painted Jezebel. Most of the stories in its praise come from China. The prettiest is that of Yo Ki Hi, the favoured concubine of the Emperor Genso, who touched with her red-stained finger-tips the Pæony petals, and (in shame, or rivalry, or delight, the story tells not) they turned crimson.
But Pæonies have also a ghostly association, in this case not so much in China as in Japan. The lanterns at the Bon (the ‘Festival of All Souls’ Day’) are decorated with that seemingly incompatible, big, bouncing flower. Lafcadio Hearn retells, in his inimitable way, the tale of a ghost play that is given at this season, which I must condense, but cannot omit.
O Tsuyu, a beautiful girl, was in love with Shinzaburo Ogihara, a samurai, and died of love for him, being accompanied to the land of the spirits by her faithful maid, O Yone. Ogihara was ignorant of their death. One evening he saw two young women passing the gate of his house, with Pæony lanterns in their hands, and he asked them in. These were the ghosts of the two girls. Every evening for a week they came to the house to pass the night there, leaving very early in the morning before it was light. Then Ogihara was told that they were not living beings but ghosts, and he appealed to a priest for a charm against ghosts, which he hung up at the door, and for some time it effectually kept them out. But one night he
