Botan Dōrō: Lafcadio Hearn’s Japanese Ghost Love Story (Ep. 158)

Hey, hey, this is Thersa Matsuura, and you’re listening to Uncanny Japan, the podcast about the more obscure corners of Japanese culture, mysterious youkai, fascinating folktales, endearing superstitions, and more.

The Peony Lantern: Introduction

So it’s almost Halloween, and I promised to read Lafcadio Hearn’s Botan Dōrō, or the Peony Lantern. You’ll remember I talked a bit about it last episode, when I read my article in Sotheby’s about Japan’s Sandai Kaidan, or Three Great Ghost Stories.

So here it is. A heads up, though, of the three stories, the one about Oiwa and Okiku and Otsuyu, today’s story about Otsuyu is the lesser known. Why? Well, not because it’s a lesser story, but because it involves a little necrophilia, or ghostophilia, I suppose. Anyway, Hearn’s words are gorgeous and nuanced, and I don’t think young listeners will catch exactly what’s going on, but you might want to give it a listen first, just in case.

The Peony Lantern

In Edo there dwelt a samurai called Hagiwara. He was a samurai of the Hatamoto, which is of all the ranks of samurai the most honorable. He possessed a noble figure and a very beautiful face, and was beloved of many a lady of Edo, both openly and in secret.

For himself, being yet very young, his thoughts turned to pleasure rather than love. And morning, noon, and night, he was wont to disport himself with the gay youth of the city. He was the prince and leader of joyous revels within doors and without, and would often parade the streets for long together with bands of his boon companions.

The Lost Shuttlecock

One bright and wintry day during the festival of the new year, he found himself with a company of laughing youths and maidens playing at battle-door and Shuttlecock. He had wandered far from his own quarter of the city and was now in a suburb quite the other side of Edo, where the streets were empty, more or less, and the quiet houses stood in gardens.

Hagiwara wielded his heavy battle-door with great skill and grace, catching the gilded Shuttlecock and tossing it lightly into the air. But at length, with a careless or ill-judged stroke, he sent it flying over the heads of the players and over the bamboo fence of a garden nearby.

Immediately he started after it. Then his companions cried, “Stay, Hagiwara, here we have more than a dozen Shuttlecocks.” “Nay,” he said, “but this was dove-colored and gilded.” “Foolish one,” answered his friends, “here we have six Shuttlecocks all dove-colored and gilded.” But he paid them no heed, for he had become full of a very strange desire for the Shuttlecock he had lost.

He scaled the bamboo fence and dropped into the garden, which was upon the farther side. Now he had marked the very spot where the Shuttlecock should have fallen, but it was not there. So he searched along the foot of the bamboo fence, but no, he could not find it.

Up and down he went, beating the bushes with his battle-door, his eyes on the ground, drawing his breath heavily as if he had lost his dearest treasure. His friends called him, but he did not come, and they grew tired and went to their own homes. The light of day began to fail.

Meeting Otsuyu

Hagiwara, the samurai, looked up and saw a girl standing a few yards away from him. She beckoned him with her right hand, and in her left she held a gilded Shuttlecock with dove-colored feathers. The samurai shouted joyfully and ran forward. Then the girl drew away from him, still beckoning him with the right hand. The Shuttlecock lured him, and he followed.

So they went, the two of them, till they came to the house that was in the garden, and three stone steps that led up to it. Beside the lowest step there grew a plum tree and blossom, and upon the highest step there stood a fair and very young lady.

She was most splendidly attired in robes of high festival. Her kimono was of water-blue silk, the sleeves of ceremony so long that they touched the ground. Her underdress was scarlet, and her gray girdle of brocade was stiff and heavy with gold. In her hair were pins of gold and tortoise-shell and coral.

When Hagiwara saw the lady, he knelt down forthwith and made her do obeisance till his forehead touched the ground. Then the lady spoke, smiling with pleasure like a child. “Come into my house, Hagiwara-sama, samurai of the Hatamoto. I am Otsuyu, the lady of the morning dew. My dear handmaiden, Oyone, has brought you to me. Come in, Hagiwara-sama, samurai of the Hatamoto, for indeed I am glad to see you, and happy is the hour.”

So the samurai went in, and they brought him to a room of ten mats where they entertained him, for the lady of the morning dew danced before him in the ancient manner, whilst Oyone, the handmaiden, beat upon a small scarlet tasseled drum. Afterwards they set food before him, the red rice of the festival and sweet warm wine, and he ate and drank of the food they gave him.

The Warning

It was dark night when Hagiwara took his leave. “Come again, honorable lord, come again,” said Oyone, the handmaiden. “Yea, lord, you need must come,” whispered the lady of the morning dew.

The samurai laughed, “And if I do not come,” he said mockingly. “What if I do not come?” The lady stiffened and her child’s face grew gray, but she laid her hand upon Hagiwara’s shoulder. Then she said, “It will be death, lord, death it will be for you and for me, there is no other way.”

Oyone shuddered and hid her eyes with her sleeve. The samurai went out into the night, being very much afraid. Long long he sought for his home and he could not find it, wandering in the black darkness from end to end of the sleeping city. When at last he reached his familiar door, the late dawn was almost come, and wearily he threw himself upon his bed. Then he laughed, “After all, I have left behind me my shuttlecock,” said Hagiwara the samurai.

The Search

The next day Hagiwara sat alone in his house from morning until evening. He had his hands before him and he thought, but he did nothing more. At the end of the time he said, “It is a joke that a couple of geisha have sought to play with me, excellent in faith, but they shall not have me.”

So he dressed himself in his best and went forth to join his friends. For five or six days he was at joustings and junketeens, the gayest of the gay. His wit was ready, his spirits were wild. Then he said, “By the gods I am deathly sick of this,” and took to walking the streets of Edo alone.

From end to end of the great city he went. He wandered by day and he wandered by night, by street and alley he went, by hill and moat and castle wall, but he found not what he sought. He could not come upon the garden where his shuttlecock was lost, nor yet upon the lady of the morning dew.

His spirit had no rest. He fell sick and took to his bed, where he neither ate nor slept, but grew specter thin. This was about the third month. In the sixth month, at the time of new by the hot and rainy season, he rose up and in spite of all his faithful servant could say or do to dissuade him, he wrapped a loose summer robe about him and at once went forth.

“Alack, alack,” cried the servant, “the youth has the fever or he is perchance mad.” Hagiwara faltered, not at all. He looked neither to the right nor the left. Straightforward he went, for he said to himself, “All roads lead past my love’s house.”

The Truth Revealed

Soon he came to a quiet suburb and to a certain house whose garden had a split bamboo fence. Hagiwara laughed softly and scaled the fence. “The same, the very same shall be the manner of our meeting,” he said.

He found the garden wild and overgrown. Moss covered the three stone steps. The plum tree that grew there fluttered its green leaves, disconsolate. The house was still, its shutters were all closed. It was forlorn and deserted. The samurai grew cold as he stood and wondered. A soaking rain fell.

There came an old man into the garden. He said to Hagiwara, “Sir, what do you do here?” “The white flower has fallen from the plum tree,” said the samurai. “Where is the lady of the morning dew?”

“She is dead,” answered the old man. “Dead these five or six moons of a strange and sudden sickness. She lies in the graveyard on the hill and Oyone, her handmaid, lies by her side. She could not suffer her mistress to wander alone through the long night of Yomi. For their sweet spirit’s sake, I would still tend to this garden. But I am old and it is little that I can do. Sir, they are dead indeed. The grass grows on their graves.”

The Memorial

Hagiwara went to his own home. He took a slip of pure white wood and he wrote upon it in large fair characters the dear name of his lady. This he set up and burned before it incense and sweet odors. And made every offering that was mead and did due observance. And all for the welfare of her departed spirit.

Then drew near the festival of Bon, the time of returning souls. The good folk of Edo took lanterns and visited their graves. Bringing food and flowers, they cared for their beloved dead.

The Festival of Bon

On the 13th day of the seventh month, which in the Bon is the day of days, Hagiwara the samurai walked in his garden by night for the sake of the coolness. It was windless and dark. A cicada hidden in the heart of a pomegranate flower, saying shrilly now and again. Now and again a carp leaked in the round pond. For the rest it was still and never a leaf stirred.

About the hour of the ox, Hagiwara heard the sound of footsteps in the lane that lay beyond his garden hedge. Nearer and nearer they came. “Women’s geta,” said the samurai. He knew them by the hollow echoing noise.

Looking over his rose hedge, he saw two slender women come out of the dimness hand in hand. One of them carried a lantern with a bunch of peony flowers tied to the handle. It was such a lantern as is used at the time of the Bon in the service of the dead. It swung as the two women walked, casting an uncertain light.

As they came abreast of the samurai upon the other side of the hedge, they turned their faces to him. He knew them at once and gave one great cry. The girl with the peony lantern held it up so that the light fell upon him.

“Hagiwara-sama,” she cried. “By all that is most wonderful, why, Lord, we were told that you were dead. We have daily recited the Nenbutsu for your soul these many moons.”

“Come in, come in, Oyone,” he said. “And is it indeed your mistress that you hold by the hand? Can it be my lady? Oh, my love?”

Oyone answered. “Who else should it be?” And the two came in at the garden gate. But the lady of the morning dew held up her sleeve to hide her face.

“How was it I lost you, Oyone?” “Lord,” she said, “we have moved to a little house, a very little house, in the quarter of the city which is called the Green Hill. We were suffered to take nothing with us there, and we are grown very poor. With grief and want, my mistress has become pale.”

Then Hagiwara took his lady’s sleeve to draw it gently from her face. “Lord,” she sobbed, “you will not love me, I am not fair.” But when he looked upon her, his love flamed up within him like a consuming fire and shook him from head to foot. He never said a word.

She drooped. “Lord,” she murmured, “shall I go or shall I stay?” And he said, “Stay.”

The Discovery

A little before daybreak, the samurai fell into a deep sleep and awoke to find himself alone in the clear light of the morning. He lost not an instant, but rose and went forth and immediately made his way through Edo to the quarter of the city which is called the Green Hill.

Here he inquired for the house of the lady of the morning dew, but no one could direct him. High and low he searched fruitlessly. It seemed to him that for the second time he had lost his dear lady and he turned homewards in bitter despair.

His way led him through the grounds of a certain temple and as he went he marked two graves that were side by side. One was little and obscure, but the other was marked by a fair monument like the tomb of some great one. Before the monument there hung a lantern with a bunch of peony flowers tied to its handle. It was such a lantern as is used at the time of Bon in the service of the dead.

Long, long did the samurai stand as one in a dream and he smiled a little and said, “We have moved to a little house, a very little house, upon the Green Hill. We were suffered to take nothing with us there and we are grown very poor. With grief and want my mistress has become pale.”

“A little house, a dark house, yet you will make room for me, oh my beloved, pale one of my desires. We have loved for the space of ten existences, leave me not now, my dear.”

Then he went home. His faithful servant met him and cried, “Now what ails you master?” He said, “Why nothing at all, I was never merrier.” But the servant departed weeping and saying, “The mark of death is on your face and I whither shall I go that bore him as a child in these arms.”

Seven Nights

Every night for seven nights the maidens with the peony lantern came to Hagiwara’s dwelling. Fair weather or foul was the same to them. They came at the hour of the ox. There was a mystic wooing. By the strong bond of illusion the living and the dead were bound together.

On the seventh night the servant of the samurai, wakeful with fear and sorrow, made bold to peer into his lord’s room through a crack in the wooden shutters. His hair stood on end and his blood ran cold to see Hagiwara in the arms of a fearful thing, smiling up at the horror that was its face, stroking its dank green robe with languid fingers.

The Protection

With daylight the servant made his way to a holy man of his acquaintance. When he had told his tale he asked, “Is there any hope for Hagiwara-sama?”

“Alack,” said the holy man, “who can withstand the power of karma. Nevertheless, there is a little hope.” So he told the servant what he must do.

Before nightfall this one had set a sacred text above every door and window place of his master’s house, and he had rolled in the silk of his master’s girdle a golden emblem of the Tathagata.

When these things were done, Hagiwara, being drawn two ways, became himself as weak as water, and his servant took him in his arms, laid him upon his bed and covered him lightly, and saw him fall into a deep sleep.

At the hour of the ox there was heard the sound of footsteps in the lane without the garden hedge. Nearer and nearer they came. They grew slow and stopped.

“What means this? O Yone, O Yone,” said a piteous voice. “The house is asleep, and I do not see my lord.”

“Come home, sweet lady. Hagiwara’s heart is changed.”

“That I will not, O Yone, O Yone. You must find a way to bring me to my lord.”

“Lady, we cannot enter there. See the holy writing over every door and window place. We may not enter there.”

There was a sound of bitter weeping and a long wail. “Lord, I have loved thee through the space of ten existences.” Then the footsteps retreated, and their echo died away.

The next night it was quite the same. Hagiwara slept in his weakness. As his servant watched, the wraiths came and departed in sobbing despair.

The Fatal Night

The third day, when Hagiwara went to the bath, a thief stole the emblem, the gold emblem of the Tathagata, from his girdle. Hagiwara did not mark it, but that night he lay awake. It was his servant that slept, worn out with watching.

Presently a great rain fell, and Hagiwara, waking, heard the sound of it upon the roof. The heavens were opened, and for hours the rain fell, and it tore the holy text from over the round window in Hagiwara’s chamber.

At the hour of the ox, there was heard the sound of footsteps in the lane without the garden hedge. Nearer and nearer they came. They grew slow and stopped.

“This is the last time, O Yone, O Yone. Therefore, bring me to my lord. Think of the love of ten existences. Great is the power of karma. There must be a way.”

“Come, my beloved,” called Hagiwara with a great voice. “Open, lord, open, and I come.”

But Hagiwara could not move from his couch. “Come, my beloved,” he called for a second time. “I cannot come, for the separation wounds me like a sharp sword. Thus we suffer for the sins of a former life.”

So the lady spoke and moaned like the lost soul that she was. But O Yone took her hand. “See the round window,” she said. Hand in hand, the two rose lightly from the earth. Like vapor, they passed through the unguarded window.

The samurai called, “Come to me, beloved, for the third time.” He was answered, “Lord, I come.”

In the gray morning, Hagiwara’s servant found his master, cold and dead. At his feet stood the Oyone lantern burning with a weird yellow flame. The servant shivered, took up the lantern, and blew out the light. “For I cannot bear it,” he said.

Closing

The end. Thank you all for listening. Stay safe and well, and I will talk to you again in two weeks. Happy Halloween.