Have you ever attempted to mount some old tower stairway, spiring up
through darkness, and in the heart of that darkness found yourself
at the cobwebbed edge of nothing? Or have you followed some coast
path, cut along the face of a cliff, only to discover yourself, at
a turn, on the jagged verge of a break? The emotional worth of such
experience--from a literary point of view--is proved by the force
of the sensations aroused, and by the vividness with which they are
remembered.
Now there have been curiously preserved, in old Japanese story-books,
certain fragments of fiction that produce an almost similar emotional
experience.... Perhaps the writer was lazy; perhaps he had a quarrel
with the publisher; perhaps he was suddenly called away from his little
table, and never came back; perhaps death stopped the writing-brush
in the very middle of a sentence. But no mortal man can ever tell us
exactly why these things were left unfinished.... I select a typical
example.
*
On the fourth day of the first month of the third Tenwa,--that is to
say, about two hundred and twenty years ago,--the lord Nakagawa Sado,
while on his way to make a New Year's visit, halted with his train
at a tea-house in Hakusan, in the Hongō district of Yedo. While the
party were resting there, one of the lord's attendants,--a _wakatō_[1]
named Sekinai,--feeling very thirsty, filled for himself a large
water-cup with tea. He was raising the cup to his lips when he suddenly
perceived, in the transparent yellow infusion, the image or reflection
of a face that was not his own. Startled, he looked around, but could
see no one near him. The face in the tea appeared, from the coiffure,
to be the face of a young samurai: it was strangely distinct, and
very handsome,--delicate as the face of a girl. And it seemed the
reflection of a living face; for the eyes and the lips were moving.
Bewildered by this mysterious apparition, Sekinai threw away the tea,
and carefully examined the cup. It proved to be a very cheap water-cup,
with no artistic devices of any sort. He found and filled another cup;
and again the face appeared in the tea. He then ordered fresh tea,
and refilled the cup; and once more the strange face appeared,--this
time with a mocking smile. But Sekinai did not allow himself to be
frightened. "Whoever you are," he muttered, "you shall delude me no
further!"--then he swallowed the tea, face and all, and went his way,
wondering whether he had swallowed a ghost.
*
Late in the evening of the same day, while on watch in the palace of
the lord Nakagawa, Sekinai was surprised by the soundless coming of
a stranger into the apartment. This stranger, a richly dressed young
samurai, seated himself directly in front of Sekinai, and, saluting the
_wakatō_ with a slight bow, observed:--
"I am Shikibu Heinai--met you to-day for the first time.... You do not
seem to recognize me."
He spoke in a very low, but penetrating voice. And Sekinai was
astonished to find before him the same sinister, handsome face of
which he had seen, and swallowed, the apparition in a cup of tea. It
was smiling now, as the phantom had smiled; but the steady gaze of the
eyes, above the smiling lips, was at once a challenge and an insult.
"No, I do not recognize you," returned Sekinai, angry but cool;--"and
perhaps you will now be good enough to inform me how you obtained
admission to this house?"
[In feudal times the residence of a lord was strictly guarded at
all hours; and no one could enter unannounced, except through some
unpardonable negligence on the part of the armed watch.]
"Ah, you do not recognize me!" exclaimed the visitor, in a tone of
irony, drawing a little nearer as he spoke. "No, you do not recognize
me! Yet you took upon yourself this morning to do me a deadly
injury!..."
Sekinai instantly seized the _tantō_[2] at his girdle, and made a
fierce thrust at the throat of the man. But the blade seemed to touch
no substance. Simultaneously and soundlessly the intruder leaped
sideward to the chamber-wall, _and through it!_... The wall showed no
trace of his exit. He had traversed it only as the light of a candle
passes through lantern-paper.
*
When Sekinai made report of the incident, his recital astonished and
puzzled the retainers. No stranger had been seen either to enter or
to leave the palace at the hour of the occurrence; and no one in the
service of the lord Nakagawa had ever heard of the name "Shikibu
Heinai."
*
On the following night Sekinai was off duty, and remained at home with
his parents. At a rather late hour he was informed that some strangers
had called at the house, and desired to speak with him for a moment.
Taking his sword, he went to the entrance, and there found three armed
men,--apparently retainers,--waiting in front of the doorstep. The
three bowed respectfully to Sekinai; and one of them said:--
"Our names are Matsuoka Bungō, Tsuchibashi Bungō, and Okamura Heiroku.
We are retainers of the noble Shikibu Heinai. When our master last
night deigned to pay you a visit, you struck him with a sword. He was
much will hurt, and has been obliged to go to the hot springs, where
his wound is now being treated. But on the sixteenth day of the coming
month he will return; and he will then fitly repay you for the injury
done him...."
Without waiting to hear more, Sekinai leaped out, sword in hand, and
slashed right and left, at the strangers. But the three men sprang
to the wall of the adjoining building, and flitted up the wall like
shadows, and....
[Illustration]
Here the old narrative breaks off; the rest of the story existed only
in some brain that has been dust for a century.
I am able to imagine several possible endings; but none of them would
satisfy an Occidental imagination. I prefer to let the reader attempt
to decide for himself the probable consequence of swallowing a Soul.
[Footnote 1: The armed attendant of a _samurai_ was thus called. The
relation of the _wakatō_ to the _samurai_ was that of squire to knight.]
[Footnote 2: The shorter of the two swords carried by samurai. The
longer sword was called _katana_.]