest-God,-beseeching him to save her.
After having lain in a stupor for several days, the sick girl one evening came to herself, and told her parents a dream that she had dreamed. She had dreamed that the Pest-God appeared to her, and said:-"Your people have been praying to me so earnestly for you, and have been worshipping me so devoutly, that I really wish to save you. But I cannot do so except by giving you the life of some other person. Do you happen to know of any other girl who has the same name as yours?" "I remember," answered Kinume, "that in Utarigori there is a girl whose name is the same as mine." "Point her out to me," the God said, touching the sleeper;-and at the touch she rose into the air with him; and, in less than a second, the two were in front of the house of the other Kinume, in Utarigori. It was night; but the family had not yet gone to bed, and the daughter was washing something in the kitchen. "That is the girl," said Kinume of Yamadagori. The Pest-God took out of a scarlet bag at his girdle a long sharp instrument shaped like a chisel; and, entering the house, he drove the sharp instrument into the forehead of Kinume of Utarigori. Then Kinume of Utarigori sank to the floor in great agony; and Kinume of Yamadagori awoke, and related the dream.
Immediately after having related it, however, she again fell into a stupor. For three days she remained without knowledge of the world,. and her parents began to despair of her recovery. Then once more she opened her eyes, and spoke. But almost in the same moment she rose from her bed, looked wildly about the room, and rushed out of the house, exclaiming:-"This is not my home!-you are not my parents!"...
 
Something strange had happened.
Kinume of Utarigori had died after having been stricken by the Pest-God. Her parents sorrowed greatly; and the priests of their parish-temple performed a Buddhist service for her; and her body was burned in a field outside the village. Then her spirit descended to the Meido, the world of the dead, and was summoned to the tribunal of Emma-Dai-O,-the King and Judge of Souls. But no sooner had the Judge cast eyes upon her than he exclaimed:-"This girl is the Utarigori-Kinume: she ought not to have been brought here so soon! Send her back at once to the Shaba-world, and fetch me the other Kinume,-the Yamadagori gir1!" Then the spirit of Kinume of Utarigori made moan before King Emma, and complained, saying:-"Great Lord, it is more than three days since I died; and by this time my body must have been burned; and, if you now send me back to the Shaba-world, what shall I do? My body has been changed into ashes and smoke;-I shall have no body!" "Do not be anxious," the terrible King answered;-"I am going to give you the body of Kinume of Yamadagori,-for her spirit must be brought here to me at once. You need not fret about the burning of your body: you will find the body of the other Kinume very much better." And scarcely had he finished speaking when the spirit of Knume of Utarigori revived in the body of Knume of Yamadagori.
 
Now when the parents of Kinume of Yamadagori saw their sick girl spring up and run away, exclaiming, "This is not my home!"-they imagined her to be out of her mind, and they ran after her, calling out:-"Kinume, where are you going?-wait for a moment, child! you are much too ill to run like that!" But she escaped from them, and ran on without stopping, until she came to Utarigori, and to the house of the family of the dead Kinume. There she entered, and found the old people; and she saluted them, crying:-"Oh, how pleasant to be again at home!... Is it well with you, dear parents?" They did not recognize her, and thought her mad; but the mother spoke to her kindly, asking:-"Where have you come from, child?" "From the Meido I have come," Knume made answer. "l am your own child, Kinume, returned to you from the dead. But I have now another body, mother." And she related all that had happened; and the old people wondered exceedingly, yet did not know what to believe. Presently the parents of Kinume of Yamadagori also came to the house, looking for their daughter; and then the two fathers and the two mothers consulted together, and made the girl repeat her story, and questioned her over and over again. But she replied to every question in such a way that the truth of her statements could not be doubted. At last the mother of the Yamadagori Kinume, after having related the strange dream which her sick daughter had dreamed, said to the parents of the Utarigori Knume:-"We are satisfied that the spirit of this girl is the spirit of your child. But you know that her body is the body of our child; and we think that both families ought to have a share in her. So we would ask you to agree that she be considered hence-forward the daughter of both families." To this proposal the Utarigori parents joyfully consented; and it is recorded that in after-time Knume inherited the property of both households.
 
"This story," says the Japanese author of the Bukkyo Hyakkwa Zensho, "may be found on the left side of the twelfth sheet of the first volume of the Nihon-Rei-Iki."
 
梅津忠兵衛
 
The Story of Umetsu Chubei
 
 
UMETSU CHUBEI was a young samurai of great stength and courage. He was in the service of the Lord Tomura Judayu, whose castle stood upon a lofty hill in the neighborhood of Yokote, in the province of Dewa. The houses of the lord's retainers formed a small town at the base of the hill.
Umetsu was one of those selected for night-duty at the castle-gates. There were two night-watches;-the first beginning at sunset and ending at midnight; the second beginning at midnight and ending at sunrise.
Once, when Umetsu happened to be on the second watch, he met with a strange adventure. While ascending the hill at midnight, to take his place on guard, he perceived a woman standing at the last upper turn of the winding road leading to the castle. She appeared to have a child in her arms, and to be waiting for somebody. Only the most extraordinary circumstances could account for the presence of a woman in that lonesome place at so late an hour; and Umetsu remembered that goblins were wont to assume feminine shapes after dark, in order to deceive and destroy men. He therefore doubted whether the seeming woman before him was really a human being; and when he saw her hasten towards him, as if to speak, he intended to pass her by without a word. But he was too much surprised to do so when the woman called him by name, and said, in a very sweet voice:-"Good Sir Umetsu, to-night I am in great trouble, and I have a most painful duty to perform: will you not kindly help me by holding this baby for one little moment?" And she held out the child to him.
Umetsu did not recognize the woman, who appeared to be very young: he suspected the charm of the strange voice, suspected a supernatural snare, suspected everything;-but he was naturally kind; and he felt that it would be unmanly to repress a kindly impulse through fear of goblins. Without replying, he took the child. "Please hold it till I come back," said the woman: "I shall return in a very little while." "I will hold it," he answered; and immediately the woman turned from him, and, leaving the road, sprang soundlessly down the hill so lightly and so quickly that he could scarcely believe his eyes. She was out of sight in a few seconds.
Umetsu then first looked at the child. It was very small, and appeared to have been just born. It was very still in his hands; and it did not cry at all.
Suddenly it seemed to be growing larger. He looked at it again.... No: it was the same small creature; and it had not even moved. Why had he imagined that it was growing larger?
In another moment he knew why;-and he felt a chill strike through him. The Child was not growing larger; but it was growing heavier.... At first it had seemed to weigh only seven or eight pounds: then its weight had gradually doubled-tripled-quadrupled. Now it could not weigh less than fifty pounds;-and still it was getting heavier and heavier.... A hundred pounds!-a hundred and fifty!-two hundred!... Umetsu knew that he had been deluded,-that he had not been speaking with any mortal woman,-that the child was not human. But he had made a promise; and a samurai was bound by his promise. So he kept the infant in his arms; and it continued to grow heavier and heavier... two hundred and fifty!-three hundred!-four hundred pounds!... What was going to happen he could not imagine; but he resolved not to be afraid, and not to let the child go while his strength lasted.... Five hundred!-five hundred and fifty!-six hundred pounds! All his muscles began to quiver with the strain;-and still the weight increased.... "Namu Amida Butsu!" he groaned-,Namu Amida Butsu!-Namu Amida Butsu!" Even as he uttered the holy invocation for the third time, the weight passed away from him with a shock; and he stood stupefied, with empty hands,-for the child had unaccountably disappeared. But almost in the same instant he saw the mysterious woman returning as quickly as she had gone. Still panting she came to him; and he then first saw that she was very fair;-but her brow dripped with sweat; and her sleeves were bound back with tasuki-cords, as if she had been working hard.
"Kind Sir Umetsu," she said, "you do not know how great a service you have done me. I am the Ujigami of this place; and to-night one of my ujiko found herself in the pains of childbirth, and prayed to me for aid. But the labor proved to be very difficult; and I soon saw that, by my own power alone, I might not be able to save her:-therefore I sought for the help of your strength and courage. And the child that I laid in yours hands was the child that had not yet been born; and iri the time that you first felt the child becoming heavie and heavier, the danger was very great,-for the Gate of Birth were closed. And when you felt the child become so heavy that you despaired of being able to bear the weight much longer,-in that same moment the mother seemed to be dead, and the family wept for her. Then you three times repeated the prayer, Namu Amida Butsu!-and the third time that you uttered it the power of the Lord Buddha came to our aid, and the Gates of Birth were opened.... And for that which you have done you shall be fitly rewarded. To a brave samurai no gift can be more serviceable than strength: therefore, not only to you, but likewise to your children and to your children's children, great strength shall be given."
And, with this promise, the divinity disappeared.
 
Umetsu Chubei, wondering greatly, resumed his way to the castle. At sunrise, on being relieved from duty, he proceeded as usual to wash his face and hands before making his morning prayer. But when he began to wring the towel which had served him, he was surprised to feel the tough material snap asunder in his hands. He attempted to twist together the separated portions; and again the stuff parted-like so much wet paper. He tried to wring the four thicknesses; and the result was the same. Presently, after handling various objects of bronze and of iron which yielded to his touch like clay, he understood that he had come into full possession of the great strength promised, and that he would have to be careful thenceforward when touching things, lest they should crumble in his angers.
On retuming home, he made inquiry as to whether any child had been born in the settlement during the night. Then he learned that a birth had actually taken place at the very hour of his adventure, and that the circumstances had been exactly as related to him by the Ujigami.
 
The children of Umetsu Chubei inherited their father's strength. Several of his descendants-all remarkably powerful men-were still living in the province of Dewa at the time when this story was written.
 
 
興義和尚のはなし
 
The Story of Kogi the Priest
 
NEARLY one thousand years ago there lived in the famous temple called Miidera, at Otsu in the province of Omi, a learned priest named Kogi. He was a great artist. He painted, with almost equal skill, pictures of the Buddhas, pictures of beautiful scenery, and pictures of animals or birds; but he liked best to paint fishes. Whenever the weather was fair, and religious duty permitted, he would go to Lake Biwa, and hire fishermen to catch fish for him, without injuring them in any way, so that he could paint them afterwards as they swam about in a large vessel of water. After having made pictures of them, and fed them like pets, he would set them free again,―taking them back to the lake himself. His pictures of fish at last became so famous that people travelled from great distances to see them. But the most wonderful of all his drawings of fish was not drawn from life, but was made from the memory of a dream. For one day, as he sat by the lake―side to watch the fishes swimming, Kogi had fallen into a doze, and had dreamed that he was playing with the fishes under the water. After he awoke, the memory of the dream remained so clear that he was able to paint it; and this painting, which he hung up in the alcove of his own room in the temple,he called "Dream-Carp."
Kogi could never be persuaded to sell any of pictures of fish. He was willing to part with his drawings of landscapes, of birds, or of flowers; but he said that he would not sell a picture of living fish to any one who was cruel enough to kill or to eat fish. And as the persons who wanted to buy his paintings were all fish―eaters, their offers of money could not tempt him.
 
 One summer Kogi fell sick; and after a week's illness he lost all power of speech and movement, so that he seemed to be dead. But after his funeral service had been performed, his disciples discovered some warmth in the body, and decided to postpone the burial for awhile, and to keep watch by the seeming corpse. In the afternoon of the same day he suddenly revived, and questioned the watchers, asking:―    
 "How long have I remained without knowledge of the world?"
 "More than three days," an acolyte made answer.
"We thought that you were dead; and this morning your friends and parishioners assembled in the temple for your funeral service. We performed the service; but afterwards, finding that your body was not altogether cold, we put off the burial; and now we are very glad that we did so."
 Kogi nodded approvingly: then he said:
 "I want some one of you to go immediately to the house of Taira no Suke, where the young men are having a feast at the present moment―(they are eating fish and drinking wine),―and say to them:―'Our master has revived; and he begs that you will be so good as to leave your feast, and to call upon him without delay, because he has a wonderful story to tell you.'... At the same time"―continued Kogi―"observe what Suke and his brothers are doing;―see whether they are not feasting as I say."
 Then an acolyte went at once to the house of Taira no Suke, and was surprised to find that Suke and his brother Juro, with their attendant, Kamori, were having a feast, just as Kogi had said. But, on receiving the message, all three immediately left their fish and wine, and hastened to the temple. Kogi, lying upon the couch to which he had been removed, received them with a smile of welcome; and, after some pleasant words had been exchanged, he said to Suke:―
 "Now, my friend, please reply to some questions that I am going to ask you. First of all, kindly tell me whether you did not buy a fish to-day from the fisherman Bunshi."
 "Why, yes," replied Suke―"but how did you know?"
 "Please wait a moment," said the priest.... "That fisherman Bunshi to-day entered your gate, with a fish three feet long in his basket: it was early in the afternoon, just after you and Juro had begun a game of go[#「go」は斜体字];―and Kamori was watching the game, and eating a peach―was he not?"
 "That is true," exclaimed Suke and Kamori togethther, with increasing surprise.
 "And when Kamori saw that big fish," proceeded Kogi, "he agreed to buy it at once; and, besides paying the price of the fish, he also gave Bunshi some peaches, in a dish, and three cups of wine. Then the cook was called; and he came and looked at the fish, and admired it; and then, by your order, he sliced it and prepared it for your feast.... Did not all this happen just as I have said?"
 "Yes," responded Suke; "but we are very much astonished that you should know what happened in our house to-day. Please tell us how you learned these matters."
 "Well, now for my story," said the priest. "You are aware that almost everybody believed me to be dead;―you yourselves attended my funeral service. But I did not think, three days ago, that I was at all dangerously ill: I remember only that I felt weak and very hot, and that I wanted to go out into the air to cool myself. And I thought that I got up from my bed, with a great effort, and went out,―supporting myself with a stick.... Perhaps this may have been imagination; but you will presently be able to judge the truth for yourselves: I am going to relate everything exactly as it appeared to happen.... As soon as I got outside of the house, into the bright air, I began to feel quite light,―light as a bird flying away from the net or the basket in which it has been confined. I wandered on and on till I reached the lake; and the water looked so beautiful and blue that I felt a great desire to have a swim. I took off my clothes, and jumped in, and began to swim about; and I was astonished to find that I could swim very fast and very skilfully,―although before my sickness I had always been a very poor swimmer.... You think that I am only telling you a foolish dream―but listen!... While I was wondering at this new skill of mine, I perceived many beautiful fishes swimming below me and around me; and I felt suddenly envious of their happiness,― reflecting that, no matter how good a swimmer a man may become, he never can enjoy himself under the water as a fish can. Just then, a very big fish lifted its head above the surface in front of me, and spoke to me with the voice of a man, saying:―'That wish of you can very easily be satisfied: please wait there a moment!' The fish then went down, out of sight; and I waited. After a few minutes there came up, from the bottom of the lake,―riding on the back of the same big fish that had spoken to me,―a man wearing the headdress and the ceremonial robes of a prince; and the man said to me:―'I come to you with a message from the Dragon-King, who knows of your desire to enjoy for a little time the condition of a fish. As you have saved the lives of many fish, and have always shown compassion to living creatures, the God now bestows upon you the attire of the Golden Carp, so that you will be able to enjoy the pleasures of the Water-World. But you must be very careful not to eat any fish, or any food prepared from fish,―no matter how nice may be the smell of it;―and you must also take great care not to get caught by the fishermen, or to hurt your body in any way.'With these words, the messenger and his fish went below and vanished in the deep water. I looked at myself, and saw that my whole body had become covered with scales that shone like gold;―I saw that I had fins;―I found that I had actually been changed into a Golden Carp. Then I knew that I could swim wherever I pleased.
 "Thereafter it seemed to me that I swam away, and visited many beautiful places. [Here, in the original narrative, are introduced some verses describing the Eight Famous Attractions of the Lake of Omi,?"Omi-Hakkei."][#「Here」から「Omi-Hakkei」までは斜体字] sometimes I was satisfied only to look at the sunlight dancing over the blue water, or to admire the beautiful reflection of hills and trees upon still surfaces sheltered from the wind.... I remember especially the coast of an island―either Okitsushima or Chikubushima―reflected in the water like a red wall.... Sometimes I would approach the shore so closely that I could see the faces and hear the voices of people passing by; sometimes I would sleep on the water until startled by the sound of approaching oars. At night there were beautiful moonlight―views; but I was frightened more than once by the approaching torchfires of the fishing―boats of Katase. When the weather was bad, I would go below,―far down,―even a thousand feet,―and play at the bottom of the lake. But after two or three days of this wandering pleasure, I began to feel very hungry; and I returned to this neighborhood in the hope of finding something to eat. Just at that time the fisherman Bunshi happened to be fishing;and I approached the hook which he had let down into the water. There was some fish―food upon it that was good to smell. I remembered in the same moment the warning of the Dragon-Kng, and swam away, saying to myself:―'ln any event I must not eat food containing fish;―I am a disciple of the Buddha. Yet after a little while my hunger became so intense that I could not resist the temptation; and I swam back again to the hook, thinking,―'Even if Bunshi should catch me, he would not hurt me;―he is my old friend.' I was not able to loosen the bait from the hook; and the pleasant smell of the food was too much for my patience; and I swallowed the whole thing at a gulp. Immediately after I did so, Bunshi pulled in his line, and caught me. I cried out to him, 'What are you doing?―you hurt me!'―but he did not seem to hear me, and he quickly put a string through my jaws. Then he threw me into his basket, and took me to your house. When the basket was opened there, I saw you and Juro playing go in the south room, and Kamori watching you―eating a peach the while. All of you presently came out upon the veranda to look at me; and you were delighted to see such a big fish. I called out to you as loud as I could:―'I am not a fish!―I am Kogi―Kogi the priest! please let me go back to my temple!, But you clapped your hands for gladness, and paid no attention to my words. Then your cook carried me into the kitchen, and threw me down violently upon a cutting―board, where a terribly sharp knife was lying. With his left hand he pressed me down, and with his right hand he took up that knife,―and I screamed to him:―'How can you kill me so cruelly! I am a disciple of the Buddha!―help! help!' But in the same instant I felt his knife dividing me―a frightful pain!―and then I suddenly awoke, and found myself here in the temple."
 
 When the priest had thus finished his story, the brothers wondered at it; and Suke said to him:―"I now remember noticing that the jaws of the fish were moving all the time that we were looking at it; but we did not hear any voice.... Now I must send a servant to the house with orders to throw the remainder of that fish into the lake."
 
 Kogi soon recovered from his illness, and lived to paint many more pictures. It is related that, long after his death, some of his fish―pictures once happened to fall into the lake, and that the figures of the fish immediately detached themselves from the silk or the paper upon which they had been painted, and swam away!
※ Otsu(大津)、Omi(近江)、Kogi(興義)、Juro(十郎)のそれぞれの、「O」「o」の上とJuroの「u」の上とには長音を示すバーがある。Suke(助)とKataseの「e」の上にはアクセント記号がある。
 
 
    The Story of Kwashin Koji  果心居士の話
DURING the period of Tensho there lived, in one of the northem districts of Kyoto, an old man whom the people called Kwashin Koji. He wore a long white beard, and was always dressed like a Shinto priest; but he made his living by exhibiting Buddhist pictures and by preaching Buddhist doctrine. Every fine day he used to go to the grounds of the temple Gion, and there suspend to some tree a large kakemono on which were depicted the punishments of the various hells. This kakemono was so wonderhlly painted that all things represented in it seemed to be real; and the old man would discourse to the people drowding to see it, and explain to them the Law of Cause and Effect, -pointing out with a Buddhist staff [nyoi], which he always carried, each detail of the different torments, and exhorting everybody to follow the teachings of the Buddha. Multitudes assembled to look at the picture and to hear the old man preach about it; and sometimes the mat which he spread before him, to receive contributions, was covered out of sight by the heaping of coins thrown upon it.
Oda Nobunaga was at that time ruler of Kyoto and of the surrounding provinces. One of his retainers, named Arakawa, during a visit to the temple of Gion, happened to see the picture being displayed there; and he afterwards talked about it at the palace. Nobunaga was interested by Arakawa's description, and sent orders to Kwashin Koji to come at once to the palace, and to bring the picture with him.
When Nobunaga saw the kakemono he was not able to conceal his surprise at the vividness of the work: the demons and the tortured spirits actually appeared to move before his eyes; and he heard voices crying out of the picture; and the blood there represented seemed to be really flowing,-so that he could not help putting out his finger to feel if the painting was wet. But the finger was not stained, -for the paper proved to be perfectly dry. More and more astonished, Nobunag asked who had made the wonderful picture. Kwashin Koji answered that it had been painted by the famous Oguri Sotan,-after he had performed the rite of self-purification every day for a hundred days, and practised great austerities, and made eanest prayer for inspiration to the divine Kwannon of Kiyomidzu Temple.
 
Observing Nobunaga's evident desire to possess the kakemono, Arakawa then asked Kwashin Koji whether he would "offer it up," as a gift to the great lord. But the old man boldly answered: -"This painting is the only object of value that I possess; and I am able to make a little money by showing it to the people. Were I now to present this picture to the lord, I should deprive myself of the only means which I have to make my living. However, if the lord be greatly desirous to possess it, let him pay me for it the sum of one hundred ryo of gold. With that amount of money I should be able to engage in some profitable business. Otherwise, I must refuse to give up the picture."
Nobunaga did not seem to be pleased at this reply; and he remained silent. Arakawa presently whispered something in the ear of the lord, who nodded assent; and Kwashin Koji was then dismissed, with a small present of money.
 
But when the old man left the palace, Arakawa secretly followed him, -hoping for a chance to get the picture by foul means. The chance came; for Kwashin Koji happened to take a road leading directly to the heights beyond the town. When he reached a certain lonesome spot at the foot of the hills, where the road made a sudden tum, he was seized by Arakawa, who said to him: -"Why were you so greedy as to ask a hundred ryo of gold for that picture? Instead of a hundred ryo of gold, I am now going to give you one piece of iron three feet long." Then Arakawa drew his sword, and killed the old man, and took the picture.
The next day Arakawa presented the kakemono -still wrapped up as Kwashin Koji had wrapped before leaving the palace-to Oda Nobunaga, who ordered it to be hung up forthwith. But, when it was unrolled, both Nobunaga and his retainer were astounded to find that there was no picture at all-nothing but a blank surface. Arakawa could not explain how the original painting had disappeared; and as he had been guilty-whether willingly or unwillingly-of deceiving his master, it was decided that he should be punished. Accordingly he was sentenced to remain in confinement for a considerable time. 
 
Scarcely had Arakawa completed his term of imprisonment, when news was brought to him that Kwashin Koji was exhibibng the famous picture in the grounds of Kitano Temple. Arakawa could hardly be1ieve his ears; but the information inspired him with a vague hope that he might be able, in some way or other, to secure the kakemono, and thereby redeem his recent fault. So he quickly assembled some of his fol1owers, and hurried to the temple; but when he reached it he was told that Kwashin Koji had gone aw'ay.
Several days later, word was brought to Arakawa that Kwashin Koji was exhibiting the picture at Kiyomidzu Temple, and preaching about it to an immense crowd. Arakawa made all haste to Kiyomidzu; but he arrived there only in time to see the crowd disperse, -for Kwashin Koji had again disappeared.
At last one day Arakawa unexpectedly caught sight of Kwashin Koji in a wine-shop, and there captured him. The old man only laughed good-humoredly on finding himself seized, and said: -I will go with you; but please wait until I drink a little wine." To this request Arakawa made no objection; and Kwashin Koji thereupon drank, to the amazement of the bystanders, twelve bowls of wine. After drinking the twelfth he declared himself sahsfied; and Arakawa ordered him to be bound with a rope, and taken to Nobunaga's residense.
In the court of the palace Kwashin Koji was examined at once by the Chief Officer, and sternly reprimanded. Finally the Chief Officer said to him:-"It is evident that you have been deluding people by magical practices; and for this offence alone you deserve to be heavily punished. However, if you will now respectfully offer up that picture to the Lord Nobunaga, we shall this time overlook your fault. Otherwise we shall certainly inflict upon you a very severe punishment." At this menace Kwashin Koji laughed in a bewildered way, and exclaimed: -"It is not I who have been guilty of deluding people.'' Then, turning to Arakawa, he cried out: -"You are the deceiver! You wanted to flatter the lord by giving him that picture; and you tried to kill me in order to steal it. Surely, if there be any such thing as crime, that was a crime! As luck would have it, you did not succeed in killing me; but if you had succeeded, as you wished, what would you have been able to plead in excuse for such an act? You stole the picture, at all events. The picture tha I now have is only a copy. And after you stole the picture, you changed your mind about giving it to Lood Nobunaga; and you devised a plan to keep it for yourself. So you gave a blank kakemono to Lord Nobunaga; and, in order to conceal your secret act and purpose, you pretended that I had deceived you by substituting a blank kakemono for the real one. Where the real picttlre now is, I do not know. You probably do."
At these words Arakawa became so angry that he rushed towards the prisoner, and would have struck him but for the interference of the guards. And this sudden outburst of anger caused the Chief Officer to suspect that Arakawa was not altogether innocent. He ordered Kwashin Koji to be taken to prison for the time being; and he then proceeded to question Arakawa closely. Now Arakawa was naturally slow of speech; and on this occasion, being greatly excited, he could scarcely speak at all; and he stammered, and contradicted himself, and betrayed every sign of guilt. Then the Chief Officer ordered that Arakawa should be beaten with a stick until he told the truth. But it was not possible for him even to seem to tell the truth. So he was beaten with a bamboo until his senses departed from him, and he lay as if dead.
 
Kwashin Koji was told in the prison about what had happened to Arakawa; and he laughed. But after a little while he said to the jailer: -"Listen! That fellow Arakawa really behaved like a rascal; and I purposely brought this punishment upon him, in order to correct his evil inclinations. But now please say to the Chief Officer that Arakawa must have been ignorant of the truth, and that I shall explain the whole matter satisfactorily."
Then Kwashin Koji was again taken before the Chief Officer, to whom he made the following declaration: -
"In any picture of real excellence there must be a ghost; and such a picture, having a will of its own, may refuse to be separated from the person who gave it life, even from its rightful owner. There are many stories to prove that really great pictures have souls. It is well known that some sparrows, painted upon a sliding-screen [fusuma] by Hogen Yenshin, once flew away, leaving blank the spaces which they had occupied upon the surface. Also it is well known that a horse, painted upon a certain kakemono, used to go out at night to eat grass. Now, in this present case, I believe the truth to be that, inasmuch as the Lord Nobunaga never became the rightful owner of my kakemono, the picture voluntarily vanished from the paper when it was unrolled in his presence. But if you will give me the price that I first asked, -one hundred ryo of gold, -I think that the painting will then reappear, of its own accord, upon the now blank paper. At all events, let us try! There is nothing to risk,-since, if the picture does not reappear, I shall at once return the money."
On hearing of these strange assertions, Nobunaga ordered the hundred ryo to be paid, and came in person to observe the result. The kakemono was then unrolled before him; and, to the amazement of all present, the painting reappeared, with all its detail. But the colors seemed to have faded a little; and the figures of the souls and the demons did not look really a1ive, as before. Perceiving this difference, the lord asked Kwashin Koji to explain the reason of it; and Kwashin Koji replied: -"The value of the painting, as you first saw it, was the value of a painting beyond all price. But the value of the painting, as you now see it, represents exactly what you paid for it,-one hundred ryo of gold.... How could it be otherwise?" On hearing this answer, all present felt that it would be worse than useless to oppose the old man any further. He was immediately set at liberty; and Arakawa was also liberated, as he had more than expiated his fault by the punishment which he had undergone.
 
Now Arakawa had a younger brother named Buichi, -also a retainer in the service of Nobunaga. Buichi was furiously angry because Arakawa had been beaten and imprisoned; and he resolved to kill Kwashin Koji. Kwashin Koji no sooner found himself again at liberty than he went straight to a wine-shop, and called for wine. Buichi rushed after him into the shop, struck him down, and cut off his head. Then, taking the hundred ryo that had been paid to the old man, Buichi wrapped up the head and the gold together in a cloth, and hurried home to show them to Arakawa. But when he unfastened the cloth he found, instead of the head, only an empty wine-gourd, and only a lump of filth instead of the gold.... And the bewilderment of the brothers was presently increased by the information that the headless body had disappeared from the wine-shop,-none could say how or when.   
 
Nothing more was heard of Kwashin Koji until about a month later, when a drunken man was found one evening asleep in the gateway of Lord Nobunaga's palace, and snoring so loud that every snore sounded like the rumbling of distant thunder. A retainer discovered that the drunkard was Kwashin Koji. For this insolent offence, the old fellow was at once seized and thrown into the prizon. But he did not awake; and in the prison he continued to sleep without interruption for ten days and ten nights, -all the while snoring so that the sound could be heard to a great distance.
 
About this time, the Lord Nobunaga came to his death through the treachery of one of his captains, Akechi Mitsuhide, who thereupon usurped rule. But Mitsuhide's power endured only for a period of twelve days.         
Now when Mitsuhide became master of Kyoto, he was told of the case of Kwashin Koji; and he ordered that the prisoner should be brought before him. Accordingly Kwashin Koji was summoned into the presence of the new lord; but Mitsuhide spoke to him kindly, treated him as a guest, and commanded that a good dinner should be served to him. When the old man had eaten, Mitsuhide said to him: -"I have heard that you are very fond of wine; -how much wine can you drink at a single sitting?" Kwashin Koji answered: -"I do not really know how much; I stop drinking only when I feel intoxication coming on." Then the lord set a great wine-cup before Kwashin Koji, and told a servant to fill the cup as often as the old man wished. And Kwashin Koji emptied the great cup ten times in succession, and asked for more; but the servant made answer that the wine-vessel was exhausted. All present were astounded by this drinking-feat; and the lord asked Kwashin Koji, "Are you not yet satisfied, Sir?" "Well, yes," replied Kwashin Koji, "I am somewhat satisfied;-and now, in return for your august kindness, I shall display a little of my art. Be therefore so good as to observe that screen." He pointed to a large eight-folding screen upon which were painted the Eight Beautiful Views of the Lake of Omi(Omi-Hakkei); and everybody looked at the screen.In one of the views the artist had represented, far away on the lake, a man rowing a boat,-the boat occupying, upon the surface of the screen, a space of less than an inch in length. Kwashin Koji then waved his hand in the direction of the boat; and all saw the boat suddenly turn , and begin to move toward the foreground of the picture. It grew rapidly larger and larger as it approached; and presently the features of the boatman became clearly distinguishable. Still the boat drew nearer,-always becoming larger,- until it appeared to be only a short distance away. And, all of a sudden, the water of the lake seemed to overflow,-out of the picture into the room; -and the room was flooded; and the spectators girded up their robes in haste, as the water rose above their knees. In the same moment the boat appeared to glide out of the screen, -a real fishing-boat; -and the creaking of the single oar could be heard. Still the flood in the room continued to rise until the spectators were standing up to their girdles in water. Then the boat came close up to Kwashin Koji; and Kwashin Koji climbed into it; and the boatman turned about, and began to row away very swiftly. And, as the boat receded, the water in the room began to lower rapidly, -seeming to ebb back into the screen. No sooner had the boat passed the apparent foreground of the picture than the room was dry again! But still the painted vessel appeared to glide over the painted water, -retreating further into the distance, and ever growing smaller, -till at last it dwindled to a dot in the offing. And then it disappeared altogether; and Kwashin Koji disappeared with it. He was never again seen in Japan.
 
 
 
 
 
日本雑録、ICGミューズ出版、2001年出版
入力者:米田進
 
尹主事
金史良
 
 町の北、丘を越えたところにじめじめした荒蕪地がある。その眞中に崩れかかった一坪小屋がしょんぼり坐っていた。潛戸の傍にかけた大きな板には墨字で尹主事と書かれている。
 尹主事は朝起きると先ず自分の版圖を檢分した。彼はこの荒蕪地一帶を自分の所領と定めている。汗をはたはた流しながら棒切れで境線を引き廻る。
 そこで一先ず小屋に歸り、地下足袋をはきよれよれのゲートルを卷き付ける。擔具《チゲ》を背負うと再び出て來て、例の名札を十分程もじっと見つめ、それから踵をかえしてすたこらとさも急がしげに町へ出掛けた。――だが未だかつて人は彼の働いているのを見たことがない。
「今日はどうしたね」と夕方つい出會いがしら問いかけでもしたら、彼はにたにたしながら胡麻鹽の蓬頭をくさくさ掻き立てる。「なあ、全く不景氣でしてな」いつかも尹主事は私の家にあたふたとやって來て書室の前に立ち現れた。そして何かを切り出しにくそうにもぞもぞして手を揉んでいた。どうしたのかと訊いてみると彼は莞爾として微笑んでから、日本に渡ったら羽二重《ハビタン》(彼はそう發音した)の見切品を買取って貰えぬだろうかと何度も腰を曲げて叩頭した。誰某が日本内地からそれを直接取り寄せて大儲けをしているからと得意然に。「わっしも一つ儲けて城内に家を建てて移らんことにはなあ、ひっひひひ、ひっひひひ」と思うと、そのことはもう忘れ去ったように、今度は淫らなものを見た坊主のごとくひとりえへらえへらと笑い出した。そこで突然面長と駐在所の巡査とどちらが上だろうかと質ねよるのである。つい苦笑すると主事はいよいよ愉快になって、それみろ答えられんだろうと言うみたいに私を指差しひっくり返りそうにけらけら悦びながら歸って行った。
 ――それから野ずらに陽炎が緑にけぶる頃のことである。彼は小屋の壁に寄りかかり肌をさらけ出して虱をとっていた。暖い陽光は彼の六十年來の垢肌をくすぐったくうずうずさせる。それに大きな奴が何匹も威勢のいい所を見せて炭のような指先に白く乘り出してきたので彼は全くいい氣嫌になっていた。
 その時嗄れ聲が近くに聞えてきたのである。
「そうでやす、旦那。ここらが一等の候補地でやすよ」するとそれをうけて阿彌陀聲がぼやく。
「うむ。今の所買占めて來月からでも起工するとしようかね」
 主事は地に片手を棹さし首を長くして二人を怪訝そうに見送った。
「まあ、このことはいずれ……」
 洋服と周衣《ツルマギ》氏は煙をはきステッキを振りながら向うの方へと立ち去っていった。
 その日から彼はちっとも町へは姿を現わさなくなった。いつにもまして版圖の檢分を嚴重にし、身仕度を終えると彼の小屋が眺められる丘の上へのぼる。そして寢轉んで青空を眺めながらその日その日を暮した。(わっしの領分はあんなにじめじめして狹いのに、そらはどうしてこんなに青く廣いのだろう)彼はそれ以來天國に遊ぶようになった。(空は淋しいだろうな)
 或る夕暮私はこの丘の上に立ったことがある。入日の反照を受けた荒蕪の野の遙か遠くには、小川の流れが仰向けに黄色くなって倒れている。丘の下尹主事の版圖はいつの間にか紡績工場の基地として占領され、方々に赤い旗や白い旗が立ち並んで野風にひらめいていた。そこここに歸り支度をすましたらしい五六人宛の職人が焚火を圍んで騷いでいる。
 偶々カチ鴉が二羽慌ただしく飛んで來て近くのアカシアの梢で啼いた。そしてその後を追いかけるようにして、一人の男が大きな板をふり廻しつつ熊みたいに薄暗がりの中を驅け上ってきたのである。
「學生さん!」彼は遠くから私を見てとったとみえ喘ぎ喘ぎ叫んだ。私はそれが尹主事の声であるのを知った。彼は私の鼻先まで近付いて息をはあはあ吐いた。
「やっぱり學生さんだべ」
 私は彼の顴骨が異樣に突き出し兩眼が深く落ち窪んで、この一月の間にみるめもなく衰えているのを見た。
主事は息を嚥んで板をさし向けながら彼の版圖を示した。名札の板を擔いで歩いていたのだ。もうあたりは薄闇の中に陥落し始め、野原で燃えていた焚火もすっかり消えかかっている。
「工場が立ちますだよ」彼は私の袖を引いた。「そらこっちきなさるだ。そらこっち、あすこに旗が踊ってますだね。でっかい羽二重《ハビタン》の工場ですぞ――ひっひひひそうでがしょう! ひっひひひ」
 私は彼を黙ったまましげしげと横から見つめていた。主事は矢張り地下足袋をはきゲートルを卷き付けている。併しつっ立った彼の姿はもう燒き盡された火事場の黒い柱のようにしか思えなかった。彼は私の眼に氣が付くと獨りでてれたように淋しく笑った。
 その時工事場で働いていた職人達ががやがや騷ぎ立てながらやって來た。主事は驚いて何かを氣遣うらしく私を傍の暗いアカシアの繁みの中へ急いで連れ込んだ。そして姿を隱し息を殺したまま、彼等が通り過ぎて遠くへ消え去るのお[#「お」はママ]しまいまで見屆け終ると、主事はけつけつ嗤いながら喚くのである。
「あの衆奴、いつかわっしのところへ來て家をこわしながら、尹主事旦那やと頭を下げて云わっしゃるだ。わし等主事さんを大工頭に頂きてえだが承知出來ねえべえかねとな。わっしあそれで呶鳴ってやっただよ。氣ふれ婆の小便たらしみてえにずうずうぬかせば何もかも話しと思うかえ。こんげな齡になると少しは樂してえちうもんだ。するとあの衆奴皆逃げ出しやがっただよ」
 彼は又けつけつ嗤った。だが暗闇の中に彼の目は最後の火のほとぼりを吐いているように見えて、思わず私はぞっと身慄いした。彼は尚お聲高くけっけっと嗤い續けた。
 
※入力者補注:文中「面長(ミョンジャン、または日本語読みでめんちょう)」というのは、編者の金達寿(キムダルス)氏の解説によると「日本の村長にあたるもののことである。そしてこの面長はたいてい名譽職で朝鮮人であり、この面にある駐在所長の巡査部長は必ず日本人であった。」ということである。
 
底本:「金史良作品集 全」理論社
   1954年6月20日第1刷発行
入力:米田進
 
 
 
魯迅校録『唐宋伝奇集』斉魯書社出版1997年11月を使用しました。ただし底本の簡体字を繁体字になおしましたが、御存じのようにこの作業は正確を期しがたいものがあります。句読点等適宜省略改変しました。!?は省略しました。なお魯迅の『唐宋伝奇集』には題記があって本文がなかったのを、北新書局版(1929年)で補ったとありましたが、これはあたかも岩波文庫で今村与志雄氏が底本にされたものでした。
 
 張文成                         
 
  遊仙窟
 
  若夫積石山者、在乎金城西南、河所經也。《書》云「導河積石、至于龍門。」即此山是也。
  僕従※[さんずい+開−門構え]隴、奉使河源。嗟運命之※[しんにょう+屯]※[しんにょう+亶]、嘆郷關之眇?。張騫古迩、十萬里之波涛、伯禹遺踪、二千年之阪※[足+登]。深谷帶地、鑿穿崖岸之形、高嶺横天、刀削岡巒之勢。烟霞子細、泉石分明。實天上之靈奇、乃人間之妙絶。目所不見、耳所不聞。
  日晩途遥、馬疲人乏。行至一所、険峻非常、向上則有青壁萬尋、直下則有碧潭千仞。古老相傳云。此是神仙窟也、人踪罕及、鳥路纔通。毎有香果瓊枝、天衣錫鉢、自然浮出、不知從何而至。
  余乃端仰一心、潔齋三日。縁細葛、泝輕舟。身體若飛、精靈似夢。須臾之間、忽至松柏巌、桃華澗、香風觸地、光彩遍天。
  見一女子向水側浣衣、余乃問曰「承聞此處有神仙之窟宅、故來祇候。山川阻隔、疲頓異常、欲投娘子、片時停歇、賜惠交情、幸垂聴許。」女子答曰「兒家堂舎賤陋、供給單疏、只恐不堪、終無吝惜。」余答曰「下官是客、觸事卑微、但避風塵、則為幸甚。」遂止余于門側草亭中、良久乃出。
  余問曰「此誰家舎也」女子答曰、「此是崔女郎之舎耳。」余問曰「崔女郎何人也」女子答曰「博陵王之苗裔、清河公之舊族也。容貌似舅、播安仁之外甥、氣調如兄、崔季珪之小妹。華容婀娜、天上無儔、玉體逶※[しんにょう+施−方]、人間少匹。輝輝面子、荏苒畏弾穿、細細腰支、参差疑勒断。韓娥宋玉、見則愁生、絳樹青琴、對之羞死。千嬌百媚、造次無可比方、弱體輕身、談之不能備盡。」
  須臾之間、忽聞内裏調箏之聲。僕因咏曰「自隠多姿則、欺他獨自眠。故故將繊手、時時弄小弦。耳聞猶気絶、眼見若為憐。從渠痛不肯、人更別求天。」
  片時、遣婢桂心傳語、報余詩曰「面非他舎面、心是自家心。何處關天事、辛苦漫追尋。」余讀詩訖、擧頭門中、忽見十娘半面、余即咏曰「斂笑偸残靨、含羞露半唇。一眉猶匝[#巾が口]耐、雙眼定傷人。」又遣婢桂心報余詩曰「好是他家好、人非着意人。何須漫相弄、幾許費精神。」
  于時夜久更深、沈吟不睡、彷徨徙倚、無便披陳。彼誠既有來意、此間何能不答。遂申懐抱、因以贈書曰
    「余以少娯聲色、早慕佳期、歴訪風流、遍遊天下。弾鶴琴於蜀郡、飽見文君、吹鳳管於秦楼、熟看弄玉。雖復贈蘭解珮、未甚關懐、合※[丞/厄の中]横陳、何曽※[立心偏+匡の中が夾]意。昔日雙眠、恒嫌夜短、今宵獨臥、實怨更長。一種天公、両般時節。遥聞香気、獨傷韓壽之心、近聽琴聲、似對文君之面。向來見桂心談説十娘、天上無雙、人間有一。依依弱柳、束作腰支、焔焔横波、翻成眼尾。纔舒兩頬、熟疑地上無華、乍出雙眉、漸覺天邊失月。能使西施掩面、百邊焼妝、南国傷心、千回撲鏡。洛川回雪、只堪使?衣裳、巫峡仙雲、末敢為フ靴履。忿秋胡之眼拙、枉費黄金、念交甫之心狂、虚當白玉。下官寓遊勝境、旅泊閑亭、忽遇神仙、不勝迷乱。芙蓉生於澗底、蓮子實深、木栖出于山頭、相思日遠。未曽飲炭、腹熱如焼、不憶呑刀、腸穿似割。無情明月、故故臨窗、多事春風、時時動帳。愁人對此、將何自堪。空懸欲斷之腸、請救臨終之命。元來不見、他自尋常、無故相逢、却交煩悩。敢陳心素、幸願照知。若得見其光儀、豈敢論其萬一。」
書達之後、十娘斂色謂桂心曰「向來劇戲相弄、真成欲逼人。」余更又贈詩一首、其詞曰「今朝忽見渠姿首、不覚殷勤着心口。令人頻作許叮寧[#口偏あり]、渠家太劇難求守。端坐剰心驚、愁來益不平。看時未必相看死、難時那許太難生。況吟坐幽室、相思轉成疾。自恨往還疏、誰肯交遊密。夜夜空知心失眼、朝朝無便投膠漆。園里華開不避人、閏中面子翻羞出。如今寸歩阻天津、伊處留情更覓新。莫言長有千金面、終帰變作一抄塵。生前有日但為樂、死後無春更著人。祇可倡佯一生意、何須負持百年身。」
  少時、坐睡、則夢見十娘。驚覺、之、忽然空手。心中悵怏、復何可論、余因乃咏曰「夢中疑是實、覺後忽非真。誠知腸欲斷、窮鬼故調人。」十娘見詩、並不肯讀、即欲焼却、余即咏曰「未必由詩得、將詩故表憐。聞渠擲入火、定是欲相燃。」
  十娘讀詩、悚息而起。匣中取鏡、箱裏拈衣、※[衣+玄]服※[青+見]妝、當階正履。余又為詩曰「薫香四面合、光色兩邊披。錦障劃然巻、羅帷垂半欹。紅顔雑緑黛、無處不相宜。艶色浮妝粉、含香乱口脂。鬢欺蝉鬢非成鬢、眉笑蛾眉不是眉。見許實娉※[女+亭]、何處不軽盈。可憐矯裏面、可愛語中聲。婀娜腰支細細許、※[目+兼]※[目+舌]眼子長長馨。巧兒舊來※[金+携の旁]未得、畫匠迎生摸不成。相看末相識、傾城復傾国。迎風※[巾+皮]子郁金香、照日裙裾石榴色。口上珊瑚耐拾取、頬裏芙蓉堪摘得。聞名腹肚已猖狂、見面精神更迷惑。心肝恰欲摧、踊※[足+夭]不能栽。徐行歩歩香風散、欲語時時媚子開。靨疑織女留星去、眉似恒娥送月來。含嬌窈窕迎前出、忍笑※[勞の力を安に]※[女+冥]返却回。」余遂止之曰「既有好意、何須却入。」然後逶※[しんにょう+施の旁]回面、※[女+亞]※[女+宅]向前。十娘斂手而再拝向下官、下官亦低頭盡禮而言曰「向見稱揚、謂言虚假、誰知對面、恰是神仙。此是神仙窟也。」十娘曰「向見詩篇、謂非凡俗、今逢玉貌、更勝文章。此是文章窟也。」
  僕因問曰「主人姓望何處。夫主何在。」十娘答曰「兒是清河崔公之末孫、適弘農楊府君之長子。既成大禮、随父住於河西。蜀生狡猾、屡侵邊境。兄及夫主、棄筆從戎、身死寇場、煢魂莫返。兒年十七、死守一夫、嫂年十九、誓不再※[酉+焦]。兄即清河崔公之第五息、嫂即太原公之第三女。別宅於此、積有歳年。室宇荒※[にすい+京]、家途翦弊。不知上客從何而至。」
  僕斂容而答曰「下官望属南陽、住居西鄂。得黄石之靈術、控白水之餘波。在漢則七葉貂蝉、居韓則五重卿相。鳴鐘食鼎、積代衣纓。長戟高門、因循禮樂。下官堂構不紹、家業淪※[さんずいへん+胥]。青州刺史博望侯之孫、廣武将軍鉅鹿侯之子。不能免俗、沈迹下寮。非隠非遁、逍遙鵬※[晏+鳥]之間、非吏非俗、出入是非之境。暫因駆使、至於此間。卒爾乾煩、實為傾仰。」十娘問曰「上客見任何官。」下官答曰「幸属太平、耻居貧賤。前被賓貢、已入甲科、後属捜揚、又蒙高第。奉勅授關内道小縣尉、見※[竹/完]河源道行軍総管記室。頻繁上命、徒想報恩、馳驟下寮、不遑寧處。」十娘曰「少府不因行使、豈肯相過。」下官答曰「比不相知、闕為参展、今日之後、不敢差違。」
  十娘遂回頭喚桂心曰、「料理中堂、將少府安置。」下官逡巡而謝曰「遠客卑微、此間幸甚。才非賈誼、豈敢昇堂。」十娘答曰「向者承聞、謂言凡客、拙為禮※[貝+兄]、深覺面慚。兒意相當、事須引接。此間疏陋、未免風塵。入室不合推辭、昇堂何須進退。」遂引入中堂。
  于時金臺銀闕、蔽日干雲。或似銅雀之新開、乍如靈光之且敞。梅梁桂棟、疑飲澗之長虹、反宇雕甍、若排天之矯鳳。水精浮柱、的※[白+樂]含星、雲母飾窗、玲瓏映日。長廊四注、争施玳瑁之橡、高閣三重、悉用琉璃之瓦。白銀爲壁、照曜於魚鱗、碧玉縁階、参差於雁齒。入穹崇之室宇、歩歩心※[りっしんべん+京]、見儻※[門/良]之門庭、看看眼※[石+參]。遂引少府昇階。下官答曰「客主之間、豈無先後。」十娘曰「男女之禮、自有尊卑。」下官遷延而退曰「向來有罪過、忘不通五嫂。」十娘曰「五嫂亦應自來、少府遣通、亦是周匝。」則遣桂心通、暫參屈五嫂。
  十娘共少府語話、須臾之間、五嫂則至。羅綺繽紛、丹青※[日+韋]※[日+華]。裙前麝散、髻後龍盤。珠縄絡翠衫、金薄※[さんずい+余])丹履。余乃咏曰「奇異妍雅、貌特※[りっしんべん+京]新。眉間月出疑争夜、頬上花開似開闘春。細腰偏愛轉笑臉特宜※[口+頻]。真成物外奇稀物、實是人間斷絶人。自然能挙止、可念無比方。能令公子百重生、巧使王孫千回死。黒雲裁兩鬢、白雪分雙齒。織成錦袖麒麟兒、刺綉裙腰鸚鵡子。觸處盡開懐、何曽有不佳。機關太雅妙、行歩絶※[女+圭]※[女+尸/(立/十)]。傍人一一丹羅韈、侍婢三三緑(糸+淺の旁)鞋。黄龍透入金釧、白燕飛來白玉釵。」
  相見既畢、五嫂曰「少府跋渉山川、深疲道路、行途届此、不及傷神。」下官答曰「※[人偏+黽]勉王事、豈敢辭労。」五嫂回頭笑向十娘曰「今朝聞烏鵲語、真成好客來。」下官曰「昨夜眼皮※[日+閏]、今朝見好人。」
  即相随上堂。珠玉※[りっしんべん+京]心、金銀耀眼。五彩龍鬚席、銀綉緑邊※[毛+壇の旁]、八尺象牙牀、緋綾帖薦褥。車渠等寶、倶映優曇之花、瑪瑙真珠、並貫頗梨之※[糸+淺の旁]。文柏榻子、倶寫豹頭、蘭草燈心、並焼魚脳。管弦寥亮、分張北戸之間、杯盞交横、列坐南窗之下。各自相譲、倶不肯先坐。僕曰「十娘主人、下官是客。請主人先坐。」五嫂為人饒劇、掩口而笑曰「娘子既是主人母、少府須作主人公。」下官曰「僕是何人、敢當此事。」十娘曰「五嫂向來戯語、少府何須漫怕。」下官答曰「必其不免、只須身當。」五嫂笑曰「只恐張郎不能禁此事。」衆人皆大笑。
  一時倶坐、即喚香兒取酒。俄爾中間、フ一大鉢、可受三升已來、金鈕銅環。金盞銀杯、江螺海蚌。竹根細眼、樹※[やまいだれ+嬰]蝎唇。九曲酒池、十盛飲器。觴則咒※[角+光]犀角、※[兀+王]※[兀+王]然置於座中、杓則鵝項、鴨頭、泛泛焉浮於酒上。遣小婢細辛酌洒、並不肯先提。五嫂曰「張郎門下賤客、必不肯先提、娘子径須把取。」十娘則斜眼佯瞋曰「少府初到此間、五嫂會些頻頻相弄。」五嫂曰「娘子把酒莫瞋、新婦更亦不敢。」
  酒巡到下官、飲乃不盡。五嫂曰「何為不盡。」下官答曰「性飲不多、恐為顛沛。」五妓罵曰「何由※[匡の中が口]耐。女婿是婦家狗、打殺無文。終須傾使盡、莫漫造衆諸。」十娘謂五嫂曰「向來正首病發耶。」五嫂起謝曰「新婦錯大罪過。」因回頭熟視下官曰「新婦細見人多矣、無如少府公者、少府公乃是仙才、本非凡俗。」下官起謝矣「昔卓王之女、聞琴識相如之器量、山涛之妻、鑿壁知阮籍之賢人。誠如所言、不敢望徳。」十娘曰「遣緑竹取琵琶弾、兒與少府公送酒。」
  琵琶入手、末弾中間、僕乃咏曰「心虚不可測、眼細強關情。回身已入抱、不見有嬌声。」十娘應聲即咏曰「憐腸忽欲斷、憶眼已先開。渠未相撩撥、嬌從何處來。」下官當見此詩、心膽倶砕、下牀起謝曰「向來惟睹十娘面、如今乃始見十娘心。足使班※[女+捷の旁]※[女+予]扶輪、曹大家閣筆、豈可同年而語、共代而論哉。」請索筆硯、抄寫置於懐袖。抄詩訖、十娘弄曰「少府公非但詞句妙絶、亦自能書、筆似青鸞、人同白鶴。」下官曰「十娘非直才情、實能吟咏。誰知玉貌、恰有金聲。」十娘曰「兒近來患嗽、聲音不徹。」下官答曰「僕近來患手、筆墨未調。」五嫂笑曰「娘子不是故夸、張郎復能應答。」
  十娘來語五嫂曰「向來純當漫劇、元來無次第、請五嫂當作酒章。」五嫂答曰「奉命不敢、則從娘子。不是賦古詩云、斷章取意、唯須得情、若不※[框の王の代わりに夾]當、罪有科罰。」十娘即遵命曰「關關雎鳩、在河之洲。窈窕淑女、君子好※[述の中が求)。」次、下官曰「南有樛木、不可休息。漢有遊女、不可求思。」五嫂即曰「折薪如之何。匪斧不克。娶妻如之何。匪媒不得。」又次、五嫂曰「不見復關、泣涕漣漣。既見復關、載笑載言。」次、十娘曰「女也不爽、士二其行。士也罔極、二三其徳。」次、下官曰「穀則異室、死即同穴。謂余不信、有如※[激のさんずいが目]日。」五嫂笑曰「張郎心専、賦詩大有道理。俗諺曰『心欲専、鑿石穿。』誠能思之、何遠之有。」其時、緑竹弾箏、五嫂咏箏曰「天生素面能留客、發意關情併在渠。莫怪向者頻聲戦、良由得伴乍心虚。」十娘曰「五嫂咏箏、兒咏尺八、眼多本自令渠愛、口少元來毎被侵。無事風聲徹他耳、教人氣満自填心。」下官又謝曰「盡善盡美、無慮不佳。此是下愚、預聞高唱。」
  少時、桂心將下酒物來、東海鯔條、西山鳳脯、鹿尾鹿舌、乾魚灸魚、雁醢※[くさがんむり/行]※[くさがんむり/爼]、鶉※[鐵の金が月]桂※[惨の偏が米偏]、熊掌免※[骨+卑]、雉※[膵の旁が翠]犲唇。百味五辛、談之不能盡、説之不能窮。十娘曰「少府亦應太飢。」喚桂心盛飯。下官曰「向來眼飽、不覚身飢。」
  十娘笑曰「莫相弄。且取雙六局來、共少府公賭酒。」僕答曰「下官不能賭酒、共娘子賭宿。」十娘問曰「若為賭宿。」余答曰「十娘輸籌、則共下官卦一宿、下官輸籌、則共十娘臥一宿。」十娘笑曰「漢騎驢則胡歩行、胡歩行則漢騎驢、総悉輸他便點。兒逓換作、少府公太能生。」五嫂曰「新婦報娘子、不須賭來賭去、今夜定知娘子不免。」十娘曰「五嫂時時漫語、浪與少府作消息。」下官起謝曰「元來知劇、末敢承望。」
  局至、十娘引手向前。眼子※[目+于]※[目+婁]、手子※[月+温−さんずい]※[月+盾]。一雙臂腕、切我肝腸、十個指頭、刺人心髄。下官因咏局曰「眼似星初轉、眉如月欲消。先須捺後脚、然使勒前腰。」十娘則咏曰「勒腰須巧快、捺脚更風流。但令細眼合、人自分輸籌。」
  須臾之間、有一婦名琴心、亦有姿首、到下官處、時復偸眼看。十娘欲似不快。五嫂大語瞋曰「知足不辱、人生有限。娘子欲似皺眉、張郎不須斜眼。」十娘佯捉色瞋曰「少府關兒何事、五嫂頻頻相悩。」五嫂曰「娘子向來頻※[目+分]少府、若非情想有所交通、何因眼脈朝來頓引。」十娘曰「五嫂自隠心偏、兒復何曽眼引。」五嫂曰「娘子不能、新婦自取。」十娘答曰「自問少府、兒亦不知。」
  五嫂遂咏曰「新華發兩樹、分香遍一林。迎風轉細影、向日動輕陰。戯蜂時隠見、飛蝶遠迫尋。承聞欲採摘、若個動君心。」下官「為性貪多、欲兩華倶採。」五嫂答曰「暫遊雙樹下、遥見兩枝芳。向日倶翻影、迎風並散香。戯蝶扶丹萼、遊蜂入紫房。人今総摘取、各著一邊廂。」五嫂曰「張郎太貪生、一箭射兩※[土+朶]。」十娘則謂曰「遮三不得一、覓兩都慮失。」五嫂曰「娘子莫分疏。免入狗突裏、知復欲何如。」下官即起謝曰「乞漿得酒、舊來伸口、打免得※[鹿/章]、非意所望。」十娘曰「五嫂如許大人、専擬和合此事。少府謂言兒是九泉下人、明日在外處、談道兒一銭不直。」下官答曰「向來承顔色、神気頓盡、又見清談、心膽倶砕。豈敢在外談説、妾事加諸。忝預人流、寧容如此。伏願歓楽盡情、死無所恨。」
  少時、飲食倶到、薫香満室、赤白兼前。窮海陸之珍羞、備川原之果菜。肉則龍肝鳳髄、酒則玉醴瓊漿。城南雀噪之禾、江上蝉鳴之稲。鶏※[鐵の偏が月偏]雉※[月+霍]、※[敝/魚]醢鶉羮。椹下肥※[月+屯]、荷間細鯉。鵝子鴨卵、照躍于銀盤、麟脯豹胎、紛綸于玉畳。熊腥純白、蟹醤純黄。鮮鱠共紅縷争輝、冷肝與青糸亂色。蒲桃甘蔗、軟棗石榴。河東紫塩、嶺南丹橘。※[火+敦]煌八子※[木/示]、青門五色瓜。太谷張公之梨、房陵朱仲之李。東王公之仙桂、西王母之神桃。南燕牛乳之椒、北趙鶏心之棗。千名萬種、不可具論。
  下官起謝曰「予與夫人娘子、本不相識、暫縁公使、邂逅相遇。玉饌珍奇、非常厚重、粉身灰骨、不能酬謝。」五嫂曰「親則不謝、謝則不親。幸願張郎、莫為形迩。」下官答曰「既奉恩命、不敢辞遯。」當此之時、気便欲絶、不覺轉眼、時復偸看十娘。十娘曰「少府莫看兒。」五嫂曰「還相弄。」
  下官咏曰「忽然心裏愛、不覺眼中憐。未關雙眼曲、直是寸心偏。」十娘咏曰「眼心非一處、心眼舊分離。直令渠眼見、誰遣報心知。」下官咏曰「舊來心使眼、心思眼即傳。由心使眼見、眼亦共心憐。」十娘咏曰「眼心倶憶念、心眼共追尋。誰家解事眼、副著可憐心。」
  于時五嫂遂向果子上作機警曰「但問意如何、相知不在棗。」十娘曰「兒今正意密、不忍即分梨。」下官曰「忽遇深恩、一生有杏。」五嫂曰「當此之時、誰能忍※[木/示]。」十娘曰「暫借少府刀子割梨。」下官咏刀子曰「自憐膠漆重、相思意不窮。可惜尖頭物、終日在皮中。」十娘咏鞘曰「数捺皮應緩、頻磨快轉多。渠今抜出後、空鞘欲如何。」五嫂曰「向來漸漸入深也。
  即索棋局、共少府賭酒。下官得勝。五嫂曰「圍棋出於智慧、張郎亦復太能。」下官曰「智者千慮、必有一失、愚者千慮、亦有一得。且休却。」五嫂曰「何為即休。」下官咏曰「向來知道径、生平不忍欺。但令守行迩、何用数圍棋。」五嫂咏曰「娘子為性好園棋、逢人劇戯不尋思。気欲斷絶先挑眼、既得速罷即須遅。」十娘見五嫂頻弄、佯瞋不笑。余咏曰「千金此處有、一笑待渠為。不望全露歯、請為暫顰眉。」十娘咏曰「雙眉砕客膽、兩眼判君心。誰能用一笑、賤価實千金。」
  當時有一破銅熨斗在于牀側、十娘忽咏曰「舊來心肚熱、無端強熨他。即今形勢冷、誰肯重相磨。」下官咏曰「若冷頭面在、生平不熨空。即今雖冷悪、人自覓残銅。」衆人皆笑。
  十娘喚香兒為少府設楽、金石並奏、簫管間響。蘇合弾琵琶、録竹吹篳篥。仙人鼓瑟、玉女吹笙。玄鶴俯而聴琴、白魚躍而應節。清音眺※[口+刀]※[口+兆]、片時則梁上塵飛、雅※[音+堰n※[金+堅]※[金+將]、卒爾則天邊雪落。一時忘味、孔丘留滞不虚、三日繞梁、韓娥餘音是實。十娘曰「少府稀來、豈不盡楽。五嫂大能作舞、且勧作一曲。」亦不辭憚、遂即逶※[しんにょう+施の旁]而起、婀娜徐行。蟲蛆面子、妬殺陽城、蠶賊容儀、迷傷下蔡。挙手頓足、雅合宮商、顧後窺前、深知曲節。欲似幡龍婉轉、野鵠低昂。回面則日照蓮花、翻身則風吹弱柳。斜眉盗盻、異種※[女+音]姑、緩歩急行、窮奇造鑿。羅衣※[火+習]耀、似翠鳳之翔雲、錦袖紛披、若青鸞之映水。千嬌眼子、天上失其流星、一搦腰支、洛浦愧其回雪。光前艶後、難遇難逢、進退去來、希聞希見。
  兩人倶起舞、共勧下官。下官遂作而謝曰「滄海之中難為水、霹靂之後難為雷。不敢推辭、定為醜拙。」遂起作舞。桂心※[口+至]※[口+至]然低頭而笑。十娘問曰「笑何事。」桂心答「笑兒等能作音聲。」十娘曰「何處有能。」答曰「若其不能、何因百獣率舞。」下官笑曰「不是百獣率舞、乃鳳鳳來儀也。」一時大笑。五嫂謂桂心曰「莫令曲誤、張郎頻顧。」桂心曰「不辭歌者苦、但傷知音稀。」下官曰「路逢西施、何必須識。」遂舞、著詞曰「從來巡繞四邊、忽逢兩個神仙。眉上冬天出柳、頬中旱地生蓮。千看千處※[女+無]媚、萬看萬種※[女+便]※[女+研の旁]。今宵若其不得、剰命過與黄泉。」又一時大笑。
  舞畢、因謝曰「僕實庸才、得陪清賞。賜垂音楽、慚荷不勝。」十娘咏曰「得意似鴛鴦、情乖若胡越。不向君邊盡、更知何處歇。」十娘曰「兒等並無可収採、少府公云『冬天出柳、旱地生蓮』、総是相弄也。」下官答曰「十娘面上非春、翻生柳葉。」十娘應聲答曰「少府頭中有水、何不生蓮花。」下官笑曰「十娘機警、異同著便。」十娘答曰「得便不能與、明年知有何處。」
  于時現在牀頭、下官因咏筆硯曰「摧毛任便點、愛色轉須磨。所以研難竟、良由水太多。」十娘忽見鴨頭※[金+當]子、因咏曰「嘴長非為※[口+朔]、項曲不由攣。但今脚直上、他自眼雙翻。」五嫂曰「向來大大不遜、漸漸深入也。」
  于時乃有雙燕子、梁間相逐飛、僕咏曰「雙燕子、聯翩幾萬回。強知人是客、方便悩他來。」十娘咏曰「雙燕子、可可事風流。即令人得伴、更亦不相求。」酒巡到十娘、下官咏酒杓子曰「尾動惟須急、頭低則不平。渠今合把爵、深浅任君情。」十娘咏盞曰「發初先向口、欲竟漸昇頭。從君中道歇、到底即須休。」下官翕然而起、謝曰「十娘詞句、事盡入神、乃是天生、不關人學。」五嫂曰「張郎新到、無可散情、且遊後園、暫適懐抱。」
  其園内、雑果萬株、含青吐緑、叢花四照、散紫翻紅。激石鳴泉、疏巌鑿※[石+登]。無冬無夏、嬌鴬乱於錦枝、非古非今、花魴躍於銀池。婀娜蓊茸、清冷※[風+瑟]※[風+日]。鵝鴨分飛、芙蓉間出。大竹小竹、夸渭南之千畝、華含花開、笑河陽之一縣。青青岸柳、絲條拂於武昌、赫赫山楊、箭幹稠於董澤。
  余乃咏花曰「風吹遍樹紫、日照満池丹。若為交暫折、フ就掌中看。」十娘咏曰「映水倶知笑、成蹊竟不言。即今無自在、高下任渠攣。」下官即起謝曰「君子不出遊言、意言不勝再。娘子恩深、請五嫂等各制一篇。」下官咏曰「昔時過小苑、今朝戯後園。兩歳梅花匝、三春柳色繁。水明魚影静、林翠鳥歌喧。何須杏樹嶺、即是桃花源。」十娘咏曰「梅蹊命道士、桃澗佇神仙。舊魚成大剣、新亀類小銭。水※[さんずい+眉]惟見柳、池曲且生蓮。欲知賞心處、桃花落眼前。」五嫂咏曰「極目遊芳苑、相將對花林。露浄山光出、池鮮樹影沈。落花時泛酒、歌鳥惑鳴琴。是時日將夕、携樽就樹陰。」
  当時、樹上忽有一李子落下官懐中、下官咏曰「問李樹、如何意不同。應來主手裏、翻入客懐中。」五嫂即報詩曰「李樹子、元來不是偏。巧知娘子意、擲果到渠邊。」于時、忽有一蜂子飛上十娘面上、十娘咏曰「問蜂子、蜂子太無情。飛來蹈人面、欲似意相輕。」下宮代蜂子答曰「觸處尋芳樹、都廬少物華。試從香處覓、正値可憐花。」衆人皆拊掌而笑。
  其時、園中忽有一雉。下官命弓箭射之、應弦而倒。五嫂笑曰「張郎才器、乃是曹植天然、今見武功、又復子南夫也。今共娘子相配、天下惟有兩人耳。」十娘因見射雉、咏曰「大夫巡麦隴、處子習桑間。若非由一箭、誰能為解顔。」僕答曰「心緒恰相當、誰能護短長。一牀無兩好、半醜亦何妨。」五嫂曰「張郎射長※[土+朶]如何。」僕答曰「且得不闕事而已。」遂射之、三發皆繞遮斉、衆人稱好。十娘咏弓曰「平生好須弩、得挽則低頭。聞君把投快、更乞五三籌。」下官答曰「縮幹全不到、擡頭則大過。若令臍下入、百放故籌多。」
  于是、曰落西淵、月臨東渚。五嫂曰「向來調諺、無處不佳。時既※[日+薫]黄、且還房室、庶張郎共娘子安置。」十娘曰「人生相見、且論杯酒、房中小小、何暇匆匆。」遂引少府向十娘臥處。屏風十二扇、畫障五三張。兩頭安彩幔、四角垂香嚢、檳榔豆※[くさがんむり/寇]子、蘇合緑沈香。織文安枕席、乱彩疊衣箱。相随入房裏、縦横照羅綺。蓮花起鏡臺、翡翠生金履。帳口銀※[兀+虫]装、牀頭玉獅子。十重蛩※[馬+巨]氈、八疊鴛鴦被。数個袍袴、異種妖※[女+揺の旁]、姿質天生有、風流本性饒。虹衫窄裹小纈臂、緑袂帖乱細纏腰。時將帛子拂、還投和香焼。※[女+研の旁]華天性足、由來能装束。斂笑正金釵、含嬌累綉褥。梁家妄稱梳髪緩、京兆何曽畫眉曲。
  十娘因在後、沈吟久不來。余問五嫂曰「十娘何處去、應有別人邀。」五嫂曰「女人羞自嫁、方便待渠招。」言語未畢、十娘則到。僕問曰「旦來披霧、香處尋花、忽遇狂風、蓮中失藕。十娘何處漫行去來。」十娘回頭笑曰「星留織女、遂處人間、月待恒娥、暫帰天上。少府何須苦相怪。」
  于時兩人對坐、未敢相觸、夜深情急、透死忘生。僕乃咏曰「千看千意密、一見一憐深。但當把手子、寸斬亦甘心。」十娘斂色却行。五嫂咏曰「他家解事在、未肯輒相※[目+真]。徑須剛捉著、遮莫造精神。」余時把著手子、忍心不得、又咏曰「千思千腸熟、一念一心焦。若為求守得、暫借可憐腰。」十娘又不肯、余捉手挽、兩人争力。五嫂咏曰「巧將衣障口、能用被遮身。定知心肯在、方便故邀人。」十娘失聲成笑、婉轉入懐中。當時腹里癲狂、心中沸乱、又咏曰「腰支一遇勒、心中百處傷。但若得口子、餘事不承望。」十娘※[目+真]咏曰「手子從君把、腰支亦任回。人家不中物、漸漸逼他來。」十娘曰「雖作拒張、又不免輸他口子。」口子郁郁、鼻似薫穿、舌子芬芳、頬疑鑚破。
  五嫂咏曰「自隠風流到、人前法用多。計時應拒得、佯作不禁他。」十娘曰「昔日曽經自弄他、今朝並悉從人弄。」下官起、諮請曰「十娘有一思事、亦擬申論、猶自不敢即道、請五嫂處分。」五嫂曰「但道、不須避諱。」余因咏曰「薬草倶嘗遍、並悉不相宜。惟須一個物、不道自應知。」十娘答咏曰「素手曽經捉、繊腰又被將。即今輸口子、餘事可平章。」下官斂手而答曰「向來惶惑、實畏参差。十娘憐愍客人、存其死命、可謂白骨再肉、枯樹重花。伏地叩頭、慇懃死罪。」五嫂因起謝曰「新婦曽聞、※[糸+賤の旁]因針而達、不因針而※[糸+穏の旁]、女囚媒而嫁、不因媒而親。新婦向來専心為勾當、已後之事不敢預知。娘子安穏、新婦向房臥去也。」
  于時夜久更深、情急意密。魚燈四面照、蝋燭兩邊明。十娘即喚桂心、並呼芍薬、與少府脱靴履、疊袍衣、閣※[巾+僕の旁]頭、挂腰帶。然後自與十娘施綾※[巾+皮]、解羅裙、脱紅衫、去緑※[衣+蔑]。花容満目、香風裂鼻。心去無人制、情來不自禁。挿手紅褌、交脚翠被、兩唇對口、一臂支頭。拍搦※[女+乃]房間、摩※[沙/手]※[骨+卑]子上。一噛一意快、一勒一心傷。鼻裏※[疲の中峻の旁]※[療の中虎]、心裏鈷繚。少時眼花耳熱、脈脹筋舒、姶知難逢難見、可貴可重。俄頃中間、数回相接。
  誰知可憎病鵲、夜半驚人、薄媚狂鷄、三更唱暁。遂則被衣對坐、泣泪相見。下官拭泪而言曰「所恨別易會難、去留乖隔、王事有限、不敢稽停。毎一尋思、痛深骨髄。」十娘曰「兒與少府、平生未展、邂逅新交、未盡歓娯、忽嗟別離、人生聚散、知復如何。」因咏曰「元來不相識、判自斷知聞。天公強多事、今遣若為分。」僕乃咏曰「積愁腸已斷、懸望眼應穿。今宵莫閉戸、夢裏向渠邊。」
  少時、天暁已後、兩人倶泣、心中※[口+更]咽、不能自勝。侍婢数人、並皆歔欷、不能仰視。五嫂曰「有同必異、自昔攸然、楽盡哀生、古來常事。願娘子梢自割捨。」下官乃將衣袖與娘子拭泪。十娘乃作別詩曰「別時終是別、春心不値春。羞見孤鸞影、悲看一騎塵。翠柳開眉色、紅桃亂臉新。此時君不在、嬌鴬弄殺人。」五嫂咏曰「此時經一去、誰知隔幾年。雙鳧傷別緒、獨鶴惨離弦。怨起移醍後、愁生落酔前。若使人心密、莫惜馬蹄穿。」下官咏曰「忽然聞道別、愁來不自禁。眼下千行泪、腸懸一寸心。兩剣俄分匣、雙鳧忽異林。慇懃惜玉體、勿使外人侵。」
  十娘小名瓊英、下官因咏曰「卞和山未※[石+斤]、羊雍地不耕。自憐無玉子、何曰見瓊英。」十娘應聲咏曰「鳳錦行須贈、龍梭峻久絶聲。自恨無機杼、何日見文成。」下官※[懼の旁だけ]然、破愁成笑。
  遂喚奴曲琴、取相思枕、留與十娘以為記念、因咏曰「南国傳椰子、東家賦石榴。聊將代左腕、長夜枕渠頭。」十娘報以雙履、報詩曰「雙鳧乍失伴、兩燕還相属。聊以當兒心、竟日承君足。」
  下官又遣曲琴取揚州青銅鏡、留之與十娘、並贈之詩曰「仙人好負局、隠士屡潜観。映水菱光散、臨風竹影寒。月下時驚鵲、池邊舞鸞。若道人心變、從渠照膽看。」十娘又贈手中扇、咏曰「合歓游璧水、同心侍華闕。颯颯似朝風、團團如夜月。鸞姿侵霧起、鶴影排空發。希君掌中握、勿使恩情歇。」
  下官辭謝訖、因遣左右取益州新樣錦一疋、直奉五雙、因贈詩曰「今留片子信、可以贈佳期。裁為八幅被、時復一相思。」五捜遂抽金釵送張郎、因報詩曰「兒今贈君別、情知後會難。莫言釵意小、可以挂渠冠。」
  更取滑州小綾子一疋、留與桂心、香兒数人共分。桂心已下、或脱銀釵、落金釧、解帛子、施羅巾、皆白送張郎、曰「好去。若因行李、時復相過。」香兒因咏曰「大夫存行迹、慇懃為数來。莫作浮萍草、逐浪不知回。」
  下官拭涙而言曰「犬馬何識、尚解傷離、鳥獣無情、由知怨別。心非木石、豈忘深恩。」十娘報詩曰「他道愁勝死、兒言死勝愁。愁來百處痛、死去一時休。」又咏曰「他道愁勝死、兒言死勝愁。曰夜懸心憶、知隔幾年秋。」下官咏曰「人去悠悠隔兩天、未審迢迢度幾年。縦使身游萬里外、終帰意在十娘邊。」十娘咏詩曰「天涯地角知何處、玉體紅顔難再遇。但令翅羽為人生、會些高飛共君去。」
  下官不忍相看、忽把十娘手子而別。行至二三里、回頭看数人、猶在舊處立。余時漸漸去遠、聲沈影滅、顧瞻不見、惻愴而去。行到山口、浮舟而過。夜※[耳+火]※[耳+火]而不寐、心煢煢而靡托。既悵恨於啼猿、又凄傷於別鵠。飲気呑聲、天道人情、有別必怨、有怨必盈。去日一何短、來宵一何長。比目絶對、雙鳧失伴。日日衣寛、朝朝帶緩。口上唇裂、胸間氣満。涙臉千行、愁腸寸斷。端坐横琴、涕血流襟。千思競起、百慮交侵。獨※[口+頻]眉而永結、空抱膝而長吟、望神仙兮不可見、普天地兮知余心、思神仙兮不可得、覓十娘兮斷知聞。欲聞此兮腸亦乱、更見此兮悩余心。
  2003.9.6(日)入力終了。