Prevod

He took it, wrapped it in his sleeve, and went home. When he unwrapped it, it glittered brightly and proved to be genuine gold. “What a marvel!” he thought. “They say that anyone who tries to take this gold is met with thunder, earthquakes, and rain, and cannot carry off even the smallest piece. Yet nothing of the kind has happened to me. I shall take more of this gold and make my way in the world.” Delighted, he weighed it and found that he had eighteen ryō. He beat it into seven or eight thousand sheets of gold leaf, gathered them into a bundle, and kept them for a while, hoping to find someone who would buy the whole lot. Then someone told him that an officer of the imperial police wished to buy a large quantity of gold leaf for a Buddha image he intended to have made at Tōji. Overjoyed, he tucked the bundle into the breast of his robe and went to see him. “Would you care to buy some gold leaf?” he asked. “How much have you?” the officer inquired. “Some seven or eight thousand sheets.” “Have you brought them with you?” “Yes, sir,” he replied, taking the paper-wrapped bundle from his robe. The sheets were broad and unbroken, and their color was splendid. But when the officer spread them out to count them, he saw that every one bore the words “Gold of Mitake, Gold of Mitake,” written in tiny characters. Suspecting the truth, he asked, “What is this writing for?” “I have written nothing on the leaf,” the goldbeater replied. “What reason would there be to write on it?” “Yet here it is. Look.” When the officer showed him, the goldbeater saw that the writing was indeed there. Appalled, he could not utter a word. “This is no ordinary matter,” said the officer. “There must be something behind it.” He summoned his fellow officers, had the gold carried by the head of the gate guards, and took the goldbeater with him to the chief magistrate. When they related what had happened, the chief was astonished. “Take him to the riverbed at once and question him,” he ordered. The officers went to the riverbed, bound the man’s arms tightly behind him, and lashed him to a frame so that he could not move. They gave him seventy strokes of the scourge, until his back was raw and glistening, as though he had been clothed in a single layer of crimson silk soaked in water. Then they put him back in prison, where he died after barely twenty days. The gold leaf was returned to Mount Kinpu and placed where the gold had originally been, or so the story has been handed down. From that time onward, people were afraid, and no one ever again thought of taking that gold. How terrible!