Omoïkya!
Mi ni saë kaënu
Nadéshiko ni,
Wakaréshi sodé no
Tsuyu no tamoto wo!
_If I could, only have known! Ah, this parting with the flower,[31] for
which I would so gladly have given my own life, has left my sleeves wet
with the dew!_
Samidaré ya!
Shimérigachi naru
Sodé no tamoto wo.
_Oh! the month of rain![32] All things become damp;--the ends of my
sleeves are wet._
Some little time afterward, people told me that if I planted the
_sotoba_[33] upside down, another misfortune of this kind would not
come to pass. I had a great many sorrowful doubts about doing such a
thing; but at last, on the ninth day of the eighth month, I had the
_sotoba_ reversed. ...
*
On the eighth day of the ninth month we went to the Akasaka theatre.
*
On the eighteenth day of the tenth month I went by myself to the Haruki
theatre in Hongō, to see the play of _Ōkubo Hikozaëmon_.[34] There,
having carelessly lost my sandal-ticket [_gésoku-fuda_], I had to
remain until after everybody else had left. Then I was at last able to
get my sandals, and to go home; but the night was so black that I felt
very lonesome on the way.
On the day of the _Sekku_,[35]in the first month [1898], I was talking
with Hori's aunt and the wife of our friend Uchimi, when I suddenly
felt a violent pain in my breast, and, being frightened, I tried to
reach a talisman (_o-mamori_) of Suitengū,[36] which was lying upon the
wardrobe. But in the same moment I fell senseless. Under kind treatment
I soon came to myself again; but I was ill for a long time after.
***
The tenth day of the fourth month being the holiday
_Sanjiu-nen-Sai_,[37] we arranged to meet at father's. I was to go
there first with Jiunosuké [_perhaps a relative_], and there wait for
my husband, who had to go to the office that morning for a little
while. He met us at father's house about half-past eight: then the
three of us went out together to look at the streets. We passed through
Kōjimachi to Nakatamachi, and went by way of the Sakurada-Mon to the
Hibiya-Metsuké, and thence from Ginzadōri by way of the Mégané-Bashi
to Uyéno. After looking at things there, we again went to the
Mégané-Bashi; but then I felt so tired that I proposed to return, and
my husband agreed, as he also was very tired. But Jiunosuké said: "As
I do not want to miss this chance to see the Daimyō-procession,[38] I
must go on to Ginza." So there we said good-by to him, and we went to
a little eating-house [_tempura-ya_], where we were served with fried
fish; and, as luck would have it, we got a good chance to see the
Daimyō-procession from that very house. We did not get back home that
evening until half-past six o'clock.
*
From the middle of the fourth month I had much sorrow on account of a
matter relating to my sister Tori [_the matter is not mentioned_].
***
On the nineteenth day of the eighth month of the thirty-first year of
Meiji [1898] my second child was born, almost painlessly,--a girl; and
we named her Hatsu. We invited to the _shichiya_[39] all those who had
helped us at the time of the child's birth.
--Mother afterwards remained with me for a couple of days; but she
was then obliged to leave me, because my sister Kō was suffering from
severe pains in the chest. Fortunately my husband had his regular
vacation about the same time; and he helped me all he could,--even in
regard to washing and other matters; but I was often greatly troubled
because I had no woman with me....
When my husband's vacation was over, mother came often, but only while
my husband was away. The twenty-one days [_the period of danger_] thus
passed; but mother and child continued well.
--Up to the time of one hundred days after my daughter's birth, I
was constantly anxious about her, because she often seemed to have a
difficulty in breathing. But that passed off at last, and she appeared
to be getting strong.
Still, we were unhappy about one matter,--a deformity: Hatsu had been
born with a double thumb on one hand. For a long time we could not make
up our minds to take her to a hospital, in order to have an operation
performed. But at last a woman living near our house told us of a very
skilful surgeon in [the quarter of] Shinjiku; and we decided to go to
him. My husband held the child on his lap during the operation. I could
not bear to see the operation; and I waited in the next room, my heart
full of pain and fear, wondering how the matter would end. But [when
all was over] the little one did not appear to suffer any pain; and she
took the breast as usual a few minutes after. So the matter ended more
fortunately than I had thought possible.
At home she continued to take her milk as before, and seemed as if
nothing had been done to her little body. But as she was so very young
we were afraid that the operation might in some way cause her to be
sick. By way of precaution, I went with her to the hospital every day
for about three weeks; but she showed no sign of sickness.
*
On the third day of the third month of the thirty-second year [1899],
on the occasion of the _hatsu-sekku_,[40] we received presents of
_Dairi_ and of _hina_, both from father's house and from Goto's,--also
the customary gifts of congratulation: a _tansu_ [chest of drawers],
a _kyōdai_ [mirror-stand], and a _haribako_ [work-box: lit.
"needle-box"][41] We ourselves on the same occasion bought for her
a _chadai_ [teacup stand], a _zen_ [lacquered tray], and some other
little things. Both Goto and Jiunosuké came to see us on that day; and
we had a very happy gathering.
*
On the third day of the fourth month we visited the temple Ana-Hachiman
[_Shintō shrine in the district of Waséda_] to pray for the child's
health....
On the twenty-ninth day of the fourth month Hatsu appeared to be
unwell: so I wanted to have her examined by a doctor.
A doctor promised to come the same morning, but he did not come, and
I waited for him in vain all that day. Next day again I waited, but
he did not come. Toward evening Hatsu became worse, and seemed to be
suffering great pain in her breast, and I resolved to take her to a
doctor early next morning. All through that night I was very uneasy
about her, but at daybreak she seemed to be better. So I went out
alone, taking her on my back, and walked to the office of a doctor in
Akasaka. But when I asked to have the child examined, I was told that I
must wait, as it was not yet the regular time for seeing patients.
While I was waiting, the child began to cry worse than ever before;
she would not take the breast, and I could do nothing to soothe her,
either by walking or resting, so that I was greatly troubled. At last
the doctor came, and began to examine her; and in the same moment I
noticed that her crying grew feebler, and that her lips were becoming
paler and paler. Then, as I could not remain silent, seeing her thus, I
had to ask, "How is her condition?" "She cannot live until evening," he
answered. "But could you not give her medicine?" I asked. "If she could
drink it," he replied.
I wanted to go back home at once, and send word to my husband and to
my father's house; but the shock had been too much for me--all my
strength suddenly left me. Fortunately a kind old woman came to my aid,
and carried my umbrella and other things, and helped me to get into a
jinrikisha, so that I was able to return home by jinrikisha. Then I
sent a man to tell my husband and my father. Mita's wife came to help
me; and with her assistance everything possible was done to help the
child. ... Still my husband did not come back. But all our pain and
trouble was in vain.
So, on the second day of the fifth month of the thirty-second year, my
child set out on her journey to the Jūmanokudō[42]--never to return to
this world.
*
And we, her father and mother, were yet living--though we had caused
her death by neglecting to have her treated by a skilled doctor! This
thought made us both sorrow greatly; and we often reproached ourselves
in vain. But the day after her death the doctor said to us: "Even if
that disease had been treated from the beginning by the best possible
means, your child could not have lived more than about a week. If
she had been ten or eleven years old, she might possibly have been
saved by an operation; but in this case no operation could have been
attempted--the child was too young." Then he explained to us that the
child had died from a _jinzōen_.[43]...
Thus all the hopes that we had, and all the pains that we took in
caring for her, and all the pleasure of watching her grow during those
nine months,--all were in vain!
But we two were at last able to find some ease from our sorrow by
reflecting that our relation to this child, from the time of some
former life, must have been very slight and weak.[44]
*
In the loneliness of that weary time, I tried to express my heart by
writing some verses after the manner of the story of Miyagino and
Shinobu in the _gidayū-bon_[45]:--
Koré, kono uchi é enzukishi wa,
Omoi kaëséba itsutosé maë;
Kondo mōkéshi wa onago no ko,
Kawaii mono toté sodatsuru ka to;--
Waga mi no nari wa uchi-wasuré,
Sodatéshi koto mo, nasaké nai.
Kōshita koto to wa tsuyushirazu,
Kono Hatsu wa buji ni sodatsuru ka.
Shubi yō seijin shita naraba,
Yagaté muko wo tori
Tanoshimashō dōshité to.
Monomi yusan wo tashinandé,
Wagako daiji to,
Otto no koto mo, Hatsu no koto mo,
Koïshi natsukashi omō no wo;
--Tanoshimi-kurashita kai mo no.
Oyako ni narishi wa uréshii ga,
Sakidatsu koto wo miru haha no
Kokoro mo suishité tamoi no to!
--Té wo tori-kawasu fūfu ga nagéki,
Nagéki wo tachi-giku mo,
Morai nakishité omotéguchi
Shōji mo nururu bakari nari.
_Here in this house it was that I married him;--well I remember the
day--five years ago. Here was born the girl-baby,--the loved one whom
we hoped to rear. Caring then no longer for my person [,--heedless
of how I dressed when I went out],--thinking only of how to bring
her up,--I lived. How pitiless [this doom of mine]! Never had I even
dreamed that such a thing could befall me: my only thoughts were as
to how my Hatsu could best be reared. When she grows up, I thought,
soon we shall find her a good husband, to make her life happy. So,
never going out for pleasure-seeking, I studied only how to care for my
little one,--how to love and to cherish my husband and my Hatsu. Vain
now, alas! this hoped-for joy of living only for her sake.. .. Once
having known the delight of the relation of mother and child, deign to
think of the heart of the mother who sees her child die before her!_
[46]
*
[_All of the foregoing is addressed to the spirit of the dead
child._--Translator.]
*
_Now, while husband and wife, each clasping the hands of the other,
make lament together, if any one pausing at the entrance should listen
to their sorrow, surely the paper window would be moistened by tears
from without._
*
About the time of Hatsu's death, the law concerning funerals was
changed for the better; and permission was given for the burning of
corpses in Ōkubo. So I asked Namiki to have the body sent to the temple
of which his family had always been parishioners,--providing that
there should be no [legal] difficulty about the matter. Accordingly
the funeral took place at Monjōji,--a temple belonging to the Asakusa
branch of the Hongwanji Shin-shū; and the ashes were there interred.
--My sister Kō was sick in bed with a rather bad cold at the time of
Hatsu's death; but she visited us very soon after the news had reached
her. And she called again a few days later to tell us that she had
become almost well, and that we had no more cause to feel anxious about
her.
--As for myself, I felt a dread of going out anywhere; and I did not
leave the house for a whole month. But as custom does not allow one to
remain always indoors, I had to go out at last; and I made the required
visit to father's and to my sister's.
***
--Having become quite ill, I hoped that mother would be able to help
me. But Kō was again sick, and Yoshi [_a younger sister here mentioned
for the first time_] and mother had both to attend her constantly:
so I could get no aid from father's house. There was no one to help
me except some of my female neighbours, who attended me out of pure
kindness, when they could spare the time. At last I got Hori-Shi to
engage a good old woman to assist me; and under her kind care I began
to get well. About the beginning of the eighth month I felt much
stronger....
On the fourth day of the ninth month my sister Kō died of consumption.
--It had been agreed beforehand that if an unexpected matter[47] came
to pass, my younger sister Yoshi should be received in the place of
Kō. As Goto-Shi found it inconvenient to live altogether alone, the
marriage took place on the eleventh day of the same month; and the
usual congratulations were offered.
On the last day of the same month Okada-Shi suddenly died.
We found ourselves greatly troubled [_pecuniarily embarrassed_] by the
expenses that all these events caused us.
*
--When I first heard that Yoshi had been received so soon after the
death of Kō, I was greatly displeased. But I kept my feelings hidden,
and I spoke to the man as before.
*
In the eleventh month Goto went alone to Sapporo. On the second day of
the second month, thirty-third year of Meiji [1900], Goto-Shi returned
to Tōkyō; and on the fourteenth day of the same month he went away
again to the Hokkaidō [_Yezo_], taking Yoshi with him.
***
On the twentieth day of the second month, at six o'clock in the
morning, my third child--a boy--was born. Both mother and child were
well.
*
--We had expected a girl, but it was a boy that was born; so, when my
husband came back from his work, he was greatly surprised and pleased
to find that he had a boy.
--But the child was not well able to take the breast: so we had to
nourish him by means of a feeding-bottle.
*
On the seventh day after the boy's birth, we partly shaved his head.
And in the evening we had the _shichiya_ [seventh-day festival]--but,
this time, all by ourselves.
--My husband had caught a bad cold some time before; and he could not
go to work next morning, as he was coughing badly. So he remained in
the house. Early in the morning the child had taken his milk as usual.
But, about ten o'clock in the forenoon, he seemed to be suffering great
pain in his breast; and he began to moan so strangely that we sent
a man for a doctor. Unfortunately the doctor that we asked to come
was out of town; and we were told that he would not come back before
night. Therefore, we thought that it would be better to send at once
for another doctor; and we sent for one. He said that he would come
in the evening. But, about two o'clock in the afternoon, the child's
sickness suddenly became worse; and a little before three o'clock--the
twenty-seventh day of the second month--_aënaku_![48]--my child was
dead, having lived for only eight days....
*
--I thought to myself that, even if this new misfortune did not cause
my husband to feel an aversion for me, thus having to part with all my
children, one after another, must be the punishment of some wrong done
in the time of a former life. And, so thinking, I knew that my sleeves
would never again become dry,--that the rain [_of tears_] would never
cease,--that never again in this world would the sky grow clear for me.
And more and more I wondered whether my husband's feelings would not
change for the worse, by reason of his having to meet such trouble,
over and over again, on my account. I felt anxious about his heart,
because of what already was in my own.
Nevertheless, he only repeated the words, _Temméï itashikata koré
naku_: "From the decrees of Heaven there is no escape."
*
--I thought that I should be better able to visit the tomb of my child
if he were buried in some temple near us. So the funeral took place
at the temple called Sempu-kuji in Ōkubo; and the ashes were buried
there....
Tanoshimi mo
Samété hakanashi
Haru no yumé![49]
[_Translation._]
--_All the delight having perished, hopeless I remain: it was only a
dream of Spring!_[50]
[No date.]
... I wonder whether it was because of the sorrow that I suffered--my
face and limbs became slightly swollen during the fortnight[51] after
my boy's death.--It was nothing very serious, after all, and it soon
went away.... Now the period of twenty-one days [the period of danger]
is past....
Here the poor mother's diary ends. The closing statement regarding the
time of twenty-one days from the birth of her child leaves it probable
that these last lines were written on the thirteenth or fourteenth day
of the third month. She died on the twenty-eighth of the same month.
*
I doubt if any one not really familiar with the life of Japan can fully
understand this simple history. But to imagine the merely material
conditions of the existence here recorded should not be difficult:--the
couple occupying a tiny house of two rooms--one room of six mats and
one of three;--the husband earning barely per month;--the wife sewing,
washing, cooking (outside the house, of course);--no comfort of fire,
even during the period of greatest cold. I estimate that the pair
must have lived at an average cost of about seven pence a day, not
including house-rent. Their pleasures were indeed very cheap: a payment
of twopence admitted them to theatres or to _gidayū_-recitations; and
their sight-seeing was done on foot. Yet even these diversions were
luxuries for them. Expenses represented by the necessary purchase of
clothing, or by the obligation of making presents to kindred upon the
occasion of a marriage or a birth or a death, could only have been met
by heroic economy. Now it is true that thousands of poor folk in Tōkyō
live still more cheaply than this,--live upon a much smaller income
than £1 per month,--and nevertheless remain always clean, neat, and
cheerful. But only a very strong woman can easily bear and bring up
children under such conditions,--conditions much more hazardous than
those of the harder but healthier peasant-life of the interior. And, as
might be supposed, the weakly fail and perish in multitude.
*
Readers of the diary may have wondered at the eagerness shown by
so shy and gentle a woman to become thus suddenly the wife of a
total stranger, about whose character she knew absolutely nothing.
A majority of Japanese marriages, indeed, are arranged for in the
matter-of-fact way here described, and with the aid of a _nakōdo_;
but the circumstances, in this particular case, were exceptionally
discomforting. The explanation is pathetically simple. All good girls
are expected to marry; and to remain unmarried after a certain age is a
shame and a reproach. The dread of such reproach, doubtless, impelled
the writer of the diary to snatch at the first chance of fulfilling her
natural destiny. She was already twenty-nine years old;--another such
chance might never have offered itself.
*
To me the chief significance of this humble confession of struggle
and failure is not in the utterance of anything exceptional, but
in the expression of something as common to Japanese life as blue
air and sunshine. The brave resolve of the woman to win affection
by docility and by faultless performance of duty, her gratitude for
every small kindness, her childlike piety, her supreme unselfishness,
her Buddhist interpretation of suffering as the penalty for some
fault committed in a previous life, her attempts to write poetry
when her heart was breaking,--all this, indeed, I find touching, and
more than touching. But I do not find it exceptional. The traits
revealed are typical,--typical of the moral nature of the woman of
the people. Perhaps there are not many Japanese women of the same
humble class who could express their personal joy and pain in a
record at once so artless and pathetic; but there are millions of
such women inheriting--from ages and ages of unquestioning faith--a
like conception of life as duty, and an equal capacity of unselfish
attachment.
[Footnote 1: A _kozukai_ is a man-servant chiefly employed as
doorkeeper and messenger. The term is rendered better by the French
word _concierge_ than by our English word "porter"; but neither
expression exactly meets the Japanese meaning.]
[Footnote 2: The reader must understand that "the man of the opposite
house" is acting as _nakōdo_, or match-maker, in the interest of a
widower who wishes to remarry. By the statement, "no preparation
has been made," the hither means that he is unable to provide for
his daughter's marriage, and cannot furnish her with a bridal
outfit,--clothing, household furniture, etc.,--as required by custom.
The reply that "no preparation is needed" signifies that the proposed
husband is willing to take the girl without any marriage gifts.]
[Footnote 3: Throughout this Ms., except in one instance, the more
respectful form _Sama_ never occurs after a masculine name, the popular
form _Shi_ being used even after the names of kindred.]
[Footnote 4: The father has evidently been consulting a fortune-telling
book, such as the _San-zé-sō_, or a professional diviner. The allusion
to the astrologically determined natures, or temperaments, of the pair
could scarcely be otherwise explained.]
[Footnote 5: _Miai_ is a term used to signify a meeting arranged in
order to enable the parties affianced to see each other before the
wedding-day.]
[Footnote 6: Meaning: "I am ready to become your wife, if you are
willing to take me as you have been informed that I am,--a poor girl
without money or clothes."]
[Footnote 7: Lucky and unlucky days were named and symbolized as
follows, according to the old Japanese astrological system:--
Senkatsu:--forenoon good; afternoon bad.
Tomobiki:--forenoon good; afternoon good at the beginning and the end,
but bad in the middle.
Senpu;--forenoon bad; afternoon good.
Butsumetsu:--wholly unlucky.
Taian;--altogether good.