Have you ever heard the tale of the Earless Hōïchi?
Today I’ll read to you one of Lafcadio Hearn’s most famous stories.
Why did the blind monk Hōïchi lose both ears in such a horrific fashion?
Keep listening to find out.
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Mimi-nashi Hōïchi: The Story Begins
Okay, let me read to you Lafcadio Hearn’s deliciously creepy tale, “Mimi-nashi Hōïchi” or “The Earless Hōïchi.”
The story of Mimi-nashi Hōïchi.
More than 700 years ago at Dan-no-Ura in the Straits of Shimono Seki was fought the last battle of the long contest between the Heike or Taira clan and the Genji or Minamoto clan.
There the Heike perished utterly with their women and children and their infant emperor.
Likewise, now remembered as Antoku-tennō.
And that sea and shore have been haunted for 700 years.
Elsewhere I told you about the strange crabs found there called Heike crabs, which have human faces on their backs and are said to be the spirits of the Heike warriors.
But there are many strange things to be seen and heard along that coast.
On dark nights thousands of ghostly fires hover about the beach or flit above the waves, pale lights which the fishermen call Oni-bi or demon fires.
And whenever the winds are up, a sound of great shouting comes from the sea like a clamor of battle.
In former years the Heike were much more restless than they are now.
They would rise about ships passing in the night and try to sink them.
And at all times they would watch for swimmers to pull them down.
It was in order to appease those dead that the Buddhist temple, Amidaji, was built at Akamagasaki.
A cemetery also was made close by near the beach.
And within it were set up monuments inscribed with the names of the drowned emperor and of his great vassals. And Buddhist services were regularly performed there on behalf of the spirits of them.
After the temple had been built and the tombs erected, the Heike gave less trouble than before.
But they continued to do queer things at intervals, proving that they had not found the perfect peace.
The Blind Musician and His Extraordinary Gift
Some centuries ago there lived at Akamagasaki a blind man named Hōïchi, who was famed for his skill at recitation and in playing upon the biwa.
From childhood he had been trained to recite and to play. And while yet a lad he had surpassed his teachers. As a professional biwa hōshi, he became famous chiefly by his recitations of the history of the Heike and the Genji. And it is said that when he sang the song of the battle of Dan-no-Ura, even the goblins, the kijin, could not refrain from tears.
At the outset of his career, Hōïchi was very poor. But he found a good friend to help him.
The priest of the Amidaji was fond of poetry and music and he often invited Hōïchi to the temple to play and recite. Afterwards, being much impressed by the wonderful skill of the lad, the priest proposed that Hōïchi should make the temple his home. And this offer was gratefully accepted. Hōïchi was given a room in the temple building and in return for food and lodging, he was required only to gratify the priest with a musical performance on certain evenings when otherwise disengaged. One summer night, the priest was called away to perform a Buddhist service at the house of a dead parishioner. And he went there with his acolyte, leaving Hōïchi alone in the temple. It was a hot night and the blind man sought to cool himself on the veranda before his sleeping room. The veranda overlooked a small garden in the rear of Amidaji.
There Hōïchi waited for the priest’s return and he tried to relieve his solitude by practicing upon the biwa. Midnight passed and the priest did not appear. But the atmosphere was still too warm for comfort with indoors and Hōïchi remained outside. At last, he heard steps approaching from the back gate. Somebody crossed the garden, advanced to the veranda and halted directly in front of him. But it was not the priest. A deep voice called the blind man’s name, abruptly and unceremoniously in the manner of a samurai summoning an inferior. “Hōïchi.”
Hōïchi was much too startled for the moment to respond and the voice called again in a tone of harsh command. “Hōïchi.” “Hi,” answered the blind man, frightened by the menace in the voice. “I am blind. I cannot know who calls.”
“There is nothing to fear,” the stranger exclaimed, speaking more gently. “I am stopping near this temple and I have been sent to you with a message. My present lord, a person of exceedingly high rank, is now staying in Akamagasaki. And many noble attendants.” He wished to view the scene of the Battle of Dan-no-Ura and today he visited that place. Having heard of your skill in reciting the story of the battle, he now desires to hear your performance. So you will take your biwa and come with me at once to the house where the august assembly is waiting.” In those times, the order of a samurai was not to be lightly disobeyed. Hōïchi donned his sandals, took his Biwa and went away with the stranger who guided him deftly, but obliged him to walk very fast. The hen that guided him was iron and the clank of the warrior’s stride proved him fully armed. Probably some palace guard on duty. Hōïchi’s first alarm was over. He began to imagine himself in good luck, for remembering the retainer’s assurance about a person of exceedingly high rank.
He thought that the lord who wished to hear his recitation could not be less than a daimyō of the first class. Presently the samurai halted and Hōïchi became aware that they had arrived at a large gateway. And he wondered, for he could not remember any large gate in that part of the town, except the main gate of the Amidaji. “Kaimon!” the samurai called, and there was a sound of umbaring. And the twain passed. They traversed a space of garden and halted again before some entrance, and the retainer cried in a loud voice, “Within there, I have brought Hōïchi.”
The Mysterious Performance Before an august assembly
Then came sounds of feet hurrying and screens sliding and rain doors opening and voices of women in converse. By the language of the women, Hōïchi knew them to be domestics in some noble household, but he could not imagine to what place he had been conducted. Little time was allowed for him to conjecture. After he had been helped to mount several stone steps, upon the last of which he was told to leave his sandals, a woman’s hand guided him along interminable reaches of polished planking and round pillared angles too many to remember, and over whips a mazing of matted floor into the middle of some vast apartment. There he thought that many great people were assembled.
The sound of the rustling silk was like the sound of leaves in a forest. He heard also a great humming of voices, talking in undertones, and the speech was the speech of courts.
Hōïchi was told to put himself at ease, and he found a kneeling cushion ready for him.
After having taken his place upon it and tuned his instrument, the voice of a woman, whom he divined to be the rōjo or matron in charge of the female service, addressed him saying, “It is now required that the history of the Heike be recited to the accompaniment of the biwa.”
Now the entire recital would have required a time of many nights, therefore Hōïchi ventured a question.
As the whole of the story is not soon told, what portion is augustly desired that I now recite?
The woman’s voice made answer, “Recite the story of the battle at Don Noura, for the pity of it is the most deep.” Then Hōïchi lifted up his voice and chanted the chant of the fight on the bitter sea, wonderfully making his Biwa to sound like the straining of oars and the rushing of ships, the whirr and the hissing of arrows, the shouting and trampling of men, the crashing of still upon helmets, a plunging of slain in the flood. And to left and right of him, in the pauses of his playing, he could hear voices murmuring praise. How marvelous an artist, never in our own province was playing like this heard.
Not in all the empire is there another singer like Hōïchi. Then fresh courage came upon him, and he played and sang yet better than before, and a hush of wonder deepened about him.
But when at last he came to tell the fate of the fair and helpless, the piteous perishing of the women and children and the death leap of Ni Noama with the imperial infant in her arms, then all the listeners uttered together one long, long, shuddering cry of anguish, and therefore they wept and wailed so loudly and so wildly that the blind man was frightened by the violence and grief that he had made. For much of the sobbing and the wailing continued, but gradually the sounds of lamentation died away and again in the great stillness that followed. Hōïchi heard the voice of the woman whom he’s supposed to be the rōjo. She said, “Although we had been assured that you were a very skillful player upon the Biwa and without an equal and recitative, we did not know that anyone could be so skillful as you have proved yourself tonight. Our lord has been pleased to say that he intends to bestow upon you a fitting reward, but he desires that you shall perform before him once every night for the next six nights.” After which time he will probably make his august return journey. “Tomorrow night, therefore, you are to come here at the same hour.
The retainer who tonight conducted you will be sent for you. There is another matter about which I have been ordered to inform you. It is required that you shall speak to no one about your visits here during the time of our lord’s august sojourn at Akamagasaki. As he is traveling incognito, he commands that no mention of these things be made. You are now free to go back to your temple.” After Hōïchi had duly expressed his thanks, a woman’s hand conducted him to the entrance of the house, where the same retainer who had before guided him was waiting to take him home.
The Terrible Discovery in the Cemetery
The retainer led him to the veranda at the rear of the temple and there bade him farewell. It was almost dawn when Hōïchi returned, but his absence from the temple had not been observed, as the priest coming back at a very late hour had supposed him asleep. During the day, Hōïchi was able to take some rest, and he said nothing about his strange adventure. In the middle of the following night, the samurai again came for him and led him to the august assembly where he gave another recitation with the same success that had attended his previous performance. But during this second visit, his absence from the temple was accidentally discovered, and after his return in the morning, he was summoned to the presence of the priest, who said to him in a tone of kindly reproach, “We have been very anxious about you, friend Hōïchi. To go out, blind and alone, at so late an hour, is dangerous. Why did you go without telling us? I could have ordered a servant to accompany you.
And where have you been?” Hōïchi answered evasively, “Pardon me, kind friend. I had to attend some private business, and I could not arrange the matter at any other hour.” The priest was surprised rather than pained by Hōïchi’s reticence. He felt it to be unnatural and suspected something wrong.
He feared that the blind lad had been bewitched or deluded by some evil spirits. He did not ask any more questions, but he privately instructed the men servants of the temple to keep watch on Hōïchi’s movements and to follow him in case that he should again leave the temple after dark.
On the very next night, Hōïchi was seen to leave the temple, and the servants immediately lighted their lanterns and followed after him. But it was a rainy night and very dark, and before the temple folks could get to the roadway, Hōïchi had disappeared. Evidently, he had walked very fast, a strange thing considering his blindness, for the road was in bad condition. The men hurried through the streets making inquiries at every house which Hōïchi was accustomed to visit, but nobody could give them any news of him.
At last, as they were returning to the temple by way of the shore, they were startled by the sound of a biwa furiously played in the cemetery of the Amidaji. Except for some ghostly fires, which as usually flitted there on dark nights, all was blackness in that direction. But the men at once hastened to the cemetery, and there, by the help of their lanterns, they discovered Hōïchi, sitting alone in the rain, before the memorial tomb of Antoku-tennō, making his biwa resound and loudly chanting the chant of the Battle of Dan-no-Ura. And behind him and about him and everywhere above the tombs, the fires of the dead were burning like candles.
Never before had so great a host of onibi appeared in the sight of mortal man.
“Hōïchi-san, Hōïchi-san!” the servants cried. “You are bewitched, Hōïchi-san!”
But the blind man did not seem to hear. Strenuously he made his biwa to rattle and ring and clang.
More and more wildly he chanted the chant of the Battle of Dan-no-Ura.
They caught hold of him. They shouted into his ear, “Hōïchi-san, Hōïchi-san, come home at once!”
Reprovingly he spoke to them, “To interrupt me in such a manner before this august assembly will not be tolerated.” Whereat, in spite of the weirdness of the thing, the servants could not help laughing. Sure that he had been bewitched, they now seized him and pulled him up on his feet, and by main force hurried him back to the temple, where he was immediately relieved of his wet clothes by order of the priest. Then the priest insisted on a full explanation of his friend’s astonishing behavior. Hōïchi long hesitated to speak, but at last, finding that his conduct had really alarmed and angered the good priest, he decided to abandon his reserve and he related everything that had happened from the time of the first visit of the samurai. The priest said, “Hōïchi, my poor friend, you are now in great danger.
The Protection of Sacred Sutras
How unfortunate that you did not tell me all this before. Your wonderful skill in music has indeed brought you into strange trouble. By this time you must be aware that you have not been visiting any house whatever, but have been passing your nights in the cemetery among the tombs of the Heike. And it was before the memorial tomb of Antoku-tennō that our people tonight found you sitting in the rain. All that you have been imagining was illusion, except the calling of the dead. By once obeying them, you have put yourself in their power. If you obey them again, after what has already occurred, they will tear you into pieces. But they would have destroyed you sooner or later, in any event. Now I shall not be able to remain with you tonight. I am called away to perform another service, but before I go, it will be necessary to protect your body by writing holy texts upon it.” Before sundown, the priest and his acolyte stripped Hōïchi.
Then, with their writing brushes, they traced upon his breast and back, head and face, and neck, limbs and hands and feet, even upon the soles of his feet, and upon all the body parts, the texts of the holy sutra called Hannya Shingyō. When this had been done, the priest instructed Hōïchi, saying, “Tonight, as soon as I go away, you must seat yourself on the veranda and wait. You will be called, but whatever may happen, do not answer and do not move. Say nothing and sit still, as if meditating. If you stir or make any noise, you will be torn asunder. Do not get frightened and do not think of calling for help, because no help could save you. If you do exactly as I tell you, the danger will pass and you will have nothing more to fear.” After dark, the priest and the acolyte went away, and Hōïchi seated himself on the veranda, according to the instructions given him. He laid his biwa on the planking beside him, and assuming the attitude of meditation, remained quite still. Taking care not to cough or to breathe audibly, for hours he stayed thus.
Then, from the roadway, he heard the steps coming. They passed the gate, crossed the garden, approached the veranda, stopped directly in front of him.
“Let’s take a deep breath right here for just a minute.”
“Hōïchi,” the deep voice called, but the blind man held his breath and sat motionless.
“Hōïchi,” Grimly called the voice a second time, then a third time savagely. “Hōïchi!”
Hōïchi remained as still as a stone, and the voice grumbled. “No answer.
What do I do? Must see where the fellow is.” There was a noise of heavy feet mounting upon the veranda. The feet approached deliberately, halted beside him. Then, for long minutes, during which Hōïchi felt his whole body shake to the beating of his heart, there was dead silence.
At last, the gruff voice muttered close to him. “Here is the biwa. But of the biwa player I see only two ears.” So that explains why he did not answer. He had no mouth to answer with.
There is nothing left of him but his ears. Now to my lord, those ears I will take in proof that the august commands have been obeyed so far as possible.
At that instant, Hōïchi felt his ears gripped by fingers of iron and torn off.
Great as the pain was, he gave no cry. The heavy footfalls receded along the veranda, descended into the garden, passed out to the roadway, ceased. From either side of his head, the blind man felt a thick, warm trickling, but he dared not lift his hands.
The Aftermath and Hōïchi’s Fame
Before sunrise, the priest came back. He hastened at once to the veranda in the rear, stepped and slipped upon something clammy and uttered a cry of horror.
For what he saw by the light of his lantern, that the clammyness was blood. But he perceived Hōïchi sitting there in the attitude of meditation, with the blood still oozing from his wounds.
“My poor Hōïchi,” cried the priest, “what is this? You have been hurt?”
At the sound of his friend’s voice, the blind man felt saved.
He burst out sobbing and tearfully told his adventure of the night.
“Poor, poor Hōïchi,” the priest exclaimed, “it’s all my fault, my very grievous fault.
Everywhere upon your body the holy texts have been written, except upon your ears. I trusted my acolyte to do that part of the work, and it was very, very wrong of me not to have made sure that he had done it.” “Well, the matter cannot now be helped. We can only try to heal your hurts as soon as possible. Cheer up, friend. The danger is now well over. You will never again be troubled by those visitors.” With the aid of a good doctor, Hōïchi soon recovered from his injuries.
The story of his strange adventure spread far and wide and soon made him famous. Many noble persons went to Akamagasaki to hear him recite, and large presents of money were given to him, so that he became a wealthy man. But from the time of his adventure, he was known only by the appellation of Mimi-nashi Hōïchi. Hōïchi the Earless.
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