white aster

epics as they are understood in europe do not exist in either china or japan, although orientals claim that name for poems which we would term idyls.

a romantic tale, which passes as an epic in both countries, was written in chinese verse by professor inouye, and has been rendered in classical japanese by naobumi ochiai. it is entitled "the lay of the pious maiden shirakiku," which is the white aster.

the first canto opens with an exquisite description of an autumn sunset and of the leaves falling from the trees at the foot of mount aso. then we hear a temple bell ringing in a distant grove, and see a timid maiden steal out weeping from a hut in the extremity of the village to gaze anxiously in the direction of the volcano, for her father left her three days before to go hunting and has not returned. poor little white aster fears some harm may have befallen her sire, and, although she creeps back into the hut and kindles a fire to make tea, her heads turns at every sound in the hope that her father has come back at last. stealing out once more only to see wild geese fly past and the rain-clouds drift across the heavens, white aster shudders and feels impelled to start in quest of the missing man. she, therefore, dons a straw cloak and red bamboo hat, and, although night will soon fall, steals down the village street, across the marsh, and begins to climb the mountain.

here the steep path winds with a swift ascent

toward the summit:—the long grass that grew

in tufts upon the slopes, shrivelled and dry,

lay dead upon her path;—hushed was the voice

of the blithe chafers.—only sable night

yawned threatening from the vale.

while she is searching, the rain ceases and the clouds part, but no trace of her missing father does she find. light has gone and darkness has already invaded the solitude, when white aster descries a faint red gleam through the trees and hears the droning voice of a priest chanting his prayers. going in the direction of light and sound, white aster soon approaches a ruined temple, standing in the midst of a grove of cypress and camphor trees, amid bleached bones and mouldering graves overhung by weeping-willows.

her light footfall on the broken steps, falling upon the ear of the recluse, makes him fancy some demon is coming to tempt him, so seizing a light he thrusts it out of the door, tremblingly bidding the "fox ghost" begone. in the east foxes being spirits of evil and having the power to assume any form they wish, the priest naturally takes what seems a little maiden for a demon. but, when he catches a glimpse of white aster's lovely innocent face and hears her touching explanation, he utterly changes his opinion, muttering that she must belong to some noble family, since her eyebrows are like twin "half-moons."

"'tis clear she comes of noble family:

her eyebrows are as twin half-moons: her hair

lies on her snowy temples, like a cloud:

in charm of form she ranks with sishih's self,

that pearl of loveliness, the chinese helen."

taking his visitor gently by the hand, he leads her into the sanctuary, where he seats her at buddha's feet, before inquiring who she is and what she is doing at night in the wilderness. white aster timidly explains that, although born in one of the southern islands and cradled in a rich home, the pleasant tenor of her life was suddenly interrupted by the outbreak of war. her home sacked and destroyed, she and her mother barely escaped with their lives. taking refuge near a ruined temple, they erected a booth to shelter them, where the girl who had always been lapped in luxury had to perform all kinds of menial tasks. but even under such circumstances her life proved pleasant compared to what she suffered when news came that her father had rebelled against the king, and that he and his adherents had been crushed in the war. no poppy-draught could enable the two poor women to forget such terrible tidings, and it is no wonder the poor mother pined away.

as the stream

flows to the sea and nevermore returns,

so ebbed and ebbed her life. i cannot tell

what in those days i suffered. nature's self

seemed to be mourning with me, for the breeze

of autumn breathed its last, and as it died

the vesper-bell from yonder village pealed

a requiem o'er my mother. thus she died,

but dead yet lives—for, ever, face and form,

she stands before my eyes; and in my ears

i ever seem to hear her loving voice,

speaking as in the days when, strict and kind,

she taught me household lore,—in all a mother.

having carefully tended her mother to the end, poor little white aster lived alone, until one day her father suddenly appeared, having found at last a way to escape and rejoin them. he was, however, broken-hearted on learning of his wife's death, and, hoping to comfort him, white aster paid him all manner of filial attentions. she could not, however, restore happiness or peace to the bereaved man, who, besides mourning his wife, keenly regretted the absence of his son akitoshi, whom he had driven from home in anger when the youth proved wild and overbearing.

during this artless narrative the recluse had exhibited signs of deep emotion, and, when white aster mentioned the name of her brother, he clasped his hands over his face as if to conceal its expression. after listening to her tale in silence, he kindly bade white aster tarry there until sunrise, assuring her it would not be safe for her to wander in the mountain by night. little white aster, therefore slept at buddha's feet, shivering with cold, for her garments were far too thin to protect her from the keen mountain air. as she slept she dreamt of her father, whose wraith appeared to her, explaining that a false step had hurled him down into a ravine, whence he has vainly been trying to escape for three days past!

the second canto opens with a description of a beautiful red dawn, and of the gradual awakening of the birds, whose songs finally rouse the little maiden, who again sets off on her quest.

now the red dawn had tipped the mountain-tops,

and birds, awaking, peered from out their nests,

to greet the day with strains of matin joy;

the while, the moon's pale sickle, silver white,

fading away, sunk in the western sky.

clear was the air and cloudless, save the mists

that rolled in waves upon the mountain-tops.

or crept along the gullies.

skirting the trunks of mighty trees, stealing beneath whispering pines, white aster threads different parts of the solitude, where she encounters deer and other timid game, seeking some trace of her father. she is so intent on this quest that she does not mark two dark forms which gradually creep nearer to her. these are robbers, who finally pounce upon white aster and drag her into their rocky den, little heeding her tears or prayers; and, although the maiden cries for help, echo alone reiterates her desperate calls.

the brigands' lair is beneath an overhanging cliff, where they have erected a miserable booth, whose broken thatch has to be supplemented by the dense foliage of the ginkgo tree overshadowing it. in front of this hut runs a brawling stream, while the rocks all around are hung with heavy curtains of ivy, which add to the gloom and dampness of the place.

here the sun

ne'er visits with his parting rays at eve,

but all is gloom and silence save the cry

of some belated bird that wakes the night.

having brought their prisoner safely into this den, the robbers proceed to eat and drink, dispensing with chopsticks, so wolfish is their hunger. meantime they roughly jeer at their captive, who sits helpless before them, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. having satisfied their first imperious craving for food and drink, the brigands proceed to taunt their prisoner, until the captain, producing a koto or harp, bids her with savage threats make music, as they like to be merry.

"sit you down,

and let us hear your skill; for i do swear

that, if you hesitate, then with this sword

i'll cut you into bits and give your flesh

to yonder noisy crows. mark well my words."

so proficient is our little maiden on this instrument, that her slender fingers draw from the cords such wonderful sounds that all living creatures are spellbound. even the robbers remain quiet while it lasts, and are so entranced that they fail to hear the steps of a stranger, stealing near the hut armed with sword and spear. seeing white aster in the brigands' power, this stranger bursts open the door and pounces upon the robbers, several of whom he slays after a desperate conflict. one of their number, however, manages to escape, and it is only when the fight is over that white aster—who has covered her face with her hands—discovers that her rescuer is the kind-hearted recluse. he now informs her that, deeming it unsafe for her to thread the wilderness alone, he had soon followed her, intending to tell her he is her long-lost brother! then he explains how, after being banished from home, he entered the service of a learned man, with whom he began to study, and that, perceiving at last the wickedness of his ways, he made up his mind to reform. but, although he immediately hastened home to beg his parents' forgiveness, he arrived there only to find his native town in ruins. unable to secure any information in regard to his kin, he then became a recluse, and it was only because shame and emotion prevented his speaking that he had not immediately told white aster who he was.

much then my spirit fought against itself,

wishing to tell my name and welcome you,

my long-lost sister: but false shame forbade

and kept my mouth tight closed.

his tale ended, the recluse and his small sister leave the robbers' den, and steal hand in hand through the dusk, the forest's silence being broken only by the shrill cries of bands of monkeys. they are just about to emerge from this dark ravine, when the robber who managed to escape suddenly pounces upon the priest, determined to slay him so as to avenge his dead comrades. another terrible fight ensues, which so frightens poor little white aster that she runs off, losing her way in the darkness, and is not able to return to her brother's side in spite of all her efforts.

the third canto tells how, after wandering around all night, white aster finally emerges at dawn on the top of a cliff, at whose base nestles a tiny village, with one of the wonted shrines. making her way down to this place, white aster kneels in prayer, but her attitude is so weary that an old peasant, passing by, takes pity upon her and invites her to join his daughter in their little cottage. white aster thus becomes an inmate of this rustic home, where she spends the next few years, her beauty increasing every day, until her fame spreads all over the land. hearing of her unparalleled loveliness, the governor finally decides to marry her, although she is far beneath him in rank, and sends a matrimonial agent to bargain for her hand. the old rustic, awed by the prospect of so brilliant an alliance, consents without consulting white aster, and he and the agent pick out in the calendar a propitious day for the wedding.

when the agent has departed, the old man informs his guest how he has promised her hand in marriage, adding that she has no choice and must consent. but white aster exclaims that her mother, on her way to the temple one day, heard a strange sound in the churchyard. there she discovered, amongst the flowers, a tiny abandoned girl, whom she adopted, giving her the name of the blossoms around her.

"once," she said,

"ere morn had scarce begun to dawn, i went

to worship at the temple: as i passed

through the churchyard 'twixt rows of gravestones hoar,

and blooming white chrysanthemums, i heard

the piteous wailing of a little child.

which following, i found, amidst the flowers,

a fair young child with crimson-mouthing lips

and fresh soft cheek—a veritable gem.

i took it as a gift that buddha sent

as guerdon of my faith, and brought it up

as my own child, to be my husband's joy

and mine: and, as i found thee couched

amidst white-blooming asters, i named thee

white aster in memorial of the day."

the little maiden adds that her adopted mother made her promise never to marry any one save her so-called brother, and declares she is bound in honor to respect this maternal wish. the governor, anxious to secure this beautiful bride, meantime sends the agent hurrying back with a chest full of gifts, the acceptance of which will make the bargain binding. so the clever agent proceeds to exhibit tokens, which so dazzle the old peasant that he greedily accepts them all, while admiring neighbors gape at them in wonder.

poor little white aster, perceiving it will be impossible to resist the pressure brought to bear upon her, steals out of the peasant's house at midnight, and, making her way across damp fields to the river, climbs up on the high bridge, whence she intends to fling herself into the rushing waters. she pauses, however, to utter a final prayer, and, closing her eyes, is about to spring when a hand grasps her and a glad voice exclaims she is safe! turning around, white aster's wondering eyes rest upon the recluse, who ever since he escaped from the brigand's clutches has vainly been seeking her everywhere. he declares they shall never part again and tenderly leads her home, where she is overjoyed to find her father, who still mourns her absence.

thankful for the return of his child, the father relates how, having fallen into a ravine,—where he found water and berries in plenty,—he vainly tried to scale the rocks, to escape from its depths and return home. all his efforts having proved vain, he was almost ready to give up in despair, when a band of monkeys appeared at the top of the cliff and by grimaces and sounds showed him how to climb out by means of the hanging vines. trusting to these weak supports, the father scaled the rocks, but on arriving at the summit was surprised to discover no trace of the monkeys who had taught him how to escape. he remembered, however, that while hunting one day he had aimed at a mother monkey and her babe, but had not injured them because the poor mother had made such distressing sounds of despair. he adds it was probably in reward for this act of mercy that the monkeys saved his life.

"i spared her life;

and she, in turn, seeing my sorry plight,

cried to me from the rocks, and showed the way

to flee from certain death."

thus, this epic ends with a neat little moral, and with the comforting assurance that white aster, her father, and husband lived happy ever afterward.