More than seven hundred years ago, at Dan-no-ura, in the Straits of
Shimonoséki, was fought the last battle of the long contest between the
Heiké, or Taira clan, and the Genji, or Minamoto clan. There the Heiké
perished utterly, with their women and children, and their infant
emperor likewise—now remembered as Antoku Tennō. And that sea and shore
have been haunted for seven hundred years... Elsewhere I told you about
the strange crabs found there, called Heiké crabs, which have human
faces on their backs, and are said to be the spirits of the Heiké
warriors[1]. But there are many strange things to be seen and heard
along that coast. On dark nights thousands of ghostly fires hover about
the beach, or flit above the waves,—pale lights which the fishermen
call _Oni-bi_, or demon-fires; and, whenever the winds are up, a sound
of great shouting comes from that sea, like a clamor of battle.
In former years the Heiké were much more restless than they now are.
They would rise about ships passing in the night, and try to sink them;
and at all times they would watch for swimmers, to pull them down. It
was in order to appease those dead that the Buddhist temple, Amidaji,
was built at Akamagaséki[2]. A cemetery also was made close by, near
the beach; and within it were set up monuments inscribed with the names
of the drowned emperor and of his great vassals; and Buddhist services
were regularly performed there, on behalf of the spirits of them. After
the temple had been built, and the tombs erected, the Heiké gave less
trouble than before; but they continued to do queer things at
intervals,—proving that they had not found the perfect peace.
Some centuries ago there lived at Akamagaséki a blind man named Hōïchi,
who was famed for his skill in recitation and in playing upon the
_biwa_[3]. From childhood he had been trained to recite and to play;
and while yet a lad he had surpassed his teachers. As a professional
_biwa-hōshi_ he became famous chiefly by his recitations of the history
of the Heiké and the Genji; and it is said that when he sang the song
of the battle of Dan-no-ura “even the goblins [_kijin_] could not
refrain from tears.”
At the outset of his career, Hōïchi was very poor; but he found a good
friend to help him. The priest of the Amidaji was fond of poetry and
music; and he often invited Hōïchi to the temple, to play and recite.
Afterwards, being much impressed by the wonderful skill of the lad, the
priest proposed that Hōïchi should make the temple his home; and this
offer was gratefully accepted. Hōïchi was given a room in the
temple-building; and, in return for food and lodging, he was required
only to gratify the priest with a musical performance on certain
evenings, when otherwise disengaged.
One summer night the priest was called away, to perform a Buddhist
service at the house of a dead parishioner; and he went there with his
acolyte, leaving Hōïchi alone in the temple. It was a hot night; and
the blind man sought to cool himself on the verandah before his
sleeping-room. The verandah overlooked a small garden in the rear of
the Amidaji. There Hōïchi waited for the priest’s return, and tried to
relieve his solitude by practicing upon his biwa. Midnight passed; and
the priest did not appear. But the atmosphere was still too warm for
comfort within doors; and Hōïchi remained outside. At last he heard
steps approaching from the back gate. Somebody crossed the garden,
advanced to the verandah, and halted directly in front of him—but it
was not the priest. A deep voice called the blind man’s name—abruptly
and unceremoniously, in the manner of a samurai summoning an inferior:—
“Hōïchi!”
Hōïchi was too much startled, for the moment, to respond; and the voice
called again, in a tone of harsh command,—
“Hōïchi!”
“_Hai!_”(1) answered the blind man, frightened by the menace in the
voice,—“I am blind!—I cannot know who calls!”
“There is nothing to fear,” the stranger exclaimed, speaking more
gently. “I am stopping near this temple, and have been sent to you with
a message. My present lord, a person of exceedingly high rank, is now
staying in Akamagaséki, with many noble attendants. He wished to view
the scene of the battle of Dan-no-ura; and to-day he visited that
place. Having heard of your skill in reciting the story of the battle,
he now desires to hear your performance: so you will take your biwa and
come with me at once to the house where the august assembly is
waiting.”
In those times, the order of a samurai was not to be lightly disobeyed.
Hōïchi donned his sandals, took his biwa, and went away with the
stranger, who guided him deftly, but obliged him to walk very fast. The
hand that guided was iron; and the clank of the warrior’s stride proved
him fully armed,—probably some palace-guard on duty. Hōïchi’s first
alarm was over: he began to imagine himself in good luck;—for,
remembering the retainer’s assurance about a “person of exceedingly
high rank,” he thought that the lord who wished to hear the recitation
could not be less than a daimyō of the first class. Presently the
samurai halted; and Hōïchi became aware that they had arrived at a
large gateway;—and he wondered, for he could not remember any large
gate in that part of the town, except the main gate of the Amidaji.
“_Kaimon!_”[4] the samurai called,—and there was a sound of unbarring;
and the twain passed on. They traversed a space of garden, and halted
again before some entrance; and the retainer cried in a loud voice,
“Within there! I have brought Hōïchi.” Then came sounds of feet
hurrying, and screens sliding, and rain-doors opening, and voices of
women in converse. By the language of the women Hōïchi knew them to be
domestics in some noble household; but he could not imagine to what
place he had been conducted. Little time was allowed him for
conjecture. After he had been helped to mount several stone steps, upon
the last of which he was told to leave his sandals, a woman’s hand
guided him along interminable reaches of polished planking, and round
pillared angles too many to remember, and over widths amazing of matted
floor,—into the middle of some vast apartment. There he thought that
many great people were assembled: the sound of the rustling of silk was
like the sound of leaves in a forest. He heard also a great humming of
voices,—talking in undertones; and the speech was the speech of courts.
Hōïchi was told to put himself at ease, and he found a kneeling-cushion
ready for him. After having taken his place upon it, and tuned his
instrument, the voice of a woman—whom he divined to be the _Rōjo_, or
matron in charge of the female service—addressed him, saying,—
“It is now required that the history of the Heiké be recited, to the
accompaniment of the biwa.”
Now the entire recital would have required a time of many nights:
therefore Hōïchi ventured a question:—
“As the whole of the story is not soon told, what portion is it
augustly desired that I now recite?”