The Loves of Gompachi and Komurasaki

Within two miles or so from Yedo, and yet well away from the toil and

din of the great city, stands the village of Meguro. Once past the

outskirts of the town, the road leading thither is bounded on either

side by woodlands rich in an endless variety of foliage, broken at

intervals by the long, low line of villages and hamlets. As we draw

near to Meguro, the scenery, becoming more and more rustic, increases

in beauty. Deep shady lanes, bordered by hedgerows as luxurious as any

in England, lead down to a valley of rice fields bright with the

emerald green of the young crops. To the right and to the left rise

knolls of fantastic shape, crowned with a profusion of Cryptomerias,

Scotch firs and other cone-bearing trees, and fringed with thickets of

feathery bamboos, bending their stems gracefully to the light summer

breeze. Wherever there is a spot shadier and pleasanter to look upon

than the rest, there may be seen the red portal of a shrine which the

simple piety of the country folk has raised to Inari Sama, the patron

god of farming, or to some other tutelary deity of the place. At the

eastern outlet of the valley a strip of blue sea bounds the horizon;

westward are the distant mountains. In the foreground, in front of a

farmhouse, snug-looking, with its roof of velvety-brown thatch, a

troop of sturdy urchins, suntanned and stark naked, are frisking in

the wildest gambols, all heedless of the scolding voice of the

withered old grandam who sits spinning and minding the house, while

her son and his wife are away toiling at some outdoor labour. Close at

our feet runs a stream of pure water, in which a group of countrymen

are washing the vegetables which they will presently shoulder and

carry off to sell by auction in the suburbs of Yedo. Not the least

beauty of the scene consists in the wondrous clearness of an

atmosphere so transparent that the most distant outlines are scarcely

dimmed, while the details of the nearer ground stand out in sharp,

bold relief, now lit by the rays of a vertical sun, now darkened under

the flying shadows thrown by the fleecy clouds which sail across the

sky. Under such a heaven, what painter could limn the lights and

shades which flit over the woods, the pride of Japan, whether in late

autumn, when the russets and yellows of our own trees are mixed with

the deep crimson glow of the maples, or in spring-time, when plum and

cherry trees and wild camellias--giants, fifty feet high--are in full

blossom?

All that we see is enchanting, but there is a strange stillness in the

groves; rarely does the song of a bird break the silence; indeed, I

know but one warbler whose note has any music in it, the _uguisu_, by

some enthusiasts called the Japanese nightingale--at best, a king in

the kingdom of the blind. The scarcity of animal life of all

descriptions, man and mosquitoes alone excepted, is a standing wonder

to the traveller; the sportsman must toil many a weary mile to get a

shot at boar, or deer, or pheasant; and the plough of the farmer and

the trap of the poacher, who works in and out of season, threaten to

exterminate all wild creatures; unless, indeed, the Government should,

as they threatened in the spring of 1869, put in force some adaptation

of European game-laws. But they are lukewarm in the matter; a little

hawking on a duck-pond satisfies the cravings of the modern Japanese

sportsman, who knows that, game-laws or no game-laws, the wild fowl

will never fail in winter; and the days are long past when my Lord the

Shogun used to ride forth with a mighty company to the wild places

about Mount Fuji, there camping out and hunting the boar, the deer,

and the wolf, believing that in so doing he was fostering a manly and

military spirit in the land.

There is one serious drawback to the enjoyment of the beauties of the

Japanese country, and that is the intolerable affront which is

continually offered to one's sense of smell; the whole of what should

form the sewerage of the city is carried out on the backs of men and

horses, to be thrown upon the fields; and, if you would avoid the

overpowering nuisance, you must walk handkerchief in hand, ready to

shut out the stench which assails you at every moment.

It would seem natural, while writing of the Japanese country, to say a

few words about the peasantry, their relation to the lord of the soil,

and their government. But these I must reserve for another place. At

present our dealings are with the pretty village of Meguro.

At the bottom of a little lane, close to the entrance of the village,

stands an old shrine of the Shintô (the form of hero-worship which

existed in Japan before the introduction of Confucianism or of

Buddhism), surrounded by lofty Cryptomerias. The trees around a Shintô

shrine are specially under the protection of the god to whom the altar

is dedicated; and, in connection with them, there is a kind of magic

still respected by the superstitious, which recalls the waxen dolls,

through the medium of which sorcerers of the middle ages in Europe,

and indeed those of ancient Greece, as Theocritus tells us, pretended

to kill the enemies of their clients. This is called _Ushi no toki

mairi,_ or "going to worship at the hour of the ox,"[9] and is

practised by jealous women who wish to be revenged upon their

faithless lovers.

[Footnote 9: The Chinese, and the Japanese following them, divide the

day of twenty-four hours into twelve periods, each of which has a sign

something like the signs of the Zodiac:--

Midnight until two in the morning is represented by the rat.

2 a.m. " 4 a.m. " " ox.

4 a.m. " 6 a.m. " " tiger.

6 a.m. " 8 a.m. " " hare.

8 a.m. " 10 a.m. " " dragon.

10 a.m. " 12 noon " " snake.

12 noon " 2 p.m. " " horse.

2 p.m. " 4 p.m. " " ram.

4 p.m. " 6 p.m. " " ape.

6 p.m. " 8 p.m. " " cock.

8 p.m. " 10 p.m. " " hog.

10 p.m. " Midnight " " fox.]

When the world is at rest, at two in the morning, the hour of which

the ox is the symbol, the woman rises; she dons a white robe and high

sandals or clogs; her coif is a metal tripod, in which are thrust

three lighted candles; around her neck she hangs a mirror, which falls

upon her bosom; in her left hand she carries a small straw figure, the

effigy of the lover who has abandoned her, and in her right she grasps

a hammer and nails, with which she fastens the figure to one of the

sacred trees that surround the shrine. There she prays for the death

of the traitor, vowing that, if her petition be heard, she will

herself pull out the nails which now offend the god by wounding the

mystic tree. Night after night she comes to the shrine, and each night

she strikes in two or more nails, believing that every nail will

shorten her lover's life, for the god, to save his tree, will surely

strike him dead.

Meguro is one of the many places round Yedo to which the good citizens

flock for purposes convivial or religious, or both; hence it is that,

cheek by jowl with the old shrines and temples, you will find many a

pretty tea-house, standing at the rival doors of which Mesdemoiselles

Sugar, Wave of the Sea, Flower, Seashore, and Chrysanthemum are

pressing in their invitations to you to enter and rest. Not beautiful

these damsels, if judged by our standard, but the charm of Japanese

women lies in their manner and dainty little ways, and the tea-house

girl, being a professional decoy-duck, is an adept in the art of

flirting,--_en tout bien tout honneur_, be it remembered; for she is

not to be confounded with the frail beauties of the Yoshiwara, nor

even with her sisterhood near the ports open to foreigners, and to

their corrupting influence. For, strange as it seems, our contact all

over the East has an evil effect upon the natives.

In one of the tea-houses a thriving trade is carried on in the sale of

wooden tablets, some six inches square, adorned with the picture of a

pink cuttlefish on a bright blue ground. These are ex-votos, destined

to be offered up at the Temple of Yakushi Niurai, the Buddhist

Æsculapius, which stands opposite, and concerning the foundation of

which the following legend is told.

In the days of old there was a priest called Jikaku, who at the age of

forty years, it being the autumn of the tenth year of the period

called Tenchô (A.D. 833), was suffering from disease of the eyes,

which had attacked him three years before. In order to be healed from

this disease he carved a figure of Yakushi Niurai, to which he used

to offer up his prayers. Five years later he went to China, taking

with him the figure as his guardian saint, and at a place called

Kairetsu it protected him from robbers and wild beasts and from other

calamities. There he passed his time in studying the sacred laws both

hidden and revealed, and after nine years set sail to return to Japan.

When he was on the high seas a storm arose, and a great fish attacked

and tried to swamp the ship, so that the rudder and mast were broken,

and the nearest shore being that of a land inhabited by devils, to

retreat or to advance was equally dangerous. Then the holy man prayed

to the patron saint whose image he carried, and as he prayed, behold

the true Yakushi Niurai appeared in the centre of the ship, and said

to him--

"Verily, thou hast travelled far that the sacred laws might be

revealed for the salvation of many men; now, therefore, take my image,

which thou carriest in thy bosom, and cast it into the sea, that the

wind may abate, and that thou mayest be delivered from this land of

devils."

The commands of the saints must be obeyed, so with tears in his eyes,

the priest threw into the sea the sacred image which he loved. Then

did the wind abate, and the waves were stilled, and the ship went on

her course as though she were being drawn by unseen hands until she

reached a safe haven. In the tenth month of the same year the priest

again set sail, trusting to the power of his patron saint, and reached

the harbour of Tsukushi without mishap. For three years he prayed that

the image which he had cast away might be restored to him, until at

last one night he was warned in a dream that on the sea-shore at

Matsura Yakushi Niurai would appear to him. In consequence of this

dream he went to the province of Hizen, and landed on the sea-shore at

Hirato, where, in the midst of a blaze of light, the image which he

had carved appeared to him twice, riding on the back of a cuttlefish.

Thus was the image restored to the world by a miracle. In

commemoration of his recovery from the disease of the eyes and of his

preservation from the dangers of the sea, that these things might be

known to all posterity, the priest established the worship of Tako

Yakushi Niurai ("Yakushi Niurai of the Cuttlefish") and came to

Meguro, where he built the Temple of Fudô Sama,[10] another Buddhist

divinity. At this time there was an epidemic of small-pox in the

village, so that men fell down and died in the street, and the holy

man prayed to Fudô Sama that the plague might be stayed. Then the god

appeared to him, and said--

"The saint Yakushi Niurai of the Cuttlefish, whose image thou

carriest, desires to have his place in this village, and he will heal

this plague. Thou shalt, therefore, raise a temple to him here that

not only this small-pox, but other diseases for future generations,

may be cured by his power."

[Footnote 10: Fudô, literally "the motionless": Buddha in the state

called Nirvana.]

Hearing this, the priest shed tears of gratitude, and having chosen a

piece of fine wood, carved a large figure of his patron saint of the

cuttlefish, and placed the smaller image inside of the larger, and

laid it up in this temple, to which people still flock that they may

be healed of their diseases.

Such is the story of the miracle, translated from a small ill-printed

pamphlet sold by the priests of the temple, all the decorations of

which, even to a bronze lantern in the middle of the yard, are in the

form of a cuttlefish, the sacred emblem of the place.

What pleasanter lounge in which to while away a hot day could a man

wish for than the shade of the trees borne by the hill on which stands

the Temple of Fudô Sama? Two jets of pure water springing from the

rock are voided by spouts carved in the shape of dragons into a stone

basin enclosed by rails, within which it is written that "no woman may

enter." If you are in luck, you may cool yourself by watching some

devotee, naked save his loin-cloth, performing the ceremony called

_Suigiyô_; that is to say, praying under the waterfall that his soul

may be purified through his body. In winter it requires no small pluck

to go through this penance, yet I have seen a penitent submit to it

for more than a quarter of an hour on a bitterly cold day in January.

In summer, on the other hand, the religious exercise called

_Hiyakudo_, or "the hundred times," which may also be seen here to

advantage, is no small trial of patience. It consists in walking

backwards and forwards a hundred times between two points within the

sacred precincts, repeating a prayer each time. The count is kept

either upon the fingers or by depositing a length of twisted straw

each time that the goal is reached; at this temple the place allotted

for the ceremony is between a grotesque bronze figure of Tengu Sama

("the Dog of Heaven"), the terror of children, a most hideous monster

with a gigantic nose, which it is beneficial to rub with a finger

afterwards to be applied to one's own nose, and a large brown box

inscribed with the characters _Hiyaku Do_ in high relief, which may

generally be seen full of straw tallies. It is no sinecure to be a

good Buddhist, for the gods are not lightly to be propitiated. Prayer

and fasting, mortification of the flesh, abstinence from wine, from

women, and from favourite dishes, are the only passports to rising in

office, prosperity in trade, recovery from sickness, or a happy

marriage with a beloved maiden. Nor will mere faith without works be

efficient. A votive tablet of proportionate value to the favour prayed

for, or a sum of money for the repairs of the shrine or temple, is

necessary to win the favour of the gods. Poorer persons will cut off

the queue of their hair and offer that up; and at Horinouchi, a temple

in great renown some eight or nine miles from Yedo, there is a rope

about two inches and a half in diameter and about six fathoms long,

entirely made of human hair so given to the gods; it lies coiled up,

dirty, moth-eaten, and uncared for, at one end of a long shed full of

tablets and pictures, by the side of a rude native fire-engine. The

taking of life being displeasing to Buddha, outside many of the

temples old women and children earn a livelihood by selling sparrows,

small eels, carp, and tortoises, which the worshipper sets free in

honour of the deity, within whose territory cocks and hens and doves,

tame and unharmed, perch on every jutty, frieze, buttress, and coigne

of vantage.

But of all the marvellous customs that I wot of in connection with

Japanese religious exercises, none appears to me so strange as that of

spitting at the images of the gods, more especially at the statues of

the Ni-ô, the two huge red or red and green statues which, like Gog

and Magog, emblems of strength, stand as guardians of the chief

Buddhist temples. The figures are protected by a network of iron wire,

through which the votaries, praying the while, spit pieces of paper,

which they had chewed up into a pulp. If the pellet sticks to the

statue, the omen is favourable; if it falls, the prayer is not

accepted. The inside of the great bell at the Tycoon's burial-ground,

and almost every holy statue throughout the country, are all covered

with these outspittings from pious mouths.[11]

[Footnote 11: It will be readily understood that the customs and

ceremonies to which I have alluded belong only to the gross

superstitions with which ignorance has overlaid that pure Buddhism of

which Professor Max Müller has pointed out the very real beauties.]

Through all this discourse about temples and tea-houses, I am coming

by degrees to the goal of our pilgrimage--two old stones, mouldering

away in a rank, overgrown graveyard hard by, an old old

burying-ground, forgotten by all save those who love to dig out the

tales of the past. The key is kept by a ghoulish old dame, almost as

time-worn and mildewed as the tomb over which she watches. Obedient to

our call, and looking forward to a fee ten times greater than any

native would give her, she hobbles out, and, opening the gate, points

out the stone bearing the inscription, the "Tomb of the Shiyoku"

(fabulous birds, which, living one within the other--a mysterious

duality contained in one body--are the emblem of connubial love and

fidelity). By this stone stands another, graven with a longer legend,

which runs as follows:--

"In the old days of Genroku, she pined for the beauty of her lover,

who was as fair to look upon as the flowers; and now beneath the moss

of this old tombstone all has perished of her save her name. Amid the

changes of a fitful world, this tomb is decaying under the dew and

rain; gradually crumbling beneath its own dust, its outline alone

remains. Stranger! bestow an alms to preserve this stone; and we,

sparing neither pain nor labour, will second you with all our hearts.

Erecting it again, let us preserve it from decay for future

generations, and let us write the following verse upon it:--'These two

birds, beautiful as the cherry-blossoms, perished before their time,

like flowers broken down by the wind before they have borne seed.'"

Under the first stone is the dust of Gompachi, robber and murderer,

mixed with that of his true love Komurasaki, who lies buried with him.

Her sorrows and constancy have hallowed the place, and pious people

still come to burn incense and lay flowers before the grave. How she

loved him even in death may be seen from the following old-world

story.

* * * * *

About two hundred and thirty years ago there lived in the service of a

daimio of the province of Inaba a young man, called Shirai Gompachi,

who, when he was but sixteen years of age, had already won a name for

his personal beauty and valour, and for his skill in the use of arms.

Now it happened that one day a dog belonging to him fought with

another dog belonging to a fellow-clansman, and the two masters, being

both passionate youths, disputing as to whose dog had had the best of

the fight, quarrelled and came to blows, and Gompachi slew his

adversary; and in consequence of this he was obliged to flee from his

country, and make his escape to Yedo.

And so Gompachi set out on his travels.

One night, weary and footsore, he entered what appeared to him to be a

roadside inn, ordered some refreshment, and went to bed, little

thinking of the danger that menaced him: for as luck would have it,

this inn turned out to be the trysting-place of a gang of robbers,

into whose clutches he had thus unwittingly fallen. To be sure,

Gompachi's purse was but scantily furnished, but his sword and dirk

were worth some three hundred ounces of silver, and upon these the

robbers (of whom there were ten) had cast envious eyes, and had

determined to kill the owner for their sake; but he, all unsuspicious,

slept on in fancied security.

In the middle of the night he was startled from his deep slumbers by

some one stealthily opening the sliding door which led into his room,

and rousing himself with an effort, he beheld a beautiful young girl,

fifteen years of age, who, making signs to him not to stir, came up to

his bedside, and said to him in a whisper--

"Sir, the master of this house is the chief of a gang of robbers, who

have been plotting to murder you this night for the sake of your

clothes and your sword. As for me, I am the daughter of a rich

merchant in Mikawa: last year the robbers came to our house, and

carried off my father's treasure and myself. I pray you, sir, take me

with you, and let us fly from this dreadful place."

She wept as she spoke, and Gompachi was at first too much startled to

answer; but being a youth of high courage and a cunning fencer to

boot, he soon recovered his presence of mind, and determined to kill

the robbers, and to deliver the girl out of their hands. So he

replied--

"Since you say so, I will kill these thieves, and rescue you this very

night; only do you, when I begin the fight, run outside the house,

that you may be out of harm's way, and remain in hiding until I join

you."

Upon this understanding the maiden left him, and went her way. But he

lay awake, holding his breath and watching; and when the thieves crept

noiselessly into the room, where they supposed him to be fast asleep,

he cut down the first man that entered, and stretched him dead at his

feet. The other nine, seeing this, laid about them with their drawn

swords, but Gompachi, fighting with desperation, mastered them at

last, and slew them. After thus ridding himself of his enemies, he

went outside the house and called to the girl, who came running to his

side, and joyfully travelled on with him to Mikawa, where her father

dwelt; and when they reached Mikawa, he took the maiden to the old

man's house, and told him how, when he had fallen among thieves, his

daughter had come to him in his hour of peril, and saved him out of

her great pity; and how he, in return, rescuing her from her

servitude, had brought her back to her home. When the old folks saw

their daughter whom they had lost restored to them, they were beside

themselves with joy, and shed tears for very happiness; and, in their

gratitude, they pressed Gompachi to remain with them, and they

prepared feasts for him, and entertained him hospitably: but their

daughter, who had fallen in love with him for his beauty and knightly

valour, spent her days in thinking of him, and of him alone. The young

man, however, in spite of the kindness of the old merchant, who

wished to adopt him as his son, and tried hard to persuade him to

consent to this, was fretting to go to Yedo and take service as an

officer in the household of some noble lord; so he resisted the

entreaties of the father and the soft speeches of the daughter, and

made ready to start on his journey; and the old merchant, seeing that

he would not be turned from his purpose, gave him a parting gift of

two hundred ounces of silver, and sorrowfully bade him farewell.

But alas for the grief of the maiden, who sat sobbing her heart out

and mourning over her lover's departure! He, all the while thinking

more of ambition than of love, went to her and comforted her, and

said: "Dry your eyes, sweetheart, and weep no more, for I shall soon

come back to you. Do you, in the meanwhile, be faithful and true to

me, and tend your parents with filial piety."

So she wiped away her tears and smiled again, when she heard him

promise that he would soon return to her. And Gompachi went his way,

and in due time came near to Yedo.

But his dangers were not yet over; for late one night, arriving at a

place called Suzugamori, in the neighbourhood of Yedo, he fell in with

six highwaymen, who attacked him, thinking to make short work of

killing and robbing him. Nothing daunted, he drew his sword, and

dispatched two out of the six; but, being weary and worn out with his

long journey, he was sorely pressed, and the struggle was going hard

with him, when a wardsman,[12] who happened to pass that way riding in

a chair, seeing the affray, jumped down from his chair and drawing his

dirk came to the rescue, and between them they put the robbers to

flight.

[Footnote 12: Japanese cities are divided into wards, and every

tradesman and artisan is under the authority of the chief of the ward

in which he resides. The word _chônin_, or wardsman, is generally used

in contradistinction to the word _samurai_, which has already been

explained as denoting a man belonging to the military class.]

Now it turned out that this kind tradesman, who had so happily come to

the assistance of Gompachi, was no other than Chôbei of Bandzuin, the

chief of the _Otokodaté_, or Friendly Society of the wardsmen of

Yedo--a man famous in the annals of the city, whose life, exploits,

and adventures are recited to this day, and form the subject of

another tale.

When the highwaymen had disappeared, Gompachi, turning to his

deliverer, said--

"I know not who you may be, sir, but I have to thank you for rescuing

me from a great danger."

And as he proceeded to express his gratitude, Chôbei replied--

"I am but a poor wardsman, a humble man in my way, sir; and if the

robbers ran away, it was more by good luck than owing to any merit of

mine. But I am filled with admiration at the way you fought; you

displayed a courage and a skill that were beyond your years, sir."

"Indeed," said the young man, smiling with pleasure at hearing

himself praised; "I am still young and inexperienced, and am quite

ashamed of my bungling style of fencing."

"And now may I ask you, sir, whither you are bound?"

"That is almost more than I know myself, for I am a _rônin,_ and have

no fixed purpose in view."

"That is a bad job," said Chôbei, who felt pity for the lad. "However,

if you will excuse my boldness in making such an offer, being but a

wardsman, until you shall have taken service I would fain place my

poor house at your disposal."

Gompachi accepted the offer of his new but trusty friend with thanks;

so Chôbei led him to his house, where he lodged him and hospitably

entertained him for some months. And now Gompachi, being idle and

having nothing to care for, fell into bad ways, and began to lead a

dissolute life, thinking of nothing but gratifying his whims and

passions; he took to frequenting the Yoshiwara, the quarter of the

town which is set aside for tea-houses and other haunts of wild young

men, where his handsome face and figure attracted attention, and soon

made him a great favourite with all the beauties of the neighbourhood.

About this time men began to speak loud in praise of the charms of

Komurasaki, or "Little Purple," a young girl who had recently come to

the Yoshiwara, and who in beauty and accomplishments outshone all her

rivals. Gompachi, like the rest of the world, heard so much of her

fame that he determined to go to the house where she dwelt, at the

sign of "The Three Sea-coasts," and judge for himself whether she

deserved all that men said of her. Accordingly he set out one day, and

having arrived at "The Three Sea-coasts," asked to see Komurasaki; and

being shown into the room where she was sitting, advanced towards her;

but when their eyes met, they both started back with a cry of

astonishment, for this Komurasaki, the famous beauty of the Yoshiwara,

proved to be the very girl whom several months before Gompachi had

rescued from the robbers' den, and restored to her parents in Mikawa.

He had left her in prosperity and affluence, the darling child of a

rich father, when they had exchanged vows of love and fidelity; and

now they met in a common stew in Yedo. What a change! what a contrast!

How had the riches turned to rust, the vows to lies!

"What is this?" cried Gompachi, when he had recovered from his

surprise. "How is it that I find you here pursuing this vile calling,

in the Yoshiwara? Pray explain this to me, for there is some mystery

beneath all this which I do not understand."

But Komurasaki--who, having thus unexpectedly fallen in with her lover

that she had yearned for, was divided between joy and shame--answered,

weeping--

"Alas! my tale is a sad one, and would be long to tell. After you left

us last year, calamity and reverses fell upon our house; and when my

parents became poverty-stricken, I was at my wits' end to know how to

support them: so I sold this wretched body of mine to the master of

this house, and sent the money to my father and mother; but, in spite

of this, troubles and misfortunes multiplied upon them, and now, at

last, they have died of misery and grief. And, oh! lives there in this

wide world so unhappy a wretch as I! But now that I have met you

again--you who are so strong--help me who am weak. You saved me

once--do not, I implore you, desert me now!!" and as she told her

piteous tale the tears streamed from her eyes.

"This is, indeed, a sad story," replied Gompachi, much affected by the

recital. "There must have been a wonderful run of bad luck to bring

such misfortune upon your house, which but a little while ago I

recollect so prosperous. However, mourn no more, for I will not

forsake you. It is true that I am too poor to redeem you from your

servitude, but at any rate I will contrive so that you shall be

tormented no more. Love me, therefore, and put your trust in me." When

she heard him speak so kindly she was comforted, and wept no more, but

poured out her whole heart to him, and forgot her past sorrows in the

great joy of meeting him again.

When it became time for them to separate, he embraced her tenderly and

returned to Chôbei's house; but he could not banish Komurasaki from

his mind, and all day long he thought of her alone; and so it came

about that he went daily to the Yoshiwara to see her, and if any

accident detained him, she, missing the accustomed visit, would become

anxious and write to him to inquire the cause of his absence. At last,

pursuing this course of life, his stock of money ran short, and as,

being a _rônin_ and without any fixed employment, he had no means of

renewing his supplies, he was ashamed of showing himself penniless at

"The Three Sea-coasts." Then it was that a wicked spirit arose within

him, and he went out and murdered a man, and having robbed him of his

money carried it to the Yoshiwara.

From bad to worse is an easy step, and the tiger that has once tasted

blood is dangerous. Blinded and infatuated by his excessive love,

Gompachi kept on slaying and robbing, so that, while his outer man was

fair to look upon, the heart within him was that of a hideous devil.

At last his friend Chôbei could no longer endure the sight of him, and

turned him out of his house; and as, sooner or later, virtue and vice

meet with their reward, it came to pass that Gompachi's crimes became

notorious, and the Government having set spies upon his track, he was

caught red-handed and arrested; and his evil deeds having been fully

proved against him, he was carried off to the execution ground at

Suzugamori, the "Bell Grove," and beheaded as a common male-factor.

Now when Gompachi was dead, Chôbei's old affection for the young man

returned, and, being a kind and pious man, he went and claimed his

body and head, and buried him at Meguro, in the grounds of the Temple

called Boronji.

When Komurasaki heard the people at Yoshiwara gossiping about her

lover's end, her grief knew no bounds, so she fled secretly from "The

Three Sea-coasts," and came to Meguro and threw herself upon the

newly-made grave. Long she prayed and bitterly she wept over the tomb

of him whom, with all his faults, she had loved so well, and then,

drawing a dagger from her girdle, she plunged it in her breast and

died. The priests of the temple, when they saw what had happened,

wondered greatly and were astonished at the loving faithfulness of

this beautiful girl, and taking compassion on her, they laid her side

by side with Gompachi in one grave, and over the grave they placed a

stone which remains to this day, bearing the inscription "The Tomb of

the Shiyoku." And still the people of Yedo visit the place, and still

they praise the beauty of Gompachi and the filial piety and fidelity

of Komurasaki.

Let us linger for a moment longer in the old graveyard. The word which

I have translated a few lines above as "loving faithfulness" means

literally "chastity." When Komurasaki sold herself to supply the wants

of her ruined parents, she was not, according to her lights,

forfeiting her claim to virtue. On the contrary, she could perform no

greater act of filial piety, and, so far from incurring reproach among

her people, her self-sacrifice would be worthy of all praise in their

eyes. This idea has led to grave misunderstanding abroad, and indeed

no phase of Japanese life has been so misrepresented as this. I have

heard it stated, and seen it printed, that it is no disgrace for a

respectable Japanese to sell his daughter, that men of position and

family often choose their wives from such places as "The Three

Sea-coasts," and that up to the time of her marriage the conduct of a

young girl is a matter of no importance whatever. Nothing could be

more unjust or more untrue. It is only the neediest people that sell

their children to be waitresses, singers, or prostitutes. It does

occasionally happen that the daughter of a _Samurai_, or gentleman, is

found in a house of ill-fame, but such a case could only occur at the

death or utter ruin of the parents, and an official investigation of

the matter has proved it to be so exceptional, that the presence of a

young lady in such a place is an enormous attraction, her superior

education and accomplishments shedding a lustre over the house. As for

gentlemen marrying women of bad character, are not such things known

in Europe? Do ladies of the _demi-monde_ never make good marriages?

_Mésalliances_ are far rarer in Japan than with us. Certainly among

the lowest class of the population such, marriages may occasionally

occur, for it often happens that a woman can lay by a tempting dowry

out of her wretched earnings-, but amongst the gentry of the country

they are unknown.

And yet a girl is not disgraced if for her parents' sake she sells

herself to a life of misery so great, that, when a Japanese enters a

house of ill-fame, he is forced to leave his sword and dirk at the

door for two reasons--first, to prevent brawling; secondly, because it

is known that some of the women inside so loathe their existence that

they would put an end to it, could they get hold of a weapon.

It is a curious fact that in all the Daimio's castle-towns, with the

exception of some which are also seaports, open prostitution is

strictly forbidden, although, if report speaks truly, public morality

rather suffers than gains by the prohibition.

The misapprehension which exists upon the subject of prostitution in

Japan may be accounted for by the fact that foreign writers, basing

their judgment upon the vice of the open ports, have not hesitated to

pronounce the Japanese women unchaste. As fairly might a Japanese,

writing about England, argue from the street-walkers of Portsmouth or

Plymouth to the wives, sisters, and daughters of these very authors.

In some respects the gulf fixed between virtue and vice in Japan is

even greater than in England. The Eastern courtesan is confined to a

certain quarter of the town, and distinguished by a peculiarly gaudy

costume, and by a head-dress which consists of a forest of light

tortoiseshell hair-pins, stuck round her head like a saint's glory--a

glory of shame which a modest woman would sooner die than wear. Vice

jostling virtue in the public places; virtue imitating the fashions

set by vice, and buying trinkets or furniture at the sale of vice's

effects--these are social phenomena which the East knows not.

The custom prevalent among the lower orders of bathing in public

bath-houses without distinction of the sexes, is another circumstance

which has tended to spread abroad very false notions upon the subject

of the chastity of the Japanese women. Every traveller is shocked by

it, and every writer finds in it matter for a page of pungent

description. Yet it is only those who are so poor (and they must be

poor indeed) that they cannot afford a bath at home, who, at the end

of their day's work, go to the public bath-house to refresh themselves

before sitting down to their evening meal: having been used to the

scene from their childhood, they see no indelicacy in it; it is a

matter of course, and _honi soit qui mal y pense_: certainly there is

far less indecency and immorality resulting from this public bathing,

than from the promiscuous herding together of all sexes and ages which

disgraces our own lodging-houses in the great cities, and the hideous

hovels in which some of our labourers have to pass their lives; nor

can it be said that there is more confusion of sexes amongst the

lowest orders in Japan than in Europe. Speaking upon the subject once

with a Japanese gentleman, I observed that we considered it an act of

indecency for men and women to wash together. He shrugged his

shoulders as he answered, "But then Westerns have such prurient

minds." Some time ago, at the open port of Yokohama, the Government,

out of deference to the prejudices of foreigners, forbade the men and

women to bathe together, and no doubt this was the first step towards

putting down the practice altogether: as for women tubbing in the open

streets of Yedo, I have read of such things in books written by

foreigners; but during a residence of three years and a half, in which

time I crossed and recrossed every part of the great city at all hours

of the day, I never once saw such a sight. I believe myself that it

can only be seen at certain hot mineral springs in remote country

districts.

The best answer to the general charge of immorality which has been

brought against the Japanese women during their period of unmarried

life, lies in the fact that every man who can afford to do so keeps

the maidens of his family closely guarded in the strictest seclusion.

The daughter of poverty, indeed, must work and go abroad, but not a

man is allowed to approach the daughter of a gentleman; and she is

taught that if by accident any insult should be offered to her, the

knife which she carries at her girdle is meant for use, and not

merely as a badge of her rank. Not long ago a tragedy took place in

the house of one of the chief nobles in Yedo. One of My Lady's

tire-women, herself a damsel of gentle blood, and gifted with rare

beauty, had attracted the attention of a retainer in the palace, who

fell desperately in love with her. For a long time the strict rules of

decorum by which she was hedged in prevented him from declaring his

passion; but at last he contrived to gain access to her presence, and

so far forgot himself, that she, drawing her poniard, stabbed him in

the eye, so that he was carried off fainting, and presently died. The

girl's declaration, that the dead man had attempted to insult her, was

held to be sufficient justification of her deed, and, instead of being

blamed, she was praised and extolled for her valour and chastity. As

the affair had taken place within the four walls of a powerful noble,

there was no official investigation into the matter, with which the

authorities of the palace were competent to deal. The truth of this

story was vouched for by two or three persons whose word I have no

reason to doubt, and who had themselves been mixed up in it; I can

bear witness that it is in complete harmony with Japanese ideas; and

certainly it seems more just that Lucretia should kill Tarquin than

herself.

The better the Japanese people come to be known and understood, the

more, I am certain, will it be felt that a great injustice has been

done them in the sweeping attacks which have been made upon their

women. Writers are agreed, I believe, that their matrons are, as a

rule, without reproach. If their maidens are chaste, as I contend that

from very force of circumstances they cannot help being, what becomes

of all these charges of vice and immodesty? Do they not rather recoil

upon the accusers, who would appear to have studied the Japanese woman

only in the harlot of Yokohama?

Having said so much, I will now try to give some account of the famous

Yoshiwara[13] of Yedo, to which frequent allusion will have to be made

in the course of these tales.

[Footnote 13: The name Yoshiwara, which is becoming generic for

"Flower Districts,"--_Anglicé_, quarters occupied by brothels,--is

sometimes derived from the town Yoshiwara, in Sunshine, because it was

said that the women of that place furnished a large proportion of the

beauties of the Yedo Yoshiwara. The correct derivation is probably

that given below.]

At the end of the sixteenth century the courtesans of Yedo lived in

three special places: these were the street called Kôji-machi, in

which dwelt the women who came from Kiôto; the Kamakura Street, and a

spot opposite the great bridge, in which last two places lived women

brought from Suruga. Besides these there afterwards came women from

Fushimi and from Nara, who lodged scattered here and there throughout

the town. This appears to have scandalized a certain reformer, named

Shôji Jinyémon, who, in the year 1612, addressed a memorial to the

Government, petitioning that the women who lived in different parts of

the town should be collected in one "Flower Quarter." His petition was

granted in the year 1617, and he fixed upon a place called Fukiyacho,

which, on account of the quantities of rushes which grew there, was

named _Yoshi-Wara,_ or the rush-moor, a name which now-a-days, by a

play upon the word _yoshi,_ is written with two Chinese characters,

signifying the "good," or "lucky moor." The place was divided into

four streets, called the Yedo Street, the Second Yedo Street, the

Kiôto Street, and the Second Kiôto Street.

In the eighth month of the year 1655, when Yedo was beginning to

increase in size and importance, the Yoshiwara, preserving its name,

was transplanted bodily to the spot which it now occupies at the

northern end of the town. And the streets in it were named after the

places from which the greater number of their inhabitants originally

came, as the "Sakai Street," the "Fushimi Street," &c.

The official Guide to the Yoshiwara for 1869 gives a return of 153

brothels, containing 3,289 courtesans of all classes, from the

_Oiran_, or proud beauty, who, dressed up in gorgeous brocade of gold

and silver, with painted face and gilded lips, and with her teeth

fashionably blacked, has all the young bloods of Yedo at her feet,

down to the humble _Shinzo_, or white-toothed woman, who rots away her

life in the common stews. These figures do not, however, represent the

whole of the prostitution of Yedo; the Yoshiwara is the chief, but not

the only, abiding-place of the public women. At Fukagawa there is

another Flower District, built upon the same principle as the

Yoshiwara; while at Shinagawa, Shinjiku, Itabashi, Senji, and

Kadzukappara, the hotels contain women who, nominally only waitresses,

are in reality prostitutes. There are also women called _Jigoku-Omna,_

or hell-women, who, without being borne on the books of any brothel,

live in their own houses, and ply their trade in secret. On the whole,

I believe the amount of prostitution in Yedo to be wonderfully small,

considering the vast size of the city.

There are 394 tea-houses in the Yoshiwara, which are largely used as

places of assignation, and which on those occasions are paid, not by

the visitors frequenting them, but by the keepers of the brothels. It

is also the fashion to give dinners and drinking-parties at these

houses, for which the services of _Taikomochi_, or jesters, among whom

there are thirty-nine chief celebrities, and of singing and dancing

girls, are retained. The Guide to the Yoshiwara gives a list of

fifty-five famous singing-girls, besides a host of minor stars. These

women are not to be confounded with the courtesans. Their conduct is

very closely watched by their masters, and they always go out to

parties in couples or in bands, so that they may be a check upon one

another. Doubtless, however, in spite of all precautions, the shower

of gold does from time to time find its way to Danaë's lap; and to be

the favoured lover of a fashionable singer or dancer is rather a

feather in the cap of a fast young Japanese gentleman. The fee paid to

singing-girls for performing during a space of two hours is one

shilling and fourpence each; for six hours the fee is quadrupled, and

it is customary to give the girls a _hana_, or present, for

themselves, besides their regular pay, which goes to the master of the

troupe to which they belong.

Courtesans, singing women, and dancers are bought by contractors,

either as children, when they are educated for their calling, or at a

more advanced age, when their accomplishments and charms render them

desirable investments. The engagement is never made life-long, for

once past the flower of their youth the poor creatures would be mere

burthens upon their masters; a courtesan is usually bought until she

shall have reached the age of twenty-seven, after which she becomes

her own property. Singers remain longer in harness, but even they

rarely work after the age of thirty, for Japanese women, like

Italians, age quickly, and have none of that intermediate stage

between youth and old age, which seems to be confined to countries

where there is a twilight.

Children destined to be trained as singers are usually bought when

they are five or six years old, a likely child fetching from about

thirty-five to fifty shillings; the purchaser undertakes the education

of his charge, and brings the little thing up as his own child. The

parents sign a paper absolving him from all responsibility in case of

sickness or accident; but they know that their child will be well

treated and cared for, the interests of the buyer being their material

guarantee. Girls of fifteen or upwards who are sufficiently

accomplished to join a company of singers fetch ten times the price

paid for children; for in their case there is no risk and no expense

of education.

Little children who are bought for purposes of prostitution at the age

of five or six years fetch about the same price as those that are

bought to be singers. During their novitiate they are employed to wait

upon the _Oiran_, or fashionable courtesans, in the capacity of little

female pages (_Kamuro_). They are mostly the children of distressed

persons, or orphans, whom their relatives cruelly sell rather than be

at the expense and trouble of bringing them up. Of the girls who enter

the profession later in life, some are orphans, who have no other

means of earning a livelihood; others sell their bodies out of filial

piety, that they may succour their sick or needy parents; others are

married women, who enter the Yoshiwara to supply the wants of their

husbands; and a very small proportion is recruited from girls who have

been seduced and abandoned, perhaps sold, by faithless lovers.

The time to see the Yoshiwara to the best advantage is just after

nightfall, when the lamps are lighted. Then it is that the women--who

for the last two hours have been engaged in gilding their lips and

painting their eyebrows black, and their throats and bosoms a snowy

white, carefully leaving three brown Van-dyke-collar points where the

back of the head joins the neck, in accordance with one of the

strictest rules of Japanese cosmetic science--leave the back rooms,

and take their places, side by side, in a kind of long narrow cage,

the wooden bars of which open on to the public thoroughfare. Here they

sit for hours, gorgeous in dresses of silk and gold and silver

embroidery, speechless and motionless as wax figures, until they shall

have attracted the attention of some of the passers-by, who begin to

throng the place. At Yokohama indeed, and at the other open ports, the

women of the Yoshiwara are loud in their invitations to visitors,

frequently relieving the monotony of their own language by some

blasphemous term of endearment picked up from British and American

seamen; but in the Flower District at Yedo, and wherever Japanese

customs are untainted, the utmost decorum prevails. Although the shape

which vice takes is ugly enough, still it has this merit, that it is

unobtrusive. Never need the pure be contaminated by contact with the

impure; he who goes to the Yoshiwara, goes there knowing full well

what he will find, but the virtuous man may live through his life

without having this kind of vice forced upon his sight. Here again do

the open ports contrast unfavourably with other places: Yokohama at

night is as leprous a place as the London Haymarket.[14]

[Footnote 14: Those who are interested in this branch of social

science, will find much curious information upon the subject of

prostitution in Japan in a pamphlet published at Yokohama, by Dr.

Newton, R.N., a philanthropist who has been engaged for the last two

years in establishing a Lock Hospital at that place. In spite of much

opposition, from prejudice and ignorance, his labours have been

crowned by great success.]

A public woman or singer on entering her profession assumes a _nom de

guerre_, by which she is known until her engagement is at an end. Some

of these names are so pretty and quaint that I will take a few

specimens from the _Yoshiwara Saiken_, the guidebook upon which this

notice is based. "Little Pine," "Little Butterfly," "Brightness of the

Flowers," "The Jewel River," "Gold Mountain," "Pearl Harp," "The Stork

that lives a Thousand Years," "Village of Flowers," "Sea Beach," "The

Little Dragon," "Little Purple," "Silver," "Chrysanthemum,"

"Waterfall," "White Brightness," "Forest of Cherries,"--these and a

host of other quaint conceits are the one prettiness of a very foul

place.