小泉八雲 落合貞三郎他訳 「知られぬ日本の面影」 第二十二章 舞妓について （三）

　　　　　　　三

　若い旅人には女主人の睡眠を犧牲にするやうな親切が、いかに氣の毒に思はれて、それを受け容れ難くはあつたが、寢床はなかなかに心地よく感ぜられた。彼は餘程疲勞してゐたから木枕の土に頭を載せるや否や、一切のことを睡夢の裡に忘れてしまつた。

　しかし彼が奇異な音によつて目を醒まされた時には、まだ眠つてから間もない程のやうに思はれた。たしかに跫音ではあるが、物靜かに歩く足の音ではなかつた。寧ろ興奮せる急速の跫音と思はれた。だから、強盜の侵入ではないかとも心に浮んだ。自身については損失となるほどのものも持たないから、心配にも及ばなかつた。彼の憂慮は主として彼に欵待を與へた親切なる女に對してであつた。紙の蚊帳の兩側には、四角形の小さい褐色の網が小窓のやうに嵌めてあつたので、それから外を覗いて見た。が、如何なることの起こつてゐるにせよ、高い屛風に塞がれて、見えやうはなかつた。呼んで見ようと思つたが、若し眞に危險の場合ならば、狀況をも究めないで、自身を現はしては、無效に歸し、また思慮を缺くだらうといふ考によつて、この衝動は抑へられた。彼を不安ならしめた物音は、續いて行つて、ますます不思議になつた。彼は萬一の覺悟をして、必要の際は、若い女主人を防禦せんがために、一身を賭けようと決心した。急いで着物を緊めて、窃と蚊帳の下から拔けて出で、屛風の端へ這つて行つて窺つた、彼が見た光景は、全く彼を喫驚させた。

　燈明の輝いた佛壇の前で、若い女は華かな服裝をして、獨りで踊つてゐた。彼は彼女の衣裳を白拍子のそれと認めた。尤も從來白拍子が着てゐるのを見たものに比すれば遙かに華麗であつた。衣裳によつて天晴れ引立つた彼女の美は、その淋しい時刻と場處に於て見ると、殆どこの世とも思はれぬほどであつた。が、更に一層驚くべきは彼女の踊りであつ　た。霎時彼は凄い疑惑が疼くのを感じた。百姓達の迷信なる狐婆の物語が、彼の念頭に閃いた。が、佛壇の光景、觀音の畫像が、その空想を散らし、その愚かさに對して彼を恥ぢ入らせカ。同時に彼は女が彼に見られるのを欲しないものを注視してゐるのだと氣付いたので、客の義務として、すぐに屛風の背後に歸らねばならぬと悟つた。しかしその光景は彼を魅惑した。彼は愕き乍らもまた空前の妙舞を欣賞せざるを得なかつた。して、眺め入るに從つて、彼女の魅力はますます加つた。不意に彼女は喘ぎ乍ら停まつた。帶を解いた。上衣を脱がうとして振り向いた。すると、彼女の眼が彼の眼と出逢つて、びつくりした。

　彼は直ちに女に詫び入つた。彼は突然急速な跫音に目が醒めたので、夜は更けて、淋しい場處だから、女主人のため不安に思つたのだと云つた。それから、踊りを見て驚いたこと、その妙技に心を奪はれたことを告白した。『どうか私の好奇心を宥して下さい』と彼はつゞけていつた。『私にはあなたが何と申すお方か、また何うしてかやうな踊りの名手になられたものか、それが不思議で堪まりませぬから。西京の舞妓は皆見ましたが、まだいかほど有名な女でも、あなたに及ぶものはありません。それで、一たび拜見しましてからは、私の眼を外づす譯に參らなかつたのです』

　始め彼女は立腹の樣子に見えたが、彼の言葉の終はらぬ内に、表情は變つてゐた。彼女は微笑を浮べ、彼の前に坐つて云つた。『いえ、怒つてはゐません。たゞ御覽になつたのを遺憾に存じますだけなのです。嘸あのやうに獨りで踊つてゐたのを、氣狂ひとでも御考へなさつたのでせうから。では、その譯を申上げねばなりません』

　それから、彼女は身の上話をした。彼は少年の時、女の名を聞いたことを思ひ出した――彼女の藝名は白拍子中最も有名な名であつた。彼女は都門の竃を一身に蒐めてゐた。それがその名聲と美の眞盛りに、一朝何故とも、何處へとも知れず、華やかな世界から消え失せた。彼女はその愛人なる靑年と相携へて、富と幸運から逃れ去つたのであつた。靑年、は貧しかつたけれども、彼等は二人で筒易且つ幸福な田舍の生活を營むだけの資産を有した。彼等は山間に小さな住宅を作り、數年間たゞ互同志を中心に暮らした。男は彼女を拜まんばかりに愛慕してゐた。彼の最大の樂しみの一つは、彼女が踊るのを見ることであつた。毎夜彼は得意の曲を奏し、彼女は彼のために踊るのであつた。が、或る冬の長い寒さに、彼は病に罹つて、彼女のやさしい看護の效もなく、亡くなつた。それから後、女は死んだ人に献げるさまざまの儀式を行ひつゝ、男の名殘を伴侶として獨りで暮らしてきた。日毎に位牌の前へは慣例の供物を供へ、夜毎に昔通り彼を慰めるために踊つた。若い旅人が目擊した踊りは、かやうな次第であつた。彼女は説明をつゞけて、疲れた客の目を醒ましたのは無禮であつたこと、しかし彼が熟睡したと思はれるまでは控へてゐたこと、それから、極めて輕やかに踊るやうにしたことを述べて、全く覺えず知らず彼の安眠を妨げたことの寛恕を求めた。

　彼女は一切の話を終つてから、少しの茶を薦め、二人で飮んだ。それから、哀訴せんばかりに、彼に再び寢に就くやう懇願したので、彼も止むなく、幾多衷心からり謝わりを述べ乍ら、また蚊帳の下へ歸つて行つた。

　彼は充分長く熟睡した。目を醒ますと、日は既に高かつた。起きてみると、昨夕と同じい質素な食事が、彼に準備してあつた。彼は飢ゑてゐたけれども、女が彼のために自らの食物を節約したかも知れないので、控へ目に食べた。して、彼は出立の用意をした。しかし彼が受けた一切の待遇に對して謝禮の金を拂はうとしたとき、女は何をも受けることを拒んだ。『差し上げましたものは、お金をいたゞくほどのものでなく、また何を致しましたのもたゞ厚意からなのです。どうか、こゝで御困りになつたことは御忘れ下すつて、何と云つで差上げますものもありませんでしたが、たゞ心持だけを御汲み取つていたゞきますれば』と云つた。

　彼はそれでも幾らか彼女に取らせようと努力した。しかしたうとう、いかに強ひても彼女を困らすばかりと知つたので、言葉を盡して感謝を陳べ、別かれを告げた。して、心の中では、立去るのを遺憾に思つた。彼女の美しさと上品さは、彼が彼女以外のものには告白しかねる程、彼を惹きつけたからであつた。彼女は彼にこれから先きの道を示し、山を下つて行く彼の姿が沒するまで見守つてゐた。一時間後に、彼は本道に出でた。最早道筋はよくわかつた。すると、急に殘念な思ひが浮んだ。彼は自分の名を女に告げることを忘れたのであつた。瞬間彼は躊躇した。それから、『何、どうでもよい。俺はいつまでも貧乏だから』と獨言をいつた。して、彼は旅をつゞけた。

［やぶちゃん注：「霎時」は何度も出てきているが、ここらで再注しておく。「せふじ（しょうじ）」と読み、「暫時」に同じい。暫くの間。一寸の間。

「欣賞」「きんしやう（きんしょう）」で「歓び、褒め、味わう」の謂いであろう。

「嘸」老婆心乍ら、副詞の「さぞ」である。］

Ⅲ.

   Unwilling as the young traveler felt to accept a kindness involving the sacrifice of another's repose, he found the bed more than comfortable. He was very tired, and had scarcely laid his head upon the wooden pillow before he forgot everything in sleep.

   Yet only a little while seemed to have passed when he was awakened by a singular sound. It was certainly the sound of feet, but not of feet walking softly. It seemed rather the sound of feet in rapid motion, as of excitement. Then it occurred to him that robbers might have entered the house. As for himself, he had little to fear because he had little to lose. His anxiety was chiefly for the kind person who had granted him hospitality. Into each side of the paper mosquito-curtain a small square of brown netting had been fitted, like a little window, and through one of these he tried to look; but the high screen stood between him and whatever was going on. He thought of calling, but this impulse was checked by the reflection that in case of real danger it would be both useless and imprudent to announce his presence before understanding the situation. The sounds which had made him uneasy continued, and were more and more mysterious. He resolved to prepare for the worst, and to risk his life, if necessary, in order to defend his young hostess. Hastily girding up his robes, he slipped noiselessly from under the paper curtain, crept to the edge of the screen, and peeped. What he saw astonished him extremely.

   Before her illuminated butsudan the young woman, magnificently attired, was dancing all alone. Her costume he recognized as that of a shirabyoshi, though much richer than any he had ever seen worn by a professional dancer. Marvelously enhanced by it, her beauty, in that lonely time and place, appeared almost supernatural; but what seemed to him even more wonderful was her dancing. For an instant he felt the tingling of a weird doubt. The superstitions of peasants, the legends of Fox-women, flashed before his imagination; but the sight of the Buddhist shrine, of the sacred picture, dissipated the fancy, and shamed him for the folly of it. At the same time he became conscious that he was watching something she had not wished him to see, and that it was his duty, as her guest, to return at once behind the screen; but the spectacle fascinated him. He felt, with not less pleasure than amazement, that he was looking upon the most accomplished dancer he had ever seen; and the more he watched, the more the witchery of her grace grew upon him. Suddenly she paused, panting, unfastened her girdle, turned in the act of doffing her upper robe, and started violently as her eyes encountered his own.

   He tried at once to excuse himself to her. He said he had been suddenly awakened by the sound of quick feet, which sound had caused him some uneasiness, chiefly for her sake, because of the lateness of the hour and the lonesomeness of the place. Then he confessed his surprise at what he had seen, and spoke of the manner in which it had attracted him. 'I beg you,' he continued, 'to forgive my curiosity, for I cannot help wondering who you are, and how you could have become so marvelous a dancer. All the dancers of Saikyō I have seen, yet I have never seen among the most celebrated of them a girl who could dance like you; and once I had begun to watch you, I could not take away my eyes.'

   At first she had seemed angry, but before he had ceased to speak her expression changed. She smiled, and seated herself before him.' 'No, I am not angry with you,' she said. 'I am only sorry that you should have watched me, for I am sure you must have thought me mad when you saw me dancing that way, all by myself; and now I must tell you the meaning of what you have seen.'

   So she related her story. Her name he remembered to have heard as a boy,— her professional name, the name of the most famous of shirabyoshi, the darling of the capital, who, in the zenith of her fame and beauty, had suddenly vanished from public life, none knew whither or why. She had fled from wealth and fortune with a youth who loved her. He was poor, but between them they possessed enough means to live simply and happily in the country. They built a little house in the mountains, and there for a number of years they existed only for each other. He adored her. One of his greatest pleasures was to see her dance. Each evening he would play some favorite melody, and she would dance for him. But one long cold winter he fell sick, and, in spite of her tender nursing, died. Since then she had lived alone with the memory of him, performing all those small rites of love and homage with which the dead are honored. Daily before his tablet she placed the customary offerings, and nightly danced to please him, as of old. And this was the explanation of what the young traveler had seen. It was indeed rude, she continued, to have awakened her tired guest; but she had waited until she thought him soundly sleeping, and then she had tried to dance very, very lightly. So she hoped he would pardon her for having unintentionally disturbed him.

   When she had told him all, she made ready a little tea, which they drank together; then she entreated him so plaintively to please her by trying to sleep again that he found himself obliged to go back, with many sincere apologies, under the paper mosquito-curtain.

   He slept well and long; the sun was high before he woke. On rising, he found prepared for him a meal as simple as that of the evening before, and he felt hungry. Nevertheless he ate sparingly, fearing the young woman might have stinted herself in thus providing for him; and then he made ready to depart. But when he wanted to pay her for what he had received, and for all the trouble he had given her, she refused to take anything from him, saying: 'What I had to give was not worth money, and what I did was done for kindness alone. So! pray that you will try to forget the discomfort you suffered here, and will remember only the good-will of one who had nothing to offer.'

   He still endeavored to induce her to accept something; but at last, finding that his insistence only gave her pain, he took leave of her with such words as he could find to express his gratitude, and not without a secret regret, for her beauty and her gentleness had charmed him more than he would have liked to acknowledge to any but herself. She indicated to him the path to follow, and watched him descend the mountain until he had passed from sight. An hour later he found himself upon a highway with which he was familiar. Then a sudden remorse touched him: he had forgotten to tell her his name. For an instant he hesitated; then he said to himself, 'What matters it? I shall be always poor.' And he went on.