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  "Ah! I might have suspected as much!" exclaimed the doctor.... "No power could have saved him. He was not the first whom she destroyed."

  "Who is she?—or what is she?" the asbigaru asked,—"a Fox-Woman?"

  "No; she has been haunting this river from ancient time. She loves the blood of the young...."

  "A Serpent-Woman?—A Dragon-Woman?"

  "No, no! If you were to see her under that bridge by daylight, she would appear to you a very loathsome creature."

  "But what kind of a creature?"

  "Simply a Frog,—a great and ugly Frog!"

  Footnote

  1 The asbigaru were the lowest class of retainers in military service.

  A Woman's Diary

  A Woman's Diary

  RECENTLY there was put into my hands a somewhat remarkable manuscript,—seventeen long narrow sheets of soft paper, pierced with a silken string, and covered with fine Japanese characters. It was a kind of diary, containing the history of a woman's married life, recorded by herself. The writer was dead; and the diary had been found in a small work-box (haribako) which had belonged to her.

  The friend who lent me the manuscript gave me leave to translate as much of it as I might think worth publishing. I have gladly availed myself of this unique opportunity to present in English the thoughts and feelings, joys and sorrows, of a simple woman of the people—just as she herself recorded them in the frankest possible way, never dreaming that any foreign eye would read her humble and touching memoir.

  But out of respect to her gentle ghost, I have tried to use the manuscript in such a way only as could not cause her the least pain if she were yet in the body, and able to read me. Some parts I have omitted, because I thought them sacred. Also I have left out a few details relating to customs or to local beliefs that the Western reader could scarcely understand, even with the aid of notes. And the names, of course, have been changed. Otherwise I have followed the text as closely as I could,—making no changes of phrase except when the Japanese original could not be adequately interpreted by a literal rendering.

  In addition to the facts stated or suggested in the diary itself, I could learn but very little of the writer's personal history. She was a woman of the poorest class; and from her own narrative it appears that she remained unmarried until she was nearly thirty. A younger sister had been married several years previously; and the diary does not explain this departure from custom. A small photograph found with the manuscript shows that its author never could have been called good-looking; but the face has a certain pleasing expression of shy gentleness. Her husband was a kozukai,1 employed in one of the great public offices, chiefly for night duty, at a salary of ten yen per month. In order to help him to meet the expenses of housekeeping, she made cigarettes for a tobacco dealer.

  The manuscript shows that she must have been at school for some years: she could write the kana very nicely, but she had not learned many Chinese characters,—so that her work resembles the work of a schoolgirl. But it is written without mistakes, and skilfully. The dialect is of Tokyo,—the common speech of the city people,—full of idiomatic expressions, but entirely free from coarseness.

  Some one might naturally ask why this poor woman, so much occupied with the constant struggle for mere existence, should have taken the pains to write down what she probably never intended to be read. I would remind such a questioner of the old Japanese teaching that literary composition is the best medicine for sorrow; and I would remind him also of the fact that, even among the poorest classes, poems are still composed upon all occasions of joy or pain. The latter part of the diary was written in lonely hours of illness; and I suppose that she then wrote chiefly in order to keep her thoughts composed at a time when solitude had become dangerous for her. A little before her death, her mind gave way; and these final pages probably represent the last brave struggle of the spirit against the hopeless weakness of the flesh.

  I found that the manuscript was inscribed, on the outside sheet, with the title, Mukashi-banasbi: "A Story of Old Times." According to circumstances, the word mukasbi may signify either "long ago," in reference to past centuries, or "old times," in reference to one's own past life. The latter is the obvious meaning in the present case.

  MUKASHI-BANASHI

  On the evening of the twenty-fifth day of the ninth month of the twenty-eighth year of Meiji [1895], the man of the opposite house came and asked:—

  "As for the eldest daughter of this family, is it agreeable that she be disposed of in marriage?"

  Then the answer was given:—

  "Even though the matter were agreeable [to our wishes], no preparation for such an event has yet been made."1

  The man of the opposite house said:—

  "But as no preparation is needed in this case, will you not honourably give her to the person for whom I speak? He is said to be a very steady man; and he is thirty-eight years of age. As I thought your eldest girl to be about twenty-six, I proposed her to him...."

  "No,—she is twenty-nine years old," was answered.

  "Ah!... That being the case, I must again speak to the other party; and I shall honourably consult with you after I have seen him."

  So saying, the man went away.

  Next evening the man came again,—this time with the wife of Okada-Shi2 [a friend of the family],—and said:—

  "The other party is satisfied;—so, if you are willing, the match can be made."

  Father replied:—

  "As the two are, both of them, shichi-seki-kin ["seven-red-metal"],1 they should have the same nature—so I think that no harm can come of it."

  The match-maker asked:—

  "Then how would it be to arrange for the miai2 ["see-meeting "] to-morrow?"

  Father said:—

  "I suppose that everything really depends upon the En [karma-relation formed in previous states of existence].... Well, then, I beg that you will honourably meet us to-morrow evening at the house of Okada."

  Thus the betrothal promise was given on both sides.

  The person of the opposite house wanted me to go with him next evening to Okada's; but I said that I wished to go with my mother only, as from the time of taking such a first step one could not either retreat or advance.

  When I went with mother to the house, we were welcomed in with the words, "Kochira ē!" Then [my future husband and I] greeted each other for the first time. But somehow I felt so much ashamed that I could not look at him.

  Then Okada-Shi said to Namiki-Shi [the proposed husband]: "Now that you have nobody to consult with at home, would it not be well for you to snatch your luck where you find it, as the proverb says,—'Zen wa isogé'?"

  The answer was made:—

  "As for me, I am well satisfied; but I do not know what the feeling may be on the other side."

  "If it be honourably deigned to take me as it is honourably known that I am..."1 I said.

  The match-maker said:—

  "The matter being so, what would be a good day for the wedding?"

  [Namaki-Shi answered:—]

  "Though I can be at home to-morrow, perhaps the first day of the tenth month would be a better day."

  But Okada-Shi at once said:—

  "As there is cause for anxiety about the house being unoccupied while Namiki-Shi is absent [on night-duty], to-morrow would perhaps be the better day—would it not?"

  Though at first that seemed to me much too soon, I presently remembered that the next day was a Taian-nichi2 [perfectly fortunate day]: so I gave my consent; and we went home.

  When I told father, he was not pleased. He said that it was too soon, and that a delay of at least three or four days ought to have been allowed. Also he said that the direction [hōgaku]1 was not lucky, and that other conditions were not favourable.

  I said:—

  "But I have already promised; and I cannot now ask to have the day changed. Indeed it would be a great pity if a thief were to enter the house in [his] absence. As for the matter of the
direction being unlucky, even though I should have to die on that account, I would not complain; for I should die in my own husband's house.... And to-morrow," I added, "I shall be too busy to call on Goto [her brother-in-law]: so I must go there now."

  I went to Goto's; but, when I saw him, I felt afraid to say exactly what I had come to say. I suggested it only by telling him:—

  "To-morrow I have to go to a strange house." Goto immediately asked:—" As an honourable daughter-in-law [bride]?'

  After hesitating, I answered at last:,—

  "Yes."

  "What kind of a person?" Goto asked.

  I answered:—

  "If I had felt myself able to look at him long enough to form any opinion, I would not have put mother to the trouble of going with me."

  "Ané-San [Elder Sister]!" he exclaimed,—"then what was the use of going to see him at all?... But," he added, in a more pleasant tone, "let me wish you luck."

  "Anyhow," I said, "to-morrow it will be."

  And I returned home.

  Now the appointed day having come—the twenty-eighth day of the ninth month—I had so much to do that I did not know how I should ever be able to get ready. And as it had been raining for several days, the roadway was very bad, which made matters worse for me—though, luckily, no rain fell on that day. I had to buy some little things; and I could not well ask mother to do anything for me,—much as I wished for her help,—because her feet had become very weak by reason of her great age. So I got up very early and went out alone, and did the best I could: nevertheless, it was two o'clock in the afternoon before I got everything ready.

  Then I had to go to the hair-dresser's to have my hair dressed, and to go to the bath-house—all of which took time. And when I came back to dress, I found that no message had yet been received from Namiki-Shi; and I began to feel a little anxious. Just after we had finished supper, the message came. I had scarcely time to say good-by to all: then I went out,—leaving my home behind forever,—and walked with mother to the house of Okada-Shi.

  There I had to part even from mother; and the wife of Okada-Shi taking charge of me, I accompanied her to the house of Namaki-Shi in Funamachi.

  The wedding ceremony of the sansan-kudo-no-sakazuki1 having been performed without any difficulty, and the time of the o-hiraki ["honourable-blossoming"]2 having come more quickly than I had expected, the guests all returned home.

  So we two were left, for the first time, each alone with the other—sitting face to face: my heart beat wildly;3 and I felt abashed in such a way as could not be expressed by means of ink and paper.

  Indeed, what I felt can be imagined only by one who remembers leaving her parents' home for the first time, to become a bride,—a daughter-in-law in a strange house.

  Afterward, at the hour of meals, I felt very much distressed [embarrassed],...

  Two or three days later, the father of my husband's former wife [who was dead] visited me, and said:—

  "Namiki-Shi is really a good man,—a moral, steady man; but as he is also very particular about small matters and inclined to find fault, you had better always be careful to try to please him."

  Now as I had been carefully watching my husband's ways from the beginning, I knew that he was really a very strict man, and I resolved so to conduct myself in all matters as never to cross his will.

  The fifth day of the tenth month was the day for our satogaēri,1 and for the first time we went out together, calling at Goto's on the way. After we left Goto's, the weather suddenly became bad, and it began to rain. Then we borrowed a paper umbrella, which we used as an aigasa2; and though I was very uneasy lest any of my former neighbours should see us walking thus together, we luckily reached my parents' house, and made our visit of duty, without any trouble at all. While we were in the house, the rain fortunately stopped.

  On the ninth day of the same month I went with him to the theatre for the first time. We visited the Engiza at Akasaka, and saw a performance by the Yamaguchi company.

  On the eighth day of the eleventh month, we made a visit to Asakusa-temple,1 and also went to the [Shintō temple of the] O-Tori-Sama.

  —During this last month of the year I made new spring robes for my husband and myself: then I learned for the first time how pleasant such work was, and I felt very happy.

  On the twenty-fifth day we visited the temple of Tenjin-Sama,2 and walked about the grounds there.

  On the eleventh day of the first month of the twenty-ninth year [1896], called at Okada's.

  On the twelfth day we paid a visit to Goto's, and had a pleasant time there.

  On the ninth day of the second month we went to the Mizaki theatre to see the play Imos'e-Yama. On our way to the theatre we met Goto-Shi unexpectedly; and he went with us. But unluckily it began to rain as we were returning home, and we found the roads very muddy.

  On the twenty-second day of the same month [we had our] photograph taken at Amano's.

  On the twenty-fifth day of the third month we went to the Haruki theatre, and saw the play Uguisuzuka.

  —During the month it was agreed that all of us [kindred, friends, and parents] should make up a party, and enjoy our banami1 together; but this could not be managed.

  On the tenth day of the fourth month, at nine o'clock in the morning, we two went out for a walk. We first visited the Shokonsha [Shintō shrine] at Kudan: thence we walked to Uyeno [park]; and from there we went to Asakusa, and visited the Kwannon temple; and we also prayed at the Monzeki [Higashi Hongwanji]. Thence we had intended to go round to Asakusa-Okuyama; but we thought that it would be better to have dinner first—so we went to an eating-house. While we were dining, we heard such a noise of shouting and screaming that we thought there was a great quarrel outside. But the trouble was really caused by a fire in one of the misemono ["shows"]. The fire spread quickly, even while we were looking at it; and nearly all the show-buildings in that street were burnt up.... We left the eating-house soon after, and walked about the Asakusa grounds, looking at things.

  [Here follows, in the original Ms., the text of a little poem, composed by the writer herself:—]1

  Imado no watashi nite,

  Aimita koto mo naki hito ni,

  Fushigi ni Miméguri-Inari,

  Kaku mo fūfu ni naru nomika.

  Hajimé no omoi ni hikikaëté,

  Itsushika-kokoro mo Sumidagawa.

  Tsugai hanarénu miyakodori,

  Hito mo urayaméba wagami mo mata,

  Sakimidarétaru doté no hana yori mo,

  Hana ni mo mashita sono hito to

  Shirahigé-Yashiro ni naru madé mo.

  Soïtogétashi to inorinenji!

  [Freely translated]

  Having been taken across the Imado-Ferry, I strangely met at [the temple of] Mimeguri-Inari with a person whom I had never seen before. Because of this meeting our relation is now even more than the relation of husband and wife. And my first anxious doubt, "For how long—?" having passed away, my mind has become [clear] as the Sumida River. Indeed we are now like a pair of Miyako-birds [always together]; and I even think that I deserve to be envied. [To see the flowers we went out; but] more than the pleasure of viewing a whole shore in blossom is the pleasure that I now desire,—always to dwell with this person, dearer to me than any flower, until we enter the Shirahig'e-Tashiro. That we may so remain together, I supplicate the Gods!

  ... Then we crossed the Azuma bridge on our homeward way; and we went by steamer to the kaichō [festival] of the temple of the Soga-Kyōdai,1 and prayed that love and concord should continue always between ourselves and our brothers and sisters. It was after seven o'clock that evening when we got home.

  —On the twenty-fifth day of the same month we went to the Rokumono-no-Yose.1

  * * * * * *

  On the second day of the fifth month we visited [the gardens at] Ōkubo to see the azaleas in blossom.

  On the sixth day of the same month we went to see a display of fireworks at the Shokonsha.

  —So
far we had never had any words between us nor any disagreement;2 and I had ceased to feel bashful when we went out visiting or sight-seeing. Now each of us seemed to think only of how to please the other; and I felt sure that nothing would ever separate us.... May our relation always be thus happy!

  The eighteenth day of the sixth month, being the festival of the Suga-jinja,3 we were invited to my father's house. But as the hair-dresser did not come to dress my hair at the proper time, I was much annoyed. However, I went with O-Tori-San [a younger sister] to father's. Presently O-Ko-San [a married sister] also came;—and we had a pleasant time. In the evening Goto-Shi [husband of O-Ko] joined us; and, last of all, came my husband, for whom I had been waiting with anxious impatience. And there was one thing that made me very glad. Often when he and I were to go out together, I had proposed that we should put on the new spring robes which I had made; but he had as often refused,—preferring to wear his old kimono. Now, however, he wore the new one,—having felt obliged to put it on because of father's invitation.... All of us being thus happily assembled, the party became more and more enjoyable; and when we had at last to say good-by, we only regretted the shortness of the summer night.

  These are the poems which we composed that evening:—

  Futa-fūfu

  Sorōté iwō,

  Ujigami no

  Matsuri mo kyō wa

  Nigiwai ni kéri.

  —By Namiki (the husband).

  Two wedded couples having gone together to worship at the temple, the parish-festival to-day has been merrier than ever before.

  Ujigami no

  Matsuri médétashi

  Futa-fūfu.

  —Also by the husband.

  Fortunate indeed for two married couples has been the parish-temple festival!

  Ikutosé mo

  Nigiyaka narishi,

  Ujigami no,

  Matsuri ni sorō,

  Kyō no uréshisa.

  —By the wife.