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Along time ago there lived, in the Koishi-kawa quarter of Yedo, a
_hatamoto_ named Suzuki, whose yashiki was situated on the bank of the
Yedogawa, not far from the bridge called Naka-no-hashi. And among the
retainers of this Suzuki there was an _ashigaru_[1] named Chūgorō.
Chūgorō was a handsome lad, very amiable and clever, and much liked by
his comrades.
For several years Chūgorō remained in the service of Suzuki, conducting
himself so well that no fault was found with him. But at last the
other _ashigaru_ discovered that Chūgorō was in the habit of leaving
the yashiki every night, by way of the garden, and staying out until
a little before dawn. At first they said nothing to him about this
strange behaviour; for his absences did not interfere with any regular
duty, and were supposed to be caused by some love-affair. But after a
time he began to look pale and weak; and his comrades, suspecting some
serious folly, decided to interfere. Therefore, one evening, just as he
was about to steal away from the house, an elderly retainer called him
aside, and said:--
"Chūgorō, my lad, we know that you go out every night and stay away
until early morning; and we have observed that you are looking unwell.
We fear that you are keeping bad company, and injuring your health. And
unless you can give a good reason for your conduct, we shall think that
it is our duty to report this matter to the Chief Officer. In any case,
since we are your comrades and friends, it is but right that we should
know why you go out at night, contrary to the custom of this house."
Chūgorō appeared to be very much embarrassed and alarmed by these
words. But after a short silence he passed into the garden, followed by
his comrade. When the two found themselves well out of hearing of the
rest, Chūgorō stopped, and said:--
"I will now tell you everything; but I must entreat you to keep my
secret. If you repeat what I tell you, some great misfortune may
befall me.
"It was in the early part of last spring--about five months ago--that
I first began to go out at night, on account of a love-affair. One
evening, when I was returning to the yashiki after a visit to my
parents, I saw a woman standing by the riverside, not far from the main
gateway. She was dressed like a person of high rank; and I thought
it strange that a woman so finely dressed should be standing there
alone at such an hour. But I did not think that I had any right to
question her; and I was about to pass her by, without speaking, when
she stepped forward and pulled me by the sleeve. Then I saw that she
was very young and handsome. 'Will you not walk with me as far as the
bridge?' she said; 'I have something to tell you.' Her voice was very
soft and pleasant; and she smiled as she spoke; and her smile was hard
to resist. So I walked with her toward the bridge; and on the way she
told me that she had often seen me going in and out of the yashiki,
and had taken a fancy to me. 'I wish to have you for my husband,'
she said;--'if you can like me, we shall be able to make each other
very happy.' I did not know how to answer her; but I thought her very
charming. As we neared the bridge, she pulled my sleeve again, and led
me down the bank to the very edge of the river. 'Come in with me,' she
whispered, and pulled me toward the water. It is deep there, as you
know; and I became all at once afraid of her, and tried to turn back.
She smiled, and caught me by the wrist, and said, 'Oh, you must never
be afraid with me!' And, somehow, at the touch of her hand, I became
more helpless than a child. I felt like a person in a dream who tries
to run, and cannot move hand or foot. Into the deep water she stepped,
and drew me with her; and I neither saw nor heard nor felt anything
more until I found myself walking beside her through what seemed to be
a great palace, full of light. I was neither wet nor cold: everything
around me was dry and warm and beautiful. I could not understand where
I was, nor how I had come there. The woman led me by the hand: we
passed through room after room,--through ever so many rooms, all empty,
but very fine,--until we entered into a guest-room of a thousand mats.
Before a great alcove, at the farther end, lights were burning, and
cushions laid as for a feast; but I saw no guests. She led me to the
place of honour, by the alcove, and seated herself in front of me, and
said: 'This is my home: do you think that you could be happy with me
here?' As she asked the question she smiled; and I thought that her
smile was more beautiful than anything else in the world; and out of
my heart I answered, 'Yes....' In the same moment I remembered the
story of Urashima; and I imagined that she might be the daughter of a
god; but I feared to ask her any questions.... Presently maid-servants
came in, bearing rice-wine and many dishes, which they set before
us. Then she who sat before me said: 'To-night shall be our bridal
night, because you like me; and this is our wedding-feast.' We pledged
ourselves to each other for the time of seven existences; and after the
banquet we were conducted to a bridal chamber, which had been prepared
for us.
"It was yet early in the morning when she awoke me, and said: 'My dear
one, you are now indeed my husband. But for reasons which I cannot tell
you, and which you must not ask, it is necessary that our marriage
remain secret. To keep you here until daybreak would cost both of us
our lives. Therefore do not, I beg of you, feel displeased because I
must now send you back to the house of your lord. You can come to me
to-night again, and every night hereafter, at the same hour that we
first met. Wait always for me by the bridge; and you will not have to
wait long. But remember, above all things, that our marriage must be a
secret, and that, if you talk about it, we shall probably be separated
forever.'
"I promised to obey her in all things,--remembering the fate of
Urashima,--and she conducted me through many rooms, all empty and
beautiful, to the entrance. There she again took me by the wrist, and
everything suddenly became dark, and I knew nothing more until I found
myself standing alone on the river bank, close to the Naka-no-hashi.
When I got back to the yashiki, the temple bells had not yet begun to
ring.
"In the evening I went again to the bridge, at the hour she had named,
and I found her waiting for me. She took me with her, as before, into
the deep water, and into the wonderful place where we had passed our
bridal night. And every night, since then, I have met and parted from
her in the same way. To-night she will certainly be waiting for me, and
I would rather die than disappoint her: therefore I must go.... But let
me again entreat you, my friend, never to speak to any one about what I
have told you."
*
The elder _ashigaru_ was surprised and alarmed by this story. He felt
that Chūgorō had told him the truth; and the truth suggested unpleasant
possibilities. Probably the whole experience was an illusion, and
an illusion produced by some evil power for a malevolent end.
Nevertheless, if really bewitched, the lad was rather to be pitied than
blamed; and any forcible interference would be likely to result in
mischief. So the _ashigaru_ answered kindly:--
"I shall never speak of what you have told me--never, at least, while
you remain alive and well. Go and meet the woman; but--beware of her! I
fear that you are being deceived by some wicked spirit."
Chūgorō only smiled at the old man's warning, and hastened away.
Several hours later he reentered the yashiki, with a strangely dejected
look. "Did you meet her?" whispered his comrade. "No," replied Chūgorō;
"she was not there. For the first time, she was not there. I think that
she will never meet me again. I did wrong to tell you;--I was very
foolish to break my promise...." The other vainly tried to console
him. Chūgorō lay down, and spoke no word more. He was trembling from
head to foot, as if he had caught a chill.
*
When the temple bells announced the hour of dawn, Chūgorō tried to get
up, and fell back senseless. He was evidently sick,--deathly sick. A
Chinese physician was summoned.
"Why, the man has no blood!" exclaimed the doctor, after a careful
examination;--"there is nothing but water in his veins! It will be very
difficult to save him.... What maleficence is this?"
*
Everything was done that could be done to save Chūgorō's life--but in
vain. He died as the sun went down. Then his comrade related the whole
story.
"Ah! I might have suspected as much!" exclaimed the doctor.... "No
power could have saved him. He was not the first whom she destroyed."
"Who is she?--or what is she?" the _ashigaru_ asked,--"a Fox-Woman?"
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"No; she has been haunting this river from ancient time. She loves the
blood of the young...."
"A Serpent-Woman?--A Dragon-Woman?"
"No, no! If you were to see her under that bridge by daylight, she
would appear to you a very loathsome creature."
"But what kind of a creature?"
"Simply a Frog,--a great and ugly Frog!"
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[Footnote 1: The _ashigaru_ were the lowest class of retainers in
military service.]