9.THE MIRROR OF MATSUYAMA

Long years ago in old Japan there lived in the Province of Echigo, a very remote part of Japan, a man and his wife. They had been married for some years and were blessed with one little daughter. She was the pride and joy of their lives, and in her they stored an endless source of happiness for their old age.

Her growing up were joyful memories for them; the visit to the temple when she was just thirty days old, her proud mother carrying her, robed in ceremonial kimono, to be put under the patronage of the family’s household god; then her first dolls festival, when her parents gave her a set of dolls’ and their miniature belongings, to be added to as year succeeded year; and perhaps the most important occasion of all, on her third birthday, when her first OBI (broad brocade sash) of scarlet and gold was tied round her small waist, a sign that she had crossed the threshold of girlhood and left infancy behind. Now that she was seven years of age, and had learned to talk and to wait upon her parents in those several little ways so dear to the hearts of fond parents, their cup of happiness seemed full. There could not be found in the whole of the country a happier little family.

One day there was much excitement in the home, for the father had been suddenly summoned to the capital on business.. The roads were rough and bad, and ordinary people had to walk every step of the way, whether the distance were one hundred or several hundred miles.

So the wife was very anxious while she helped her husband get ready for the long journey, knowing what a difficult task lay before him. Vainly she wished that she could accompany him, but the distance was too great for the mother and child to go, and besides that, it was the wife’s duty to take care of the home.

All was ready at last, and the husband stood on the porch with his little family round him.

“Do not be anxious, I will come back soon,” said the man. “While I am away take care of everything, and especially of our little daughter.”

“Yes, we shall be all right—but you—you must take care of yourself and delay not a day in coming back to us,” said the wife, while the tears fell like rain from her eyes.

The little girl was the only one to smile, for she was ignorant of the sorrow of parting, and did not know that going to the capital was at all different from walking to the next village, which her father did very often. She ran to his side, and caught hold of his long sleeve to keep him a moment.

“Father, I will be very good while I am waiting for you to come back, so please bring me a present.”

As the father turned to take a last look at his weeping wife and smiling, eager child, he felt as if someone were pulling him back by the hair, so hard was it for him to leave them behind, for they had never been separated before. But he knew that he must go. With a great effort he turned away and went quickly down the little garden and out through the gate. His wife, picking up the child in her arms, ran as far as the gate, and watched him as he went down the road between the pines till he was lost in the distance and all she could see was his peaked hat, and at last that vanished too.

“Now father has gone, you and I must take care of everything till he comes back,” said the mother, as she made her way back to the house.

“Yes, I will be very good,” said the child, nodding her head, “and when father comes home please tell him how good I have been, and then perhaps he will give me a present.”

“Father is sure to bring you something that you want very much. I know, for I asked him to bring you a doll. You must think of father every day, and pray for a safe journey till he comes back.”

“O, yes, when he comes home again how happy I shall be,” said the child, clapping her hands, and her face growing bright with joy at the glad thought. It seemed to the mother as she looked at the child’s face that her love for her grew deeper and deeper.

Then she set to work to make the winter clothes for the three of them. She set up her simple wooden spinning-wheel and spun the thread before she began to weave. As well as her work she watched the little girl’s games and taught her to read the old stories of her country. The wife found comfort in work during the lonely days of her husband’s absence. While the time was slipping quickly by in the quiet home, the husband finished his business and returned.

It would have been difficult for anyone who did not know the man well to recognize him. He had traveled day after day, exposed to all weathers, for about a month altogether, and was sunburnt to bronze, but his fond wife and child knew him at a glance, and flew to meet him from either side, each catching hold of one of his sleeves in their eager greeting. Both the man and his wife rejoiced to find each other well. It seemed a very long time to all till—the mother and child helping—his straw sandals were untied, his large umbrella hat taken off, and he was again in their midst in the old familiar sitting-room that had been so empty while he was away.

As soon as they had sat down on the white mats, the father opened a bamboo basket that he had brought in with him, and took out a beautiful doll and a lacquer box full of cakes.

“Here,” he said to the little girl, “is a present for you. It is a prize for taking care of mother and the house so well while I was away.”

“Thank you,” said the child, as she bowed her head to the ground, and then put out her hand to take the doll and the box, both of which, coming from the capital, were prettier than anything she had ever seen. No words can tell how delighted the little girl was—her face seemed as if it would melt with joy, and she had no eyes and no thought for anything else.

Again the husband dived into the basket, and brought out this time a square wooden box, carefully tied up with red and white string, and handing it to his wife, said,”And this is for you.”

The wife took the box, and opening it carefully took out a metal disk with a handle attached. One side was bright and shining like a crystal, and the other was covered with raised figures of pine-trees and storks, which had been carved out of its smooth surface in lifelike reality. Never had she seen such a thing in her life, for she had been born and brought up in the rural province of Echigo. She gazed into the shining disk, and looking up with surprise and wonder, she said,”I see somebody looking at me in this round thing! What is it that you have given me?”

The husband laughed and said,”Why, it is your own face that you see. What I have brought you is called a mirror, and whoever looks into its clear surface can see their own form reflected there. Although there are none to be found in this out of the way place, yet they have been in use in the capital from the most ancient times. There the mirror is considered very necessary for a woman to possess. There is an old proverb that ‘As the sword is the soul of a samurai, so is the mirror the soul of a woman,’ and according to popular tradition, a woman’s mirror is a symbol of her own heart—if she keeps it bright and clear, so is her heart pure and good. So you must use it carefully.”

The wife listened to all her husband told her, and was pleased at learning so much that was new to her. She was still more pleased at the precious gift.

“If the mirror represents my soul, I shall certainly treasure it as a valuable possession, and never will I use it carelessly.” Saying so, she lifted it as high as her forehead, in grateful acknowledgment of the gift, and then shut it up in its box and put it away.

The wife saw that her husband was very tired, and set about serving the evening meal and making everything as comfortable as she could for him. It seemed to the little family as if they had not known what true happiness was before, so glad were they to be together again, and this evening the father had much to tell of his journey and of all he had seen at the great capital.

Time passed away in the peaceful home, and the parents saw their fondest hopes realized as their daughter grew from childhood into a beautiful girl of sixteen. What a comfort she was to her mother as she went about the house taking her part in the housekeeping, and how proud her father was of her, for she reminded him of her mother when he had first married her.

But, alas! In this world nothing lasts forever. Even the moon is not always perfect in shape, but loses its roundness with time, and flowers bloom and then fade. So at last the happiness of this family was broken up by a great sorrow. The good and gentle wife and mother was one day taken ill.

In the first days of her illness the father and daughter thought that it was only a cold, and were not particularly anxious. But the days went by and still the mother did not get better; she only grew worse, and the doctor was puzzled, for in spite of all he did the poor woman grew weaker day by day. The father and daughter were stricken with grief, and day or night the girl never left her mother’s side. But in spite of all their efforts the woman’s life was not to be saved.

One day as the girl sat near her mother’s bed, trying to hide with a cheery smile the gnawing trouble at her heart, the mother roused herself and taking her daughter’s hand, gazed earnestly and lovingly into her eyes. Her breath was hard and she spoke with difficulty,”My daughter. I am sure that nothing can save me now. When I am dead, promise me to take care of your dear father and to try to be a good and dutiful woman.”

“Oh, mother,” said the girl as the tears rushed to her eyes, “you must not say such things. All you have to do is to hurryand get well—that will bring the greatest happiness to father and myself.”

“Yes, I know, and it is a comfort to me in my last days to know how greatly you long for me to get better, but it is not to be. Do not look so sad. And now I have something to give you to remember me when I am gone.”

Putting her hand out, she took from the side of the pillow a square wooden box tied up with a silken cord. Undoing this very carefully, she took out of the box the mirror that her husband had given her years ago.

“When you were still a little child your father went up to the capital and brought me back as a present this treasure; it is called a mirror. This I give you before I die. If, after I have ceased to be in this life, you are lonely and long to see me sometimes, then take out this mirror and in the clear and shining surface you will always see me—so will you be able to meet with me often and tell me all your heart; and though I shall not be able to speak, I shall understand and sympathize with you, whatever may happen to you in the future.” With these words the dying woman handed the mirror to her daughter.

The mind of the good mother seemed to be now at rest, and sinking back without another word her spirit passed quietly away that day.

The grieving father and daughter were miserable. They felt it to be impossible to leave the loved woman who till now had filled their whole lives and to commit her body to the earth. But this burst of grief passed, and then they took possession of their own hearts again, crushed though they were. In spite of this the daughter’s life seemed to her to be depressing. Her love for her dead mother did not grow less with time, and so keen was her remembrance, that everything in daily life, even the falling of the rain and the blowing of the wind, reminded her of her mother’s death and of all that they had loved and shared together. One day when her father was out, and she was fulfilling her household duties alone, her loneliness and sorrow seemed more than she could bear. She threw herself down in her mother’s room and wept as if her heart would break. Poor child, she longed just for one glimpse of the loved face, one sound of the voice calling her name, or for one moment’s forgetfulness of the aching emptiness in her heart. Suddenly she sat up. Her mother’s last words had suddenly been remembered.

“Oh! My mother told me when she gave me the mirror as a parting gift, that whenever I looked into it I should be able to meet her—to see her. I had nearly forgotten her last words—how stupid I am; I will get the mirror now and see if it can possibly be true!”

She dried her eyes quickly, and going to the cupboard took out the box that contained the mirror, her heart beating with expectation as she lifted the mirror out and gazed into its smooth face. Her mother’s words were true! In the round mirror before her she saw her mother’s face; but, oh, the joyful surprise! It was not her mother thin and wasted by illness, but the young and beautiful woman as she remembered her far back in the days of her own earliest childhood. It seemed to the girl that the face in the mirror must soon speak, almost that she heard the voice of her mother telling her again to grow up a good woman and a dutiful daughter, so earnestly did the eyes in the mirror look back into her own.

“It is certainly my mother’s soul that I see. She knows how miserable I am without her and she has come to comfort me. Whenever I long to see her she will meet me here; how grateful I ought to be!”

And from this time the weight of sorrow was greatly lightened for her young heart. Every morning, to gather strength for the day’s duties before her, and every evening, for comfort before she lay down to rest, the young girl took out the mirror and gazed at the reflection which in the simplicity of her innocent heart she believed to be her mother’s soul. Every day she grew to resemble her dead mother’s character, and was gentle and kind to all, and a dutiful daughter to her father.

A year spent in mourning had passed in the little household, when, on the advice of his relations, the man married again, and the daughter now found herself under the authority of a step-mother. It was a difficult situation, but her days spent remembering her own beloved mother, and of trying to be what that mother would wish her to be, had made the young girl docile and patient, and she now decided to be obedient to her father’s wife, in all respects. Everything went on smoothly in the family for some time.

But this step-mother’s heart was not as her first smiles were. As the days and weeks grew into months, the step-mother began to treat the motherless girl unkindly and to try and come between the father and child.

Sometimes she went to her husband and complained about her step-daughter’s behavior, but the father knowing that this was to be expected, took no notice of her ill-natured complaints. Instead of lessening his affection for his daughter, as the woman desired, her grumblings only made him think of her more. The woman soon saw that he began to show more concern for his lonely child than before. This did not please her at all, and she began to think about how she could, by some means or other, drive her step-child out of the house.

She watched the girl carefully, and one day peeping into her room in the early morning, she thought she discovered a terrible enough sin of which to accuse the child to her father. The woman herself was a little frightened too at what she had seen.

So she went at once to her husband, and wiping away some false tears she said in a sad voice,”Please give me permission to leave you today.”

The man was completely taken by surprise at the suddenness of her request, and wondered whatever was the matter.

“Do you find it so disagreeable,” he asked, “in my house, that you can stay no longer?”

“No! No! it has nothing to do with you—even in my dreams I have never thought that I wished to leave your side, but if I go on living here I am in danger of losing my life, so I think it best for all concerned that you should allow me to go home!”

And the woman began to weep again. Her husband, distressed to see her so unhappy, and thinking that he could not have heard right, said,”Tell me what you mean! How is your life in danger here?”

“I will tell you since you ask me. Your daughter dislikes me as her step-mother. For some time she has shut herself up in her room morning and evening, and looking in as I pass by, I am convinced that she has made an image of me and is trying to kill me by magic, cursing me daily. It is not safe for me to stay here, such being the case.Indeed, I must go away, we cannot live under the same roof anymore.”

The husband listened to the dreadful tale, but he could not believe his gentle daughter guilty of such an evil act. He knew that people believed that one person could cause the gradual death of another by making an image of the hated one and cursing it daily; but where had his young daughter learned such knowledge.The thing was impossible. Yet he remembered having noticed that his daughter stayed in her room a lot recently and kept herself away from everyone, even when visitors came to the house. Putting this fact together with his wife’s alarm, he thought that there might be something true about the strange story.

His heart was torn between doubting his wife and trusting his child, and he didn’t know what to do. He decided to go at once to his daughter and try to find out the truth. Comforting his wife and assuring her that her fears were groundless, he went quietly to his daughter’s room.

The girl had for a long time  been very unhappy. She had tried by friendliness and obedience to show her goodwill to the new wife, and to break down that wall of misunderstanding that she knew generally stood between step-parents and their step-children. But she soon found that her efforts were in vain. The step-mother never trusted her and the poor child knew very well that she often carried unkind and untrue tales to her father. She could not help comparing her present unhappy condition with the time when her own mother was alive only a little more than a year ago—so great a change in this short time! Morning and evening she wept over the memory. Whenever she could she went to her room, and sliding the screens to, took out the mirror and gazed, as she thought, at her mother’s face. It was the only comfort that she had in those wretched days.

Her father found her occupied in this way. Pushing aside the fusama, he saw her bending over something or other very intently. Looking over her shoulder, to see who was entering her room, the girl was surprised to see her father, for he generally sent for her when he wished to speak to her. She was also confused at being found looking at the mirror, for she had never told anyone of her mother’s last promise, but had kept it as the sacred secret of her heart. So before turning to her father she slipped the mirror into her long sleeve. Her father noting her confusion, and her act of hiding something, said in a severe manner,”Daughter, what are you doing here? And what is that that you have hidden in your sleeve?”

The girl was frightened by her father’s harsh voice. Never had he spoken to her in such a tone. Her confusion changed to fear, her color from red to white. She sat dumb and shamefaced, unable to reply.

Appearances were certainly against her; the young girl looked guilty, and the father thinking that perhaps after all what his wife had told him was true, spoke angrily,”Then, is it really true that you are cursing your step-mother and praying for her death every day? Have you forgotten what I told you, that although she is your step-mother you must be obedient and loyal to her? What evil spirit has taken possession of your heart that you should be so wicked? You have certainly changed, my daughter! What has made you so disobedient and unfaithful?”

The father’s eyes filled with sudden tears to think that he should have to scold his daughter in this way.

She on her part did not know what he meant, for she had never heard that by praying over an image it is possible to cause the death of a hated person. But she saw that she must speak and clear herself somehow. She loved her father dearly, and could not bear the idea of his anger.

“Father! Father! Do not say such dreadful things to me. I am still your obedient child. Indeed, I am. However stupid I may be, I should never be able to curse anyone who belonged to you, much less pray for the death of one you love. Surely someone has been telling you lies, and you are dazed, and you know not what you say—or some evil spirit has taken possession of your heart. As for me I do not know anything about the evil thing of which you accuse me.”

But the father remembered that she had hidden something away when he first entered the room, and even this protest did not satisfy him. He wished to clear up his doubts once for all.

“Then why are you always alone in your room these days? And tell me what is that that you have hidden in your sleeve—show it to me at once.”

Then the daughter, though shy about confessing how she had cherished her mother’s memory, saw that she must tell her father all in order to clear herself. So she slipped the mirror out from her long sleeve and laid it before him.

“This,” she said, “is what you saw me looking at just now.”

“Why,” he said in great surprise, “this is the mirror that I brought as a gift to your mother when I went up to the capital many years ago! And so you have kept it all this time? Now, why do you spend so much of your time before this mirror?”

Then she told him of her mother’s last words, and of how she had promised to meet her child whenever she looked into the glass. But still the father could not understand the simplicity of his daughter’s character in not knowing that what she saw reflected in the mirror was in reality her own face, and not that of her mother.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “I do not understand how you can meet the soul of your lost mother by looking in this mirror?”

“It is indeed true,” said the girl: “and if you don’t believe what I say, look for yourself,” and she placed the mirror before her. There, looking back from the smooth metal disk, was her own sweet face. She pointed to the reflection seriously,”Do you doubt me still?” she asked, looking up into his face.

With an exclamation of sudden understanding the father clapped his two hands together.

“How stupid I am! At last I understand. Your face is as like your mother’s as the two sides of a melon—so you have looked at the reflection of your face ail this time, thinking that you were brought face to face with your lost mother! You are truly a faithful child. It seems at first a stupid thing to have done, but it is not really so, It shows how innocent your heart is. Living in constant remembrance of your lost mother has helped you to grow like her in character. How clever it was of her to tell you to do this. I admire and respect you, my daughter, and I am ashamed to think that for one instant I believed your suspicious step-mother’s story and suspected you of evil, and came with the intention of scolding you severely, while all this time you have been so true and good. I beg you to forgive me.”

Then the father wept. He thought of how lonely the poor girl must have been, and of all that she must have suffered under her step-mother’s treatment. His daughter keeping her faith and simplicity in the midst of such difficult circumstances—bearing all her troubles with so much patience and good nature—made him compare her to the lotus which rears its blossom of dazzling beauty out of the slime and mud of the moats and ponds, a suitable symbol of a heart which keeps itself pure while passing through the world.

The step-mother, anxious to know what would happen, had all this while been standing outside the room. She had grown interested, and had gradually pushed the sliding screen back till she could see all that went on. At this moment she suddenly entered the room, and dropping to the mats, she bowed her head over her outspread hands before her step-daughter.

“I am ashamed! I am ashamed!” she exclaimed in broken tones. “I did not know what an obedient child you were. Through no fault of yours, but with a step-mother’s jealous heart, I have disliked you all the time. Hating you so much myself, it was but natural that I should think you felt the same, and so when I saw you go so often to your room I followed you, and when I saw you gaze daily into the mirror for a long time, I concluded that you had found out how I disliked you, and that you were out of revenge trying to take my life by magic. As long as I live I shall never forget the wrong I have done you in so misjudging you, and in causing your father to suspect you. From this day I throw away my old and wicked heart, and in its place I put a new one, clean and full of repentance. I shall think of you as my own child. I shall love and cherish you with all my heart, and so try to make up for all the unhappiness I have caused you. Therefore, please throw into the water all that has gone before, and give me, I beg of you, some of the love that you have previously given to your own lost mother.”

Thus the unkind step-mother humbled herself and asked forgiveness of the girl she had so wronged.

Such was the sweetness of the girl’s character that she willingly forgave her step-mother, and never had  a moment’s resentment or malice towards her afterwards. The father saw by his wife’s face that she was truly sorry for the past, and was greatly relieved to see the terrible misunderstanding wiped out of remembrance by both the wrong-doer and the wronged.

From this time on, the three lived together as happily as fish in water. No such trouble ever darkened the home again, and the young girl gradually forgot that year of unhappiness in the tender love and care that her step-mother now gave her. Her patience and goodness were rewarded at last.