著者

中島 淑恵

出版者

富山大学附属図書館

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テーマ:幽霊の話※引用資料,参考資料については,下方の「関連URI」にリンクがあります。【資料1】===================================Glimpses of Unfamilar Japan: Second Series by Lafcadio HearnChapter Six, By the Japanese SeaNow, as a rule, one sleeps soundly after having drunk plenty of warmsake, especially if the night be cool and the bed very snug. But theguest, having slept but a very little while, was aroused by the sound ofvoices in his room--voices of children, always asking each other thesame questions:--'Ani-San samukaro?' 'Omae samukaro?' The presence ofchildren in his room might annoy the guest, but could not surprise him,for in these Japanese hotels there are no doors, but only paperedsliding screens between room and room. So it seemed to him that somechildren must have wandered into his apartment, by mistake, in the dark.He uttered some gentle rebuke. For a moment only there was silence; thena sweet, thin, plaintive voice queried, close to his ear, 'Ani-Sansamukaro?' (Elder Brother probably is cold?), and another sweet voicemade answer caressingly, 'Omae samukaro?' [Nay, thou probably art cold?]He arose and rekindled the candle in the andon, [6] and looked about theroom. There was no one. The shoji were all closed. He examined thecupboards; they were empty. Wondering, he lay down again, leaving thelight still burning; and immediately the voices spoke again,complainingly, close to his pillow:'Ani-San samukaro?''Omae samukaro?'Then, for the first time, he felt a chill creep over him, which was notthe chill of the night. Again and again he heard, and each time hebecame more afraid. For he knew that the voices were in the futon! Itwas the covering of the bed that cried out thus.He gathered hurriedly together the few articles belonging to him, and,descending the stairs, aroused the landlord and told what had passed.Then the host, much angered, made reply: 'That to make pleased thehonourable guest everything has been done, the truth is; but thehonourable guest too much august sake having drank, bad dreams hasseen.' Nevertheless the guest insisted upon paying at once that which heowed, and seeking lodging elsewhere.Next evening there came another guest who asked for a room for thenight. At a late hour the landlord was aroused by his lodger with thesame story. And this lodger, strange to say, had not taken any sake.Suspecting some envious plot to ruin his business, the landlord answeredpassionately: 'Thee to please all things honourably have been done:nevertheless, ill-omened and vexatious words thou utterest. And that myinn my means-of-livelihood is--that also thou knowest. Wherefore thatsuch things be spoken, right-there-is-none!' Then the guest, gettinginto a passion, loudly said things much more evil; and the two parted inhot anger.But after the guest was gone, the landlord, thinking all this verystrange, ascended to the empty room to examine the futon. And whilethere, he heard the voices, and he discovered that the guests had saidonly the truth. It was one covering--only one--which cried out. The restwere silent. He took the covering into his own room, and for theremainder of the night lay down beneath it. And the voices continueduntil the hour of dawn: 'Ani-San samukaro?' 'Omae samukaro?' So that hecould not sleep.But at break of day he rose up and went out to find the owner of thefuruteya at which the futon had been purchased. The dlealer knewnothing. He had bought the futon from a smaller shop, and the keeper ofthat shop had purchased it from a still poorer dealer dwelling in thefarthest suburb of the city. And the innkeeper went from one to theother, asking questions.Then at last it was found that the futon had belonged to a poor family,and had been bought from the landlord of a little house in which thefamily had lived, in the neighbourhood of the town. And the story of thefuton was this:--The rent of the little house was only sixty sen a month, but even thiswas a great deal for the poor folks to pay. The father could earn onlytwo or three yen a month, and the mother was ill and could not work; andthere were two children--a boy of six years and a boy of eight. And theywere strangers in Tottori.One winter's day the father sickened; and after a week of suffering hedied, and was buried. Then the long-sick mother followed him, and thechildren were left alone. They knew no one whom they could ask for aid;and in order to live they began to sell what there was to sell.That was not much: the clothes of the dead father and mother, and mostof their own; some quilts of cotton, and a few poor household utensils--hibachi, bowls, cups, and other trifles. Every day they sold something,until there was nothing left but one futon. And a day came when they hadnothing to eat; and the rent was not paid.The terrible Dai-kan had arrived, the season of greatest cold; and thesnow had drifted too high that day for them to wander far from thelittle house. So they could only lie down under their one futon, andshiver together, and compassionate each other in their own childish way--'Ani-San, samukaro?' 'Omae samukaro?'They had no fire, nor anything with which to make fire; and the darknesscame; and the icy wind screamed into the little house.They were afraid of the wind, but they were more afraid of the house-owner, who roused them roughly to demand his rent. He was a hard man,with an evil face. And finding there was none to pay him, he turned thechildren into the snow, and took their one futon away from them, andlocked up the house.They had but one thin blue kimono each, for all their other clothes hadbeen sold to buy food; and they had nowhere to go. There was a temple ofKwannon not far away, but the snow was too high for them to reach it. Sowhen the landlord was gone, they crept back behind the house. There thedrowsiness of cold fell upon them, and they slept, embracing each otherto keep warm. And while they slept, the gods covered them with a newfuton--ghostly-white and very beautiful. And they did not feel cold anymore. For many days they slept there; then somebody found them, and abed was made for them in the hakaba of the Temple of Kwannon-of-the-Thousand-Arms.And the innkeeper, having heard these things, gave the futon to thepriests of the temple, and caused the kyo to be recited for the littlesouls. And the futon ceased thereafter to speak.【資料2】===================================Glimpses of Unfamilar Japan: First Series by Lafcadio HearnChapter Nine, In the Cave of the Children's Ghosts, Sec. 6From the caves of the Kami we retrace our course for about a quarter ofa mile; then make directly for an immense perpendicular wrinkle in thelong line of black cliffs. Immediately before it a huge dark rock towersfrom the sea, whipped by the foam of breaking swells. Rounding it, weglide behind it into still water and shadow, the shadow of a monstrouscleft in the precipice of the coast. And suddenly, at an unsuspectedangle, the mouth of another cavern yawns before us; and in anothermoment our boat touches its threshold of stone with a little shock thatsends a long sonorous echo, like the sound of a temple drum, boomingthrough all the abysmal place. A single glance tells me whither we havecome. Far within the dusk I see the face of a Jizo, smiling in palestone, and before him, and all about him, a weird congregation of greyshapes without shape--a host of fantasticalities that strangely suggestthe wreck of a cemetery. From the sea the ribbed floor of the cavernslopes high through deepening shadows back to the black mouth ofa farther grotto; and all that slope is covered with hundreds andthousands of forms like shattered haka. But as the eyes grow accustomedto the gloaming it becomes manifest that these were never haka; theyare only little towers of stone and pebbles deftly piled up by long andpatient labour.'Shinda kodomo no shigoto,' my kurumaya murmurs with a compassionatesmile; 'all this is the work of the dead children.'And we disembark. By counsel, I take off my shoes and put on a pairof zori, or straw sandals provided for me, as the rock is extremelyslippery. The others land barefoot. But how to proceed soon becomes apuzzle: the countless stone-piles stand so close together that no spacefor the foot seems to be left between them.'Mada michiga arimasu!' the boatwoman announces, leading the way. Thereis a path.Following after her, we squeeze ourselves between the wall of the cavernon the right and some large rocks, and discover a very, very narrowpassage left open between the stone-towers. But we are warned to becareful for the sake of the little ghosts: if any of their work beoverturned, they will cry. So we move very cautiously and slowly acrossthe cave to a space bare of stone-heaps, where the rocky floor iscovered with a thin layer of sand, detritus of a crumbling ledge aboveit. And in that sand I see light prints of little feet, children's feet,tiny naked feet, only three or four inches long--the footprints of theinfant ghosts.Had we come earlier, the boatwoman says, we should have seen many more.For 'tis at night, when the soil of the cavern is moist with dews anddrippings from the roof, that They leave Their footprints upon it; butwhen the heat of the day comes, and the sand and the rocks dry up, theprints of the little feet vanish away.There are only three footprints visible, but these are singularlydistinct. One points toward the wall of the cavern; the others towardthe sea. Here and there, upon ledges or projections of the rock, allabout the cavern, tiny straw sandals--children's zori--are lying:offerings of pilgrims to the little ones, that their feet may not bewounded by the stones. But all the ghostly footprints are prints ofnaked feet.Then we advance, picking our way very, very carefully between thestone-towers, toward the mouth of the inner grotto, and reach the statueof Jizo before it. A seated Jizo carven in granite, holding in one handthe mystic jewel by virtue of which all wishes may be fulfilled; in theother his shakujo, or pilgrim's staff. Before him (strange condescensionof Shinto faith!) a little torii has been erected, and a pair of gohei!Evidently this gentle divinity has no enemies; at the feet of the loverof children's ghosts, both creeds unite in tender homage.I said feet. But this subterranean Jizo has only one foot. The carvenlotus on which he reposes has been fractured and broken: two greatpetals are missing; and the right foot, which must have rested upon oneof them, has been knocked off at the ankle. This, I learn upon inquiry,has been done by the waves. In times of great storm the billows rushinto the cavern like raging Oni, and sweep all the little stone towersinto shingle as they come, and dash the statues against the rocks.But always during the first still night after the tempest the work isreconstructed as before!Hotoke ga shimpai shite: naki-naki tsumi naoshi-masu.' They makemourning, the hotoke; weeping, they pile up the stones again, theyrebuild their towers of prayer.All about the black mouth of the inner grotto the bone-coloured rockbears some resemblance to a vast pair of yawning jaws. Downward fromthis sinister portal the cavern-floor slopes into a deeper and darkeraperture. And within it, as one's eyes become accustomed to the gloom, astill larger vision of stone towers is disclosed; and beyond them, in anook of the grotto, three other statues of Jizo smile, each one witha torii before it. Here I have the misfortune to upset first onestone-pile and then another, while trying to proceed. My kurumaya,almost simultaneously, ruins a third. To atone therefore, we must buildsix new towers, or double the number of those which we have cast down.And while we are thus busied, the boatwoman tells of two fishermen whoremained in the cavern through all one night, and heard the hummingof the viewless gathering, and sounds of speech, like the speech ofchildren murmuring in multitude.Only at night do the shadowy children come to build their littlestone-heaps at the feet of Jizo; and it is said that every night thestones are changed. When I ask why they do not work by day, when thereis none to see them, I am answered: 'O-Hi-San [2] might see them; thedead exceedingly fear the Lady-Sun.'To the question, 'Why do they come from the sea?' I can get nosatisfactory answer. But doubtless in the quaint imagination of thispeople, as also in that of many another, there lingers still theprimitive idea of some communication, mysterious and awful, between theworld of waters and the world of the dead. It is always over the sea,after the Feast of Souls, that the spirits pass murmuring back to theirdim realm, in those elfish little ships of straw which are launched forthem upon the sixteenth day of the seventh moon. Even when these arelaunched upon rivers, or when floating lanterns are set adrift uponlakes or canals to light the ghosts upon their way, or when a motherbereaved drops into some running stream one hundred little prints ofJizo for the sake of her lost darling, the vague idea behind the piousact is that all waters flow to the sea and the sea itself unto the'Nether-distant Land.'Some time, somewhere, this day will come back to me at night, withits visions and sounds: the dusky cavern, and its grey hosts of stoneclimbing back into darkness, and the faint prints of little naked feet,and the weirdly smiling images, and the broken syllables of the watersinward-borne, multiplied by husky echoings, blending into one vastghostly whispering, like the humming of the Sai-no-Kawara.And over the black-blue bay we glide to the rocky beach of Kaka-ura.【資料3-1】===================================On Poetry(帝国大学の講義録), pp. 124-128CHAPTER VIIIEPIGRAMMATIC POEMSTHE lecture last given in this class was of necessity a littleheavy. By way of change, I propose this term to give afew shorter and lighter lectures-the first of which will beupon the subject of epigrammatic poetry with especial referenceto correspondencies in English and Japanese poetry.Let us first take the word " epigrammatic " and consider itshistory. I need scarcely tell you that the word is Greek inorigin and signifies a " writing upon " - a surface especially.An epigram originally was a combination intended to be-inscribed upon a surface : -the original meaning was thereforean inscription. And the original inscription, in veryancient times w as probably of a funeral kind : we m ay supposethat the first compositions of the sort were inscriptionsupon tombstones- epitaphs.Any inscription intended for the surface of a monument,unless the monument should happen to be a very large one,would have to be of small size. It would be necessary tosay as much as possible in a very few words. Accordinglya great deal of art, literary art, would be required for effective work of this kind. The art of saying great things invery few words is the art of high poetry.Now we find that this was just how the old Greeksunderstood and practised the art of short poems intendedfor inscription upon tombstones or monuments or marblealtars of their gods. It was required for such work that thewriter should be able to bestir an emotion very deeply, or toutter a thought very profoundly, or to make a religiouspetition very beautifully,-all in the space of a few lines.Afterwards this art of short poetry was applied to a much124larger variety of subjects ; but it was still called by the ancientname. After the Greeks, the Romans took up this art, andwrote thousands of epigrams. But they never did quite sowell as t he Greeks ; and the most precious poetry of thiskind in the Western world still are the thousands of epigramsforming the bulk of what is called " The Greek Anthology "consistingof epitaphs, votive inscriptions (for altars andofferings to the gods), inscriptions for presents made tofriends, poems written in time of joy and sorrow, love poems,inscriptions probably used for the decoration of apartmentsor guest-chambers (much as Chinese texts are used in Japan),and a vast number of tiny gems of verse on a variety ofsubjects, ranging from jest to philosophy.From the list of subjects just given, you may be remindedof subjects to which the shorter forms of Japanese poetryare commonly devoted ; and the suggestion is worth remembering.In order to do full justice to Japanese poetry,-.in order to understand its real worth and rank in the rangeof world literature,- it is very much to be hoped that somebodywill sooner or later attempt a proper comparison ofJapanese and Greek verse. I do not think that Greek scholarshipis at all necessary for such an undertaking-though itwould be useful. " The Greek Anthology " has been veryextensively and very carefully translated into every Europeanlanguage of importance. Japanese scholars should be carefulto read not the metrical ones. Probably the German workis the best ; but there are very beautiful French studies andEnglish studies also on the subject.So much for the meaning of epigram. Epigrammaticpoetry, you see, is an ancient rather than a modern art ; andepigrammatic poetry of English literature, which is scanty,is not very old. But there is quite enough of it for our presentpurpose. Let us now speak about those forms of Japaneseverse which might be compared with the various formsof epigrammatic poetry in Western literature.You have the form called tanka, consisting of thirty-onesyllables, -suitable for serious subjects ; -you have the haikai,126 consisting of seventeen syllables-suitable to an immense varietyof subjects : -you have the dodoitsu, consisting of twenty-sixsyllables and usually devoted to love subjects. All these formsmay justly be called epigrammatic poetry ; and parallels forthem can be found in English literature, as well as in Greek.Remember that we need not trouble ourselves while makingthis comparison about the mere matter of form in detail.Whether the verse be measured, as in Greek, by quantity,or as in English, by accents, the form need not concern usat all except in regard to brevity. We may dismiss it as amere fashion of language from present consideration. Butthe spirit of the short poetry- the intellectual and emotionalrequirements of it-those we must consider, and we shallfind that they are the same, or nearly the same, in the Eastas well as in the West. You, much better than I, know therules about the sentiment to be expressed in the three formsof Japanese poetry which are really epigrammatic. I neednot therefore attempt to say much about them. But we shallfind that in English epigrammatic poetry, as in Japanese, itis the rule that the little verse should express or suggest asingle emotion or idea in a powerful or clever way. However,as I said before, Greek verse offers better material forcomparison. As ・ this is only a class of English literature,nevertheless, an attempt to lecture on Greek epigrams wouldbe quite out of place, and I shall make one comparison byway of illustration. The subj ect is an epitaph, composedprobably about 2500 years ・ago for the grave of a little boycalled Diodorus (Zonas of Sardis) : -" Do thou, who rawest the boat of the dead in the waterof this lake, full of reeds, for Hades, having a painful task,stretch out, dark Charon, thy hand to the son of Cinyras,as he mounts on the ladder by the gang-way, and receivehim. For his sandals will cause the lad to slip about ; andhe fears to put his feet naked on the sand of the shore. "There could not have been any relation between theGreek fancy of the time of that inscription, and the Japanesefancy of the eighth century. But some time between the years127700 and 750 the Japanese poet, Okura, made a verse aboutthe death of his little son Furuhi which is strangely like theGreek epigram. The form is tanka, and I suppose you allknow the original text, * which I have tried to render asfollows :-" So young he is that he cannot know the way. To themessenger of the Underworld I will give a bribe, and entreathim , saying : - ' Do thou kindly take the little one upon thyback along the road."This is the beautiful serious form of an epigram ; andmodern Western epigrams are best when they are serious.Considering these verses I shall begin a series of quotations,and those of you who love poetry will probably be able tofind in old Japanese poetry the parallel for every citation Iam able to offer.【資料3-2】===================================『万葉集』男子名は古日(ふるひ)を恋ふる歌三首 長一首、短二首 世の人の 貴み願ふ 七種(くさ)の 宝も吾は 何せむに 願ひ欲(ほり)せむ 我が中の 生れ出でたる 白玉の 我が子古日は 明星(あかぼし)の 明くる朝(あした)は 敷細(しきたへ)の 床の辺去らず 立てれども 居れども共に 掻き撫でて 言問ひ戯(たは)れ 夕星(ゆふづつ)の 夕べになれば いざ寝よと 手を携はり 父母も うへはな離(さか)り 三枝(さきくさ)の 中にを寝むと 愛(うるは)しく しが語らへば いつしかも 人と成り出でて 悪しけくも 吉けくも見むと 大船の 思ひ頼むに 思はぬに 横様(よこしま)風の にはかにも 覆ひ来たれば 為むすべの たどきを知らに 白妙の たすきを掛け 真澄鏡 手に取り持ちて 天つ神 仰(あふ)ぎ祈(こ)ひ祷(の)み 国つ神 伏して額づき かからずも かかりもよしゑ 天地の 神のまにまと 立ちあざり 我が祈ひ祷めど しましくも 吉けくはなしに 漸々(やうやう)に かたちつくほり 朝な朝(さ)な 言ふことやみ 玉きはる 命絶えぬれ 立ち躍り 足すり叫び 伏し仰ぎ 胸打ち嘆き 手に持たる 吾(あ)が子飛ばしつ 世間の道(904)反歌 若ければ道行き知らじ賄(まひ)はせむ下方(したへ)の使負ひて通らせ(905) 布施置きて吾は祈ひ祷む欺かず直(ただ)に率(ゐ)行きて天道知らしめ(906)【資料3-3】===================================ヘルン文庫:書架番号[933]Chamberlain, Basil Hall.The classical poetry of the Japanese / [B. H. Chamberlain] - London: Trübner, 1880. - xii,227 p.; 22 cm. - (Trübner's Oriental series)