kwaidan-stories and studies of strange things(奇谈)-第19节
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she turned when he rose。
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KWAIDAN： Stories and Studies of Strange Things
Again I saw the sun…flecked shadows on that far Welsh hill； and
Robert for a moment again stood beside me； with his girl's face and his
curls of gold。 We were looking for fairy…rings。。。 But all that existed of the
real Robert must long ago have suffered a sea…change into something rich
and strange。。。 Greater love hath no man than this； that a man lay down his
life for his friend。。。＇
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HORAI
Blue vision of depth lost in height； sea and sky interblending
through luminous haze。 The day is of spring； and the hour morning。
Only sky and sea； one azure enormity。。。 In the fore； ripples are
catching a silvery light； and threads of foam are swirling。 But a little
further off no motion is visible； nor anything save color： dim warm blue of
water widening away to melt into blue of air。 Horizon there is none： only
distance soaring into space； infinite concavity hollowing before you； and
hugely arching above you； the color deepening with the height。 But far in
the midway…blue there hangs a faint； faint vision of palace towers； with
high roofs horned and curved like moons； some shadowing of splendor
strange and old； illumined by a sunshine soft as memory。
。。。What I have thus been trying to describe is a kakemono； that is to
say； a Japanese painting on silk； suspended to the wall of my alcove； and
the name of it is Shinkiro； which signifies 〃Mirage。〃 But the shapes of the
mirage are unmistakable。 Those are the glimmering portals of Horai the
blest； and those are the moony roofs of the Palace of the Dragon…King；
and the fashion of them （though limned by a Japanese brush of to…day） is
the fashion of things Chinese； twenty…one hundred years ago。。。
Thus much is told of the place in the Chinese books of that time：
In Horai there is neither death nor pain； and there is no winter。 The
flowers in that place never fade； and the fruits never fail； and if a man taste
of those fruits even but once； he can never again feel thirst or hunger。 In
Horai grow the enchanted plants So…rin…shi； and Riku…go…aoi； and Ban…
kon…to； which heal all manner of sickness； and there grows also the
magical grass Yo…shin…shi； that quickens the dead； and the magical grass is
watered by a fairy water of which a single drink confers perpetual youth。
The people of Horai eat their rice out of very； very small bowls； but the
rice never diminishes within those bowls； however much of it be eaten；
until the eater desires no more。 And the people of Horai drink their wine
out of very； very small cups； but no man can empty one of those cups；
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however stoutly he may drink； until there comes upon him the pleasant
drowsiness of intoxication。
All this and more is told in the legends of the time of the Shin dynasty。
But that the people who wrote down those legends ever saw Horai； even in
a mirage； is not believable。 For really there are no enchanted fruits which
leave the eater forever satisfied； nor any magical grass which revives the
dead； nor any fountain of fairy water； nor any bowls which never lack
rice； nor any cups which never lack wine。 It is not true that sorrow and
death never enter Horai； neither is it true that there is not any winter。 The
winter in Horai is cold； and winds then bite to the bone； and the heaping
of snow is monstrous on the roofs of the Dragon…King。
Nevertheless there are wonderful things in Horai； and the most
wonderful of all has not been mentioned by any Chinese writer。 I mean the
atmosphere of Horai。 It is an atmosphere peculiar to the place； and；
because of it； the sunshine in Horai is whiter than any other sunshine； a
milky light that never dazzles； astonishingly clear； but very soft。 This
atmosphere is not of our human period： it is enormously old； so old that I
feel afraid when I try to think how old it is； and it is not a mixture of
nitrogen and oxygen。 It is not made of air at all； but of ghost； the
substance of quintillions of quintillions of generations of souls blended
into one immense translucency； souls of people who thought in ways
never resembling our ways。 Whatever mortal man inhales that atmosphere；
he takes into his blood the thrilling of these spirits； and they change the
sense within him； reshaping his notions of Space and Time； so that he
can see only as they used to see； and feel only as they used to feel； and
think only as they used to think。 Soft as sleep are these changes of sense；
and Horai； discerned across them； might thus be described：
Because in Horai there is no knowledge of great evil； the hearts of
the people never grow old。 And； by reason of being always young in heart；
the people of Horai smile from birth until death except when the Gods
send sorrow among them； and faces then are veiled until the sorrow goes
away。 All folk in Horai love and trust each other； as if all were members of
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a single household； and the speech of the women is like birdsong；
because the hearts of them are light as the souls of birds； and the
swaying of the sleeves of the maidens at play seems a flutter of wide； soft
wings。 In Horai nothing is hidden but grief； because there is no reason for
shame； and nothing is locked away； because there could not be any
theft； and by night as well as by day all doors remain unbarred； because
there is no reason for fear。 And because the people are fairies though
mortal all things in Horai； except the Palace of the Dragon…King； are
small and quaint and queer； and these fairy…folk do really eat their rice
out of very； very small bowls； and drink their wine out of very； very small
cups。。。
Much of this seeming would be due to the inhalation of that ghostly
atmosphere but not all。 For the spell wrought by the dead is only the
charm of an Ideal； the glamour of an ancient hope； and something of that
hope has found fulfillment in many hearts ； in the simple beauty of
unselfish lives； in the sweetness of Woman。。。
Evil winds from the West are blowing over Horai； and the magical
atmosphere； alas！ is shrinking away before them。 It lingers now in patches
only； and bands； like those long bright bands of cloud that train across
the landscapes of Japanese painters。 Under these shreds of the elfish vapor
you still can find Horai but not everywhere。。。 Remember that Horai is
also called Shinkiro； which signifies Mirage； the Vision of the Intangible。
And the Vision is fading； never again to appear save in pictures and
poems and dreams。。。
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KWAIDAN： Stories and Studies of Strange Things
INSECT STUDIES
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KWAIDAN： Stories and Studies of Strange Things
BUTTERFLIES
I
Would that I could hope for the luck of that Chinese scholar known to
Japanese literature as 〃Rosan〃！ For he was beloved by two spirit…maidens；
celestial sisters； who every ten days came to visit him and to tell him
stories about butterflies。 Now there are marvelous Chinese stories about
butterflies ghostly stories； and I want to know them。 But never shall I be
able to read Chinese； nor even Japanese； and the little Japanese poetry that
I manage； with exceeding difficulty； to translate； contains so many
allusions to Chinese stories of butterflies that I am tormented with the
torment of Tantalus。。。 And； of course； no spirit…maidens will even deign to
visit so skeptical a person as myself。
I want to know； for example； the whole story of that Chinese maiden
whom the butterflies took to be a flower； and follo
