II

Firstly(or "Number One"),—The first ship, filled up with fish, squeezes her way through the river-mouth, with a great shouting.[103]

Firstly(or "Number One"),—

The first ship, filled up with fish, squeezes her way through the river-mouth, with a great shouting.[103]

[103]Ō-yagoë.The chorus-cry or chant of sailors, pulling all together, is called yagoë.

O this ship of great fishing![104]

[104]Tai-ryō buné, lit.:—"great-fishing," or "great-catching-ship." The adjective refers to the fishing, not to the ship. The real meaning of the refrain is, "this-most-successful-in-fishing of ships."

Secondly,—From the offing of Futaba even to the Togawa,[105]the ships, fast following, press in, with a great shouting.O this ship of great fishing!

Secondly,—

From the offing of Futaba even to the Togawa,[105]the ships, fast following, press in, with a great shouting.

O this ship of great fishing!

[105]Perhaps the reference is to a village at the mouth of the river Togawa,—not far from Chōshi on the Tonégawa. The two rivers are united by a canal. But the text leaves it uncertain whether river or village is meant.

Thirdly,—When, all together, we hoist our signal-flags, see how fast the cargo-boats come hurrying!O this ship of great fishing!Fourthly,—Night and day though the boiling be, there is still too much to boil—oh, the heaps ofiwashifrom the three ships together!O this ship of great fishing!

Thirdly,—

When, all together, we hoist our signal-flags, see how fast the cargo-boats come hurrying!

O this ship of great fishing!

Fourthly,—

Night and day though the boiling be, there is still too much to boil—oh, the heaps ofiwashifrom the three ships together!

O this ship of great fishing!

Fifthly,— Whenever you go to look at the place where the dried fish are kept,[106]never do you find any room,—not even a crevice.

O this ship of great fishing!

[106]Hoshika-ba: lit., "the hoshika-place" or "hoshika-room." "Hoshika" is the name given to dried fish prepared for use as fertilizer.

Sixthly,—From six to six o'clock is cleaning and washing: the great cutting and the small cutting are more than can be done.O this ship of great fishing!Seventhly,—All up and down the famous river Tonégawa we send our loads of oil and fertilizer.O this ship of great fishing!Eighthly,—All the young folk, drawing theYatai-buné,[107]with ten thousand rejoicings, visit the shrine of the God.O this ship of great fishing!

Sixthly,—

From six to six o'clock is cleaning and washing: the great cutting and the small cutting are more than can be done.

O this ship of great fishing!

Seventhly,—

All up and down the famous river Tonégawa we send our loads of oil and fertilizer.

O this ship of great fishing!

Eighthly,—

All the young folk, drawing theYatai-buné,[107]with ten thousand rejoicings, visit the shrine of the God.

O this ship of great fishing!

[107]Yataiis the name given to the ornamental cars drawn with ropes in a religious procession.Yatai-bunéhere seems to mean either the model of a boat mounted upon such a car, or a real boat so displayed in a religious procession. I have seen real boats mounted upon festival-cars in a religious procession at Mionoséki.

Ninthly,—Augustly protecting all this coast, the Deity of the river-mouth shows to us his divine favor.O this ship of great fishing!

Ninthly,—

Augustly protecting all this coast, the Deity of the river-mouth shows to us his divine favor.

O this ship of great fishing!

A stranger example of this mnemonic arrangement is furnished by a children's song, composed at least a hundred years ago. Little girls of Yedo used to sing it while playing ball. You can see the same ball-game being played by girls to-day, in almost any quiet street of Tōkyō. The ball is kept bounding in a nearly perpendicular line by skilful taps of the hand delivered in time to the measure of a song; and a good player should be able to sing the song through without missing a stroke. If she misses, she must yield the ball to another player.[108]There are many pretty "ball-play songs;" but this old-fashioned and long-forgotten one is a moral curiosity:—

[108]This is the more common form of the game; but there are many other forms. Sometimes two girls play at once with the same ball—striking it alternately as it bounds.

Hitotsu to ya:—Hito wa kō na hito to iu;On wo shiranéba kō naraji.Futatsu to ya:—Fuji yori takaki chichi no on;Tsuné-ni omouté wasuré-naji.Mitsu to ya:—Mizu-umi kaetté asashi to wa,Haha no on zo ya omou-beshi.Yotsu to ya:—Yoshiya mazushiku kurasu tomo,Sugu-naru michi wo maguru-moji.Itsutsu to ya:—Itsumo kokoro no kawaranu wo,Makoto no hito to omou-beshi.Mutsu to ya:—Munashiku tsukihi wo kurashi-naba,Nochi no nagéki to shirinu-beshi.Nanatsu to ya:—Nasaki wa hito no tamé narodé,Waga mi no tamé to omou-beshi.Yatsu to ya:—Yaku-nan muryō no wazawai moKokoro zen nara nogaru-beshi.Kokonotsu to ya:—Kokoro kotoba no sugu-naraba,Kami ya Hotoké mo mamoru-beshi.

Tō to ya:—

Tōtoi hito to naru naraba,Kōkō mono to iwaru-beshi.

This is the first:—

[Only] a person having filial piety is [worthy to be] called a person:[109]If one does not know the goodness of parents, one has not filial piety.

[109]Lit., "A person having filial piety is called a person." The wordhito(person), usually indicating either a man or a woman, is often used in the signification of "people" or "Mankind." The full meaning of the sentence is that no unfilial person deserves to be called a human being.

The second:—

Higher than the [mountain] Fuji is the favor of a father:Think of it always;—never forget it.

The third:—

[Compared with a mother's love] the great lake is shallow indeed![By this saying] the goodness of a mother should be estimated.

The fourth:—

Even though in poverty we have to pass our days,Let us never turn aside from the one straight path.

The fifth:—

The person whose heart never changes with time,A true man or woman that person must be deemed.

The sixth:—

If the time [of the present] be spent in vain,In the time of the future must sorrow be borne.

The seventh:—

That a kindness done is not for the sake of others only,But also for one's own sake, should well be kept in mind.

The eighth:—

Even the sorrow of numberless misfortunesWe shall easily escape if the heart be pure.

The ninth:—

If the heart and the speech be kept straight and true,The Gods and the Buddhas will surely guard us well.

The tenth:—

In order to become a person held in honor,As a filial person one must [first] be known.

The reader may think to himself, "How terribly exigent the training that could require the repetition of moral lessons even in a 'ball-play song'!" True,—but it produced perhaps the very sweetest type of woman that this world has ever known.

In some dance-songs the burthen is made by the mere repetition of the last line, or of part of the last line, of each stanza. The followingqueer ballad exemplifies the practice, and is furthermore remarkable by reason of the curious onomatopoetic choruses introduced at certain passages of the recitative:—

("Bell-wrapping-dance song."—Province of Iga—Naga district)

A Yamabushi of Kyōto went to Kumano. There resting in the inn Chōjaya, by the beach of Shirotaka, he saw a little girl three years old; and he petted and hugged her, playfully promising to make her his wife,—(Chorus)Playfully promising.Thereafter that Yamabushi travelled in various provinces; returning only when that girl was thirteen years old. "O my princess, my princess!" he cried to her,—"my little princess, pledged to me by promise!"—"O Sir Yamabushi," made she answer,—"good Sir Yamabushi, take me with you now!—"Take me with you now!""O soon," he said, "I shall come again; soon I shall come again: then, when I come again, I shall take you with me,—"Take you with me."Therewith the Yamabushi, escaping from her, quickly, quickly fled away;—with all haste he fled away. Having passed through Tanabé and passed through Minabé, he fled on over the Komatsu moor,—Over the Komatsu moor.

(Chorus)Playfully promising.

Thereafter that Yamabushi travelled in various provinces; returning only when that girl was thirteen years old. "O my princess, my princess!" he cried to her,—"my little princess, pledged to me by promise!"—"O Sir Yamabushi," made she answer,—"good Sir Yamabushi, take me with you now!—

"Take me with you now!"

"O soon," he said, "I shall come again; soon I shall come again: then, when I come again, I shall take you with me,—

"Take you with me."

Therewith the Yamabushi, escaping from her, quickly, quickly fled away;—with all haste he fled away. Having passed through Tanabé and passed through Minabé, he fled on over the Komatsu moor,—

Over the Komatsu moor.

KAKKARA, KAKKARA, KAKKARA, KAKKA![110]

[110]These syllables, forming a sort of special chorus, are simply onomatopes; intended to represent the sound of sandalled feet running at utmost speed.

Therewith the damsel, pursuing, quickly, quickly followed after him;—with all speed she followed after him. Having passed through Tanabé and passed through Minabé, she pursued him over the Komatsu moor,—Over the Komatsu moor.Then the Yamabushi, fleeing, came as he fled to the river of Amoda, and cried to the boatman of the river of Amoda,—"O good boatman, good sir boatman, behind me comes a maid pursuing!—pray do not take her across, good boatman,—"Good sir boatman!"

Over the Komatsu moor.

Then the Yamabushi, fleeing, came as he fled to the river of Amoda, and cried to the boatman of the river of Amoda,—"O good boatman, good sir boatman, behind me comes a maid pursuing!—pray do not take her across, good boatman,—

"Good sir boatman!"

DEBOKU, DEBOKU, DEBOKU, DENDEN![111]

[111]These onomatopes, chanted by all the dancers together in chorus, with appropriate gesture, represent the sound of the ferryman's single oar, or scull, working upon its wooden peg. The syllables have no meaning in themselves.

Then the damsel, pursuing, came to the river of Amoda and called to the boatman, "Bring hither the boat!—take me over in the boat!"—"No, I will not bring the boat; I will not take you over: my boat is forbidden to carry women!—"Forbidden to carry women!""If you do not take me over, I will cross!—if you do not take me over, I will cross!—there is a way to cross the river of Amoda!" Taking off her sandals and holding them aloft, she entered the water, and at once turned into a dragon with twelve horns fully grown,—With twelve horns fully grown.

"Forbidden to carry women!"

"If you do not take me over, I will cross!—if you do not take me over, I will cross!—there is a way to cross the river of Amoda!" Taking off her sandals and holding them aloft, she entered the water, and at once turned into a dragon with twelve horns fully grown,—

With twelve horns fully grown.

Then the Yamabushi, fleeing, reached the temple Dōjōji, and cried to the priests of the temple Dōjōji:—"O good priests, behind me a damsel comes pursuing!—hide me, I beseech you, good sir priests!—"Good sir priests!"Then the priests, after holding consultation, took down from its place the big bell of the temple; and under it they hid him,—Under it they hid him.Then the dragon-maid, pursuing, followed him to the temple Dōjōji. For a moment she stood in the gate of the temple: she saw that bell, and viewed it with suspicion. She thought:—"I must wrap myself about it once." She thought:—"I must wrap myself about it twice!" At the third wrapping, the bell was melted, and began to flow like boiling water,—Like boiling water.So is told the story of the Wrapping of the Bell. Many damsels dwell by the seashore of Japan;—but who among them, like the daughter of the Chōja, will become a dragon?—Become a dragon?This is all the Song of the Wrapping of the Bell!—this is all the Song,—All the song![112]

"Good sir priests!"

Then the priests, after holding consultation, took down from its place the big bell of the temple; and under it they hid him,—

Under it they hid him.

Then the dragon-maid, pursuing, followed him to the temple Dōjōji. For a moment she stood in the gate of the temple: she saw that bell, and viewed it with suspicion. She thought:—"I must wrap myself about it once." She thought:—"I must wrap myself about it twice!" At the third wrapping, the bell was melted, and began to flow like boiling water,—

Like boiling water.

So is told the story of the Wrapping of the Bell. Many damsels dwell by the seashore of Japan;—but who among them, like the daughter of the Chōja, will become a dragon?—

Become a dragon?

This is all the Song of the Wrapping of the Bell!—this is all the Song,—

All the song![112]

[112]This legend forms the subject of several Japanese dramas, both ancient and modern. The original story is that a Buddhist priest, called Anchin, having rashly excited the affection of a maiden named Kiyohimé, and being, by reason of his vows, unable to wed her, sought safety from her advances in flight. Kiyohimé, by the violence of her frustrated passion, therewith became transformed into a fiery dragon; and in that shape she pursued the priest to the temple called Dōjōji, in Kumano (modern Kishū), where he tried to hide himself under the great temple-bell. But the dragon coiled herself round the bell, which at once became red-hot, so that the body of the priest was totally consumed.In this rude ballad Kiyohimé figures only as the daughter of an inn-keeper,—theChōja, or rich man of his village; while the priest Anchin is changed into a Yamabushi. The Yamabushi are, or at least were, wandering priests of the strange sect called Shugendo,—itinerant exorcists and diviners, professing both Shinto and Buddhism. Of late years their practices have been prohibited by law; and a real Yamabushi is now seldom to be met with.The temple Dōjōji is still a famous place of pilgrimage. It is situated not far from Gobō, on the western coast of Kishū. The incident of Anchin and the dragon is said to have occurred in the early part of the tenth century.

In this rude ballad Kiyohimé figures only as the daughter of an inn-keeper,—theChōja, or rich man of his village; while the priest Anchin is changed into a Yamabushi. The Yamabushi are, or at least were, wandering priests of the strange sect called Shugendo,—itinerant exorcists and diviners, professing both Shinto and Buddhism. Of late years their practices have been prohibited by law; and a real Yamabushi is now seldom to be met with.

The temple Dōjōji is still a famous place of pilgrimage. It is situated not far from Gobō, on the western coast of Kishū. The incident of Anchin and the dragon is said to have occurred in the early part of the tenth century.

I shall give only one specimen of the true street-ballad, —the kind of ballad commonly sung by wandering samisen-players. It is written in an irregular measure, varying from twelve to sixteen syllables in length; the greater number of lines having thirteen syllables. I do not know the date of its composition; but I am told by aged persons who remember hearing it sung when they were children, that it was popular in the period of Tenpō (1830-1843). It is not divided into stanzas; but there are pauses at irregular intervals,—marked by the refrain,Yanrei!

("The Ditty of O-Kichi and Seiza")

Now hear the pitiful story of two that died for love.—In Kyōto was the thread-shop of Yoëmon, a merchantknown far and near,—a man of much wealth. His business prospered; his life was fortunate. One daughter he had, an only child, by name O-Kichi: at sixteen years she was lovely as a flower. Also he had a clerk in his house, by name Seiza, just in the prime of youth, aged twenty-and-two.Yanrei!Now the young man Seiza was handsome; and O-Kichi fell in love with him at sight. And the two were so often together that their secret affection became known; and the matter came to the ears of the parents of O-Kichi; and the parents, hearing of it, felt that such a thing could not be suffered to continue.Yanrei!So at last, the mother, having called O-Kichi into a private room, thus spoke to her:—"O my daughter, I hear that you have formed a secret relation with the young man Seiza, of our shop. Are you willing to end that relation at once, and not to think any more about that man, O-Kichi?—answer me, O my daughter."Yanrei!"O my dear mother," answered O-Kichi, "what is this that you ask me to do? The closeness of the relation between Seiza and me is the closeness of the relation of the ink to the paper that it penetrates.[113]Therefore, whatever may happen, O mother of mine, to separate from Seiza is more than I can bear."Yanrei!

Yanrei!

Now the young man Seiza was handsome; and O-Kichi fell in love with him at sight. And the two were so often together that their secret affection became known; and the matter came to the ears of the parents of O-Kichi; and the parents, hearing of it, felt that such a thing could not be suffered to continue.

Yanrei!

So at last, the mother, having called O-Kichi into a private room, thus spoke to her:—"O my daughter, I hear that you have formed a secret relation with the young man Seiza, of our shop. Are you willing to end that relation at once, and not to think any more about that man, O-Kichi?—answer me, O my daughter."

Yanrei!

"O my dear mother," answered O-Kichi, "what is this that you ask me to do? The closeness of the relation between Seiza and me is the closeness of the relation of the ink to the paper that it penetrates.[113]Therefore, whatever may happen, O mother of mine, to separate from Seiza is more than I can bear."

Yanrei!

[113]Lit.:—"that affinity as-for, ink-and-paper-soaked-like affinity."

Then, the father, having called Seiza to the innermost private room, thus spoke to him:—"I called you here only to tell you this: You have turned the mind of our daughter away from what is right; and even to hear of such a matter is not to be borne. Pack up your things at once, and go!—to-day is the utmost limit of the time that you remain in this house."Yanrei!Now Seiza was a native of Ōsaka. Without saying more than "Yes—yes," he obeyed and went away, returning to his home. There he remained four or five days, thinking only of O-Kichi. And because of his longing for her, he fell sick; and as there was no cure and no hope for him, he died.Yanrei!Then one night O-Kichi, in a moment of sleep, saw the face of Seiza close to her pillow,—so plainly that she could not tell whether it was real, or only a dream. And rising up, she looked about; but the form of Seiza had vanished.Yanrei!Because of this she made up her mind to go at once to the house of Seiza. And, without being seen by any one, she fled from the home of her parents.Yanrei!When she came to the ferry at the next village, she did not take the boat, but went round by another road; and making all haste she found her way to the city of Ōsaka. There she asked for the house of Seiza; and she learned that it was in a certain street, the third house from a certain bridge.Yanrei!

Yanrei!

Now Seiza was a native of Ōsaka. Without saying more than "Yes—yes," he obeyed and went away, returning to his home. There he remained four or five days, thinking only of O-Kichi. And because of his longing for her, he fell sick; and as there was no cure and no hope for him, he died.

Yanrei!

Then one night O-Kichi, in a moment of sleep, saw the face of Seiza close to her pillow,—so plainly that she could not tell whether it was real, or only a dream. And rising up, she looked about; but the form of Seiza had vanished.

Yanrei!

Because of this she made up her mind to go at once to the house of Seiza. And, without being seen by any one, she fled from the home of her parents.

Yanrei!

When she came to the ferry at the next village, she did not take the boat, but went round by another road; and making all haste she found her way to the city of Ōsaka. There she asked for the house of Seiza; and she learned that it was in a certain street, the third house from a certain bridge.

Yanrei!

Arriving at last before the home of Seiza, she took off her travelling hat of straw; and seating herself on the threshold of the entrance, she cried out:—"Pardon me kindly!—is not this the house of Master Seiza?"Yanrei!Then—O the pity of it!—she saw the mother of Seiza, weeping bitterly, and holding in her hand a Buddhist rosary. "O my good young lady," the mother of Seiza asked, "whence have you come; and whom do you want to see?"Yanrei!And O-Kichi said:—"I am the daughter of the thread-merchant of Kyōto. And I have come all the way here only because of the relation that has long existed between Master Seiza and myself. Therefore, I pray you, kindly permit me to see him."Yanrei!"Alas!" made answer the mother, weeping, "Seiza, whom you have come so far to see, is dead. To-day is the seventh day from the day on which he died." ... Hearing these words, O-Kichi herself could only shed tears.Yanrei!But after a little while she took her way to the cemetery. And there she found the sotoba[114]erected above the grave of Seiza; and leaning upon it, she wept aloud.Yanrei!

Yanrei!

Then—O the pity of it!—she saw the mother of Seiza, weeping bitterly, and holding in her hand a Buddhist rosary. "O my good young lady," the mother of Seiza asked, "whence have you come; and whom do you want to see?"

Yanrei!

And O-Kichi said:—"I am the daughter of the thread-merchant of Kyōto. And I have come all the way here only because of the relation that has long existed between Master Seiza and myself. Therefore, I pray you, kindly permit me to see him."

Yanrei!

"Alas!" made answer the mother, weeping, "Seiza, whom you have come so far to see, is dead. To-day is the seventh day from the day on which he died." ... Hearing these words, O-Kichi herself could only shed tears.

Yanrei!

But after a little while she took her way to the cemetery. And there she found the sotoba[114]erected above the grave of Seiza; and leaning upon it, she wept aloud.

Yanrei!

[114]A wooden lath, bearing Buddhist texts, planted above graves. For a full account of the sotoba seemy Exotics and Retrospectives: "The Literature of the Dead."

Then—how fearful a thing is the longing of a person[115]—the grave of Seiza split asunder; and the form of Seiza rose up therefrom and spoke.Yanrei!

Then—how fearful a thing is the longing of a person[115]—the grave of Seiza split asunder; and the form of Seiza rose up therefrom and spoke.

Yanrei!

[115]In the original:—Hito no omoi wa osoroshi mono yo!—("how fearful a thing is the thinking of a person!"). The wordomoi, used here in the sense of "longing," refers to the weird power of Seiza's dying wish to see his sweetheart. Even after his burial, this longing has the strength to burst open the tomb.—In the old English ballad of "William and Marjorie" (see Child: vol. ii. p. 151) there is also a remarkable fancy about the opening and closing of a grave:—She followed him high, she followed him low,Till she came to yon churchyard green;And there the deep grave opened up,And young William he lay down.

—In the old English ballad of "William and Marjorie" (see Child: vol. ii. p. 151) there is also a remarkable fancy about the opening and closing of a grave:—She followed him high, she followed him low,Till she came to yon churchyard green;And there the deep grave opened up,And young William he lay down.

"Ah! is not this O-Kichi that has come? Kind indeed it was to have come to me from so far away! My O-Kichi, do not weep thus. Never again—even though you weep—can we be united in this world. But as you love me truly, I pray you to set some fragrant flowers before my tomb, and to have a Buddhist service said for me upon the anniversary of my death."Yanrei!And with these words the form of Seiza vanished. "O wait, wait for me!" cried O-Kichi,—"wait one little moment![116]I cannot let you return alone!—I shall go with you in a little time!"Yanrei!

Yanrei!

And with these words the form of Seiza vanished. "O wait, wait for me!" cried O-Kichi,—"wait one little moment![116]I cannot let you return alone!—I shall go with you in a little time!"

Yanrei!

[116]With this episode compare the close of the English ballad "Sweet William's Ghost" (Child: vol. ii., page 148):—"O stay, my only true love, stay!"The constant Margaret cried:Wan grew her cheeks; she closed her een,Stretched her soft limbs, and died.

[116]With this episode compare the close of the English ballad "Sweet William's Ghost" (Child: vol. ii., page 148):—

"O stay, my only true love, stay!"The constant Margaret cried:Wan grew her cheeks; she closed her een,Stretched her soft limbs, and died.

Then quickly she went beyond the temple-gate to a moat some four or fivechō[117]distant; and having filled her sleeves with small stones, into the deep water she cast her forlorn body.Yanrei!

Then quickly she went beyond the temple-gate to a moat some four or fivechō[117]distant; and having filled her sleeves with small stones, into the deep water she cast her forlorn body.

Yanrei!

[117]Achōis about one fifteenth of a mile.

And now I shall terminate this brief excursion into unfamiliar song-fields by the citation of two Buddhist pieces. The first is from the famous workGempei Seisuiki("Account of the Prosperity and Decline of the Houses of Gen and Hei"), probably composed during the latter part of the twelfth, or at the beginning of the thirteenth century. It is written in the measure calledImayō,—that is to say, in short lines alternately of seven and of five syllables (7, 5; 7, 5; 7, 5,ad libitum). The other philosophical composition is from a collection of songs calledRyūtachi-bushi("Ryūtachi Airs"), belonging to the sixteenth century:—

(Measure, Imayō)

Sama mo kokoro moKawaru kana!Otsuru namida waTaki no mizu:Myō-hō-rengé noIké to nari;Guzé no funé niSao sashité;Shizumu waga mi woNosé-tamaë!

Both form and mind—Lo! how these change!The falling of tearsIs like the water of a cataract.Let them become the PoolOf the Lotos of the Good Law!Poling thereuponThe Boat of Salvation,Vouchsafe that my sinkingBody may ride!

(Period of Bunrokū—1592-1596)

Who twice shall live his youth?What flower faded blooms again?Fugitive as dewIs the form regretted,Seen onlyIn a moment of dream.

decloration2

... Vainly does each, as he glides,Fable and dreamOf the lands which the River of TimeHad left ere he woke on its breast,Or shall reach when his eyes havebeen closed.Matthew Arnold

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THE moon had not yet risen; but the vast of the night was all seething with stars, and bridged by a Milky Way of extraordinary brightness. There was no wind; but the sea, far as sight could reach, was running in ripples of fire,—a vision of infernal beauty. Only the ripplings were radiant (between them was blackness absolute);—and the luminosity was amazing. Most of the undulations were yellow like candle-flame; but there were crimson lampings also,—and azure, and orange, and emerald. And the sinuous flickering of all seemed, not a pulsing of many waters, but a laboring of many wills,—a fleeting conscious and monstrous,—a writhing and a swarming incalculable, as of dragon-life in some depth of Erebus.

And life indeed was making the sinister splendor of that spectacle—but life infinitesimal,and of ghostliest delicacy,—life illimitable, yet ephemeral, flaming and fading in ceaseless alternation over the whole round of waters even to the sky-line, above which, in the vaster abyss, other countless lights were throbbing with other spectral colors.

Watching, I wondered and I dreamed. I thought of the Ultimate Ghost revealed in that scintillation tremendous of Night and Sea;—quickening above me, in systems aglow with awful fusion of the past dissolved, with vapor of the life again to be;—quickening also beneath me, in meteor-gushings and constellations and nebulosities of colder fire,—till I found myself doubting whether the million ages of the sun-star could really signify, in the flux of perpetual dissolution, anything more than the momentary sparkle of one expiring noctiluca.

Even with the doubt, the vision changed. I saw no longer the sea of the ancient East, with its shudderings of fire, but that Flood whose width and depth and altitude are one with the Night of Eternity,—the shoreless and timeless Sea of Death and Birth. And the luminous haze of a hundred millions of suns,—the Archof the Milky Way,—was a single smouldering surge in the flow of the Infinite Tides.

Yet again there came a change. I saw no more that vapory surge of suns; but the living darkness streamed and thrilled about me with infinite sparkling; and every sparkle was beating like a heart,—beating out colors like the tints of the sea-fires. And the lampings of all continually flowed away, as shivering threads of radiance, into illimitable Mystery....

Then I knew myself also a phosphor-point,—one fugitive floating sparkle of the measureless current;—and I saw that the light which was mine shifted tint with each changing of thought. Ruby it sometimes shone, and sometimes sapphire: now it was flame of topaz; again, it was fire of emerald. And the meaning of the changes I could not fully know. But thoughts of the earthly life seemed to make the light burn red; while thoughts of supernal being,—of ghostly beauty and of ghostly bliss,—seemed to kindle ineffable rhythms of azure and of violet.

But of white lights there were none in all the Visible. And I marvelled.

Then a Voice said to me:—

"The White are of the Altitudes. By the blending of the billions they are made. Thy part is to help to their kindling. Even as the color of thy burning, so is the worth of thee. For a moment only is thy quickening; yet the light of thy pulsing lives on: by thy thought, in that shining moment, thou becomest a Maker of Gods."

decloration2

decloration3

WHO has not at some time leaned over the parapet of a bridge to watch the wrinklings and dimplings of the current below,—to wonder at the trembling permanency of surface-shapes that never change, though the substance of them is never for two successive moments the same? The mystery of the spectacle fascinates; and it is worth thinking about. Symbols of the riddle of our own being are those shuddering forms. In ourselves likewise the substance perpetually changes with the flow of the Infinite Stream; but the shapes, though ever agitated by various inter-opposing forces, remain throughout the years.

And who has not been fascinated also by the sight of the human stream that pours and pulses through the streets of some great metropolis? This, too, has its currents and counter-currentsand eddyings,—all strengthening or weakening according to the tide-rise or tide-ebb of the city's sea of toil. But the attraction of the greater spectacle for us is not really the mystery of motion: it is rather the mystery of man. As outside observers we are interested chiefly by the passing forms and faces,—by their intimations of personality, their suggestions of sympathy or repulsion. We soon cease to think about the general flow. For the atoms of the human current are visible to our gaze: we see them walk, and deem their movements sufficiently explained by our own experience of walking. And, nevertheless, the motions of the visible individual are more mysterious than those of the always invisible molecule of water.—I am not forgetting the truth that all forms of motion are ultimately incomprehensible: I am referring only to the fact that our common relative knowledge of motions, which are supposed to depend upon will, is even less than our possible relative knowledge of the behavior of the atoms of a water-current.

Every one who has lived in a great city is aware of certain laws of movement which regulatethe flow of population through the more crowded thoroughfares. (We need not for present purposes concern ourselves about the complex middle-currents of the living river, with their thunder of hoofs and wheels: I shall speak of the side-currents only.) On either footpath the crowd naturally divides itself into an upward and a downward stream. All persons going in one direction take the right-hand side; all going in the other direction take the left-hand side. By moving with either one of these two streams you can proceed even quickly; but you cannot walk against it: only a drunken or insane person is likely to attempt such a thing. Between the two currents there is going on, by reason of the pressure, a continual self-displacement of individuals to left and right, alternately,—such a yielding and swerving as might be represented, in a drawing of the double-current, by zigzag medial lines ascending and descending. This constant yielding alone makes progress possible: without it the contrary streams would quickly bring each other to a standstill by lateral pressure. But it is especially where two crowd-streams intersect each other, as at street-angles, that this systematic self-displacement is worthyof study. Everybody observes the phenomenon; but few persons think about it. Whoever really thinks about it will discover that there is a mystery in it,—a mystery which no individual experience can fully explain.

In any thronged street of a great metropolis thousands of people are constantly turning aside to left or right in order to pass each other. Whenever two persons walking in contrary directions come face to face in such a press, one of three things is likely to happen:—Either there is a mutual yielding,—or one makes room for the other,—or else both, in their endeavor to be accommodating, step at once in the same direction, and as quickly repeat the blunder by trying to correct it, and so keep dancing to and fro in each other's way,—until the first to perceive the absurdity of the situation stands still, or until the more irritable actually pushes hisvis-à-visto one side. But these blunders are relatively infrequent: all necessary yielding, as a rule, is done quickly and correctly.

Of course there must be some general law regulating all this self-displacement,—some law in accord with the universal law of motion inthe direction of least resistance. You have only to watch any crowded street for half an hour to be convinced of this. But the law is not easily found or formulated: there are puzzles in the phenomenon.

If you study the crowd-movement closely, you will perceive that those encounters in which one person yields to make way for the other are much less common than those in which both parties give way. But a little reflection will convince you that, even in cases of mutual yielding, one person must of necessity yield sooner than the other,—though the difference in time of the impulse-manifestation should be—as it often is—altogether inappreciable. For the sum of character, physical and psychical, cannot be precisely the same in two human beings. No two persons can have exactly equal faculties of perception and will, nor exactly similar qualities of that experience which expresses itself in mental and physical activities. And therefore in every case of apparent mutual yielding, the yielding must really be successive, not simultaneous. Now although what we might here call the "personal equation" proves that in every case ofmutual yielding one individual necessarily yields sooner than the other, it does not at all explain the mystery of the individual impulse in cases where the yielding is not mutual;—it does not explain why you feel at one time that you are about to make yourvis-à-visgive place, and feel at another time that you must yourself give place. What originates the feeling?

A friend once attempted to answer this question by the ingenious theory of a sort of eye-duel between every two persons coming face to face in a street-throng; but I feel sure that his theory could account for the psychological facts in scarcely half-a-dozen of a thousand such encounters. The greater number of people hurrying by each other in a dense press rarely observe faces: only the disinterested idler has time for that. Hundreds actually pass along the street with their eyes fixed upon the pavement. Certainly it is not the man in a hurry who can guide himself by ocular snap-shot views of physiognomy;—he is usually absorbed in his own thoughts.... I have studied my own case repeatedly. While in a crowd I seldom look at faces; but without any conscious observation I am always able to tell when I should give way,or when myvis-à-visis going to save me that trouble. My knowledge is certainly intuitive—a mere knowledge of feeling; and I know not with what to compare it except that blind faculty by which, in absolute darkness, one becomes aware of the proximity of bulky objects without touching them. And my intuition is almost infallible. If I hesitate to obey it, a collision is the invariable consequence.

Furthermore, I find that whenever automatic, or at least semi-conscious, action is replaced by reasoned action—in plainer words, whenever I begin to think about my movements—I always blunder. It is only while I am thinking of other matters,—only while I am acting almost automatically,—that I can thread a dense crowd with ease. Indeed, my personal experience has convinced me that what pilots one quickly and safely through a thick press is not conscious observation at all, but unreasoning, intuitive perception. Now intuitive action of any kind represents inherited knowledge, the experience of past lives,—in this case the experience of past lives incalculable.

Utterly incalculable.... Why do I think so? Well, simply because this faculty of intuitiveself-direction in a crowd is shared by man with very inferior forms of animal being,—evolutional proof that it must be a faculty immensely older than man. Does not a herd of cattle, a herd of deer, a flock of sheep, offer us the same phenomenon of mutual yielding? Or a flock of birds—gregarious birds especially: crows, sparrows, wild pigeons? Or a shoal of fish? Even among insects—bees, ants, termites—we can study the same law of intuitive self-displacement. The yielding, in all these cases, must still represent an inherited experience unimaginably old. Could we endeavor to retrace the whole course of such inheritance, the attempt would probably lead us back, not only to the very beginnings of sentient life upon this planet, but further,—back into the history of non-sentient substance,—back even to the primal evolution of those mysterious tendencies which are stored up in the atoms of elements. Such atoms we know of only as points of multiple resistance,—incomprehensible knittings of incomprehensible forces. Even the tendencies of atoms doubtless represent accumulations of inheritance—— but here thought checks with a shock at the eternal barrier of the Infinite Riddle.

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