The ronin sat down anew, half-shamefacedly peering from beneath his shaggy eyebrows at the mysterious bonsan. He wished to weigh his situation and all the circumstances of this incident, but his thoughts were confused, and as soon as the dreamy sounds began to float quietly from the samisen, again the visions became alive in his imagination, and his heart ached. These visions were reality before the evil, terrible abbot destroyed his happiness forever . . . His bosom heaved with a sigh, his face became livid. Oh, how he used to hate the priest who in the name of the gods had heaped crime upon crime . . . However, now his hatred bowed its head and became contrite; it changed to pity . . . There still would come moments when his soul would be embittered, when his thoughts would suddenly jumble in his head, when a red mist would be whirled by a burning wind before his dry, parchingly dry eyes . . But so it is with all people: from pity to hate is a mere step . . . The ronin, however, resolved never again in this wasted, wretched, expiating existence to take this step. At that moment the bonsan leaned towards him, and his voice sounded ingratiating. »Deign, honorable sir, to condescend to try the excellent tone of my samisen yourself!« he said, handing him his musical instrument.
Involuntarily the ronin extended his left hand; but at that instant his smile congealed on his face. For in the bonze’s countenance there came to pass a terrifying change, rapidly and still dilatorily, violently and still of its own accord. Whose were those sticky features? Whose that suave and penetrating look? Whose that smile? And recognizing his greatest enemy, who had put his wife and children to death, the knight errant summoned all the strength of his soul to supress the desire to jump up and kill this wretch. He smiled painfully, and with that smile bis bosom was relieved, his eyes cleared, his heart thawed. He bowed, thanked formally and with his extended left hand accepted the proffered samisen.
No sooner had he touched it than the samisen was transformed into a phantom cobweb and the bonsan into the Goblin Spider, into a hideous monster, here hairy and there slimily bare, but sparkling all over with the colors of mother-of pearl like a rotting puddle. Its long legs were terminated by frightful claws, each one resembling a different instrument of torture. All this the ronin took in at a single glance, but he was alarmed by nothing, notwithstanding that his left hand was entagled in the web to such a degree that he could not use it. »A fly caught in a spiderweb struggles and dies,« he said to himself, and assumed a defensive position, avoiding violent movements, jerks, and sweeps. His opponent was a skilful fighter, and his attacks were adroit and clever;
