The Beautiful Dancer Of Yedo

: Japanese Fairy Tales

This is the tale of Sakura-ko, Flower of the Cherry, who was the

beautiful dancer of Yedo. She was a geisha, born a samurai's

daughter, that sold herself into bondage after her father died, so that

her mother might have food to eat. Ah, the pity of it! The money that

bought her was called Namida no Kane, that is "the money of tears."



She dwelt in the narrow street of the geisha, where the red and white

la terns swing and the plum trees flourish by the low eves. The street

of the geisha is full of music, for they play the samisen there all

day long.



Sakura-ko played it too; indeed she was skilful in every lovely art. She

played the samisen, the kotto, the biwa, and the small hand-drum.

She could make songs and sing them. Her eyes were long, her hair was

black, her hands were white. Her beauty was wonderful, and wonderful her

power to please. From dawn to dusk, and from dusk to dawn she could go

smiling and hide her heart. In the cool of the day she would stand

upon the gallery of her mistress's house, and muse as she stood and

looked down into the street of the geisha. And the folk that passed

that way said to one another, "See, yonder stands Sakura-ko, Flower of

the Cherry, the beautiful dancer of Yedo, the geisha without peer."



But Sakura-ko looked down and mused and said, "Little narrow street of

the geisha, paved with bitterness and broken hearts, your houses are

full of vain hopes and vain regrets; youth and love and grief dwell

here. The flowers in your gardens are watered with tears."



The gentlemen of Yedo must needs have their pleasure, so Sakura-ko

served at feasts every night. They whitened her cheeks and her forehead,

and gilded her lips with beni. She wore silk attires, gold and purple

and grey and green and black, obi of brocade magnificently tied. Her

hair was pinned with coral and jade, fastened with combs of gold lacquer

and tortoise-shell. She poured sake, she made merry with the good

company. More than this, she danced.



Three poets sang of her dancing. One said, "She is lighter than the

rainbow-tinted dragonfly."



And another said, "She moves like the mist of the morning when the

bright sun shines."



And the third said, "She is like the shadow in the river of the waving

willow-branch."



But it is time to tell of her three lovers.



The first lover was neither old nor young. He was passing rich, and a

great man in Yedo. He sent his servant to the street of the geisha

with money in his girdle. Sakura-ko shut the door in his face.



"You are wrong, fellow," she said, "you have lost your way. You should

have gone to the street of the toy-shops and bought your master a doll;

let him know there are no dolls here."



After this the master came himself. "Come to me, O Flower of the

Cherry," he said, "for I must have you."



"Must?" she said, and looked down with her long eyes.



"Aye," he said, "must is the word, O Flower of the Cherry."



"What will you give me?" she said.



"Fine attires, silk and brocade, a house, white mats and cool galleries;

servants to wait on you, gold hairpins--what you will."



"What do I give you?" she said.



"Yourself, just that, O Flower of the Cherry."



"Body and soul?" she said.



And he answered her, "Body and soul."



"Now, fare you well," she said, "I have a fancy to remain a geisha. It

is a merry life," she said, and she laughed.



So that was the end of the first lover.



The second lover was old. To be old and wise is very well, but he was

old and foolish. "Sakura-ko," he cried, "ah, cruel one, I am mad for

love of you!"



"My lord," she said, "I can easily believe it."



He said, "I am not so very old."



"By the divine compassion of the gods," she told him, "you may yet have

time to prepare for your end. Go home and read the good law." But the

old lover would hear nothing of her counsel. Instead, he bade her to his

house by night to a great feast which he had prepared for her. And when

they had made an end of the feast she danced before him wearing scarlet

hakama and a robe of gold brocade. After the dancing he made her sit

beside him and he called for wine, that they might drink together. And

the geisha who poured the sake was called Silver Wave.



When they had drunk together, Sakura-ko and her old lover, he drew her

to him and cried:



"Come, my love, my bride, you are mine for the time of many existences;

there was poison in the cup. Be not afraid, for we shall die together.

Come with me to the Meido."



But Sakura-ko said, "My sister, the Silver Wave, and I are not children,

neither are we old and foolish to be deceived. I drank no sake and no

poison. My sister, the Silver Wave, poured fresh tea in my cup. Howbeit

I am sorry for you, and so I will stay with you till you die."



He died in her arms and was fain to take his way alone to the Meido.



"Alas! alas!" cried the Flower of the Cherry. But her sister, Silver

Wave, gave her counsel thus: "Keep your tears, you will yet have cause

for weeping. Waste not grief for such as he."



And that was the end of the second lover.



The third lover was young and brave and gay. Impetuous he was, and

beautiful. He first set eyes on the Flower of the Cherry at a festival

in his father's house. Afterwards he went to seek her out in the street

of the geisha. He found her as she leaned against the gallery railing

of her mistress's house.



She looked down into the street of the geisha and sang this song:



"My mother bade me spin fine thread

Out of the yellow sea sand--

A hard task, a hard task.

May the dear gods speed me!

My father gave me a basket of reeds;

He said, 'Draw water from the spring

And carry it a mile'--

A hard task, a hard task.

May the dear gods speed me!

My heart would remember,

My heart must forget;

Forget, my heart, forget--

A hard task, a hard task.

May the dear gods speed me!"



When she had made an end of singing, the lover saw that her eyes were

full of tears.



"Do you remember me," he said, "O Flower of the Cherry? I saw you last

night at my father's house."



"Aye, my young lord," she answered him, "I remember you very well."



He said, "I am not so very young. And I love you, O Flower of the

Cherry. Be gentle, hear me, be free, be my dear wife."



At this she flushed neck and chin, cheeks and forehead.



"My dear," said the young man, "now you are Flower of the Cherry

indeed."



"Child," she said, "go home and think of me no more. I am too old for

such as you."



"Old!" he said; "why, there lies not a year between us!"



"No, not a year--no year, but an eternity," said Flower of the Cherry.

"Think no more of me," she said; but the lover thought of nothing else.

His young blood was on fire. He could not eat, nor drink, nor sleep. He

pined and grew pale, he wandered day and night, his heart heavy with

longing. He lived in torment; weak he grew, and weaker. One night he

fell fainting at the entrance of the street of the geisha. Sakura-ko

came home at dawn from a festival in a great house. There she found him.

She said no word, but she bore him to his house outside Yedo, and stayed

with him there full three moons. And after that time he was nursed back

to ruddy health. Swiftly, swiftly, the glad days sped by for both of

them.



"This is the happy time of all my life. I thank the dear gods," said

Flower of the Cherry one evening.



"My dear," the young man bade her, "fetch hither your samisen and let

me hear you sing."



So she did. She said, "I shall sing you a song you have heard already."



"My mother bade me spin fine thread

Out of the yellow sea sand--

A hard task, a hard task.

May the dear gods speed me!

My father gave me a basket of reeds;

He said, 'Draw water from the spring

And carry it a mile'--

A hard task, a hard task.

May the dear gods speed me!

My heart would remember,

My heart must forget;

Forget, my heart, forget--

A hard task, a hard task.

May the dear gods speed me!"



"Sweet," he said, "what does this song mean, and why do you sing it?"



She answered, "My lord, it means that I must leave you, and therefore do

I sing it. I must forget you; you must forget me. That is my desire."



He said, "I will never forget you, not in a thousand existences."



She smiled, "Pray the gods you may wed a sweet wife and have children."



He cried, "No wife but you, and no children but yours, O Flower of the

Cherry."



"The gods forbid, my dear, my dear. All the world lies between us."



The next day she was gone. High and low the lover wandered, weeping and

lamenting and seeking her both near and far. It was all in vain, for he

found her not. The city of Yedo knew her no more--Sakura-ko, the

beautiful dancer.



And her lover mourned many many days. Howbeit at last he was comforted,

and they found for him a very sweet fair lady whom he took to wife

willingly enough, and soon she bore him a son. And he was glad, for time

dries all tears.



Now when the boy was five years old he sat in the gate of his father's

house. And it chanced that a wandering nun came that way begging for

alms. The servants of the house brought rice and would have put it into

her begging bowl, but the child said, "Let me give."



So he did as he would.



As he filled the begging bowl and patted down the rice with a wooden

spoon and laughed, the nun caught him by the sleeve and held him and

looked into his eyes.



"Holy nun, why do you look at me so?" cried the child.



She said, "Because I once had a little boy like you, and I went away and

left him."



"Poor little boy!" said the child.



"It was better for him, my dear, my dear--far, far better."



And when she had said this, she went her way.