Of old it was said: 'The River of Heaven is the Ghost of
Waters.' We behold it shifting its bed in the course of the
year as an earthly river sometimes does.
_Ancient Scholar_
Among the many charming festivals celebrated by Old Japan, the most
romantic was the festival of Tanabata-Sama, the Weaving-Lady of the
Milky Way. In the chief cities her holiday is now little observed; and
in T[=o]ky[=o] it is almost forgotten. But in many country districts,
and even in villages, near the capital, it is still celebrated in a
small way. If you happen to visit an old-fashioned country town or
village, on the seventh day of the seventh month (by the ancient
calendar), you will probably notice many freshly-cut bamboos fixed
upon the roofs of the houses, or planted in the ground beside them,
every bamboo having attached to it a number of strips of colored
paper. In some very poor villages you might find that these papers are
white, or of one color only; but the general rule is that the papers
should be of five or seven different colors. Blue, green, red, yellow,
and white are the tints commonly displayed. All these papers are
inscribed with short poems written in praise of Tanabata and her
husband Hikoboshi. After the festival the bamboos are taken down and
thrown into the nearest stream, together with the poems attached to
them.
* * * * *
To understand the romance of this old festival, you must know the
legend of those astral divinities to whom offerings used to be made,
even by, the Imperial Household, on the seventh day of the seventh
month. The legend is Chinese. This is the Japanese popular version of
it:--
The great god of the firmament had a lovely daughter, Tanabata-tsumé,
who passed her days in weaving garments for her august parent. She
rejoiced in her work, and thought that there was no greater pleasure
than the pleasure of weaving. But one day, as she sat before her loom
at the door of her heavenly dwelling, she saw a handsome peasant lad
pass by, leading an ox, and she fell in love with him. Her august
father, divining her secret wish, gave her the youth for a husband.
But the wedded lovers became too fond of each other, and neglected
their duty to the god of the firmament; the sound of the shuttle was
no longer heard, and the ox wandered, unheeded, over the plains of
heaven. Therefore the great god was displeased, and he separated the
pair. They were sentenced to live thereafter apart, with the Celestial
River between them; but it was permitted them to see each other once
a year, on the seventh night of the seventh moon. On that
night--providing the skies be clear--the birds of heaven make, with
their bodies and wings, a bridge over the stream; and by means of that
bridge the lovers can meet. But if there be rain, the River of Heaven
rises, and becomes so wide that the bridge cannot be formed. So the
husband and wife cannot always meet, even on the seventh night of
the seventh month; it may happen, by reason of bad weather, that they
cannot meet for three or four years at a time. But their love remains
immortally young and eternally patient; and they continue to fulfill
their respective duties each day without fault,--happy in their hope
of being able to meet on the seventh night of the next seventh month.
* * * * *
To ancient Chinese fancy, the Milky Way was a luminous river,--the
River of Heaven,--the Silver Stream. It has been stated by Western
writers that Tanabata, the Weaving-Lady, is a star in Lyra; and the
Herdsman, her beloved, a star in Aquila, on the opposite side of the
galaxy. But it were more correct to say that both are represented, to
Far-Eastern imagination, by groups of stars. An old Japanese book puts
the matter thus plainly: "Kengy[=u] (the Ox-Leader) is on the west
side of the Heavenly River, and is represented by three stars in a
row, and looks like a man leading an ox. Shokujo (the Weaving-Lady)
is on the east side of the Heavenly River: three stars so placed as
to appear like the figure of a woman seated at her loom.... The former
presides over all things relating to agriculture; the latter, over all
that relates to women's work."
* * * * *
In an old book called Zatsuwa-Shin, it is said that these deities
were of earthly origin. Once in this world they were man and wife,
and lived in China; and the husband was called Ishi, and the wife
Hakuy[=o]. They especially and most devoutly reverenced the Moon.
Every clear evening, after sundown, they waited with eagerness to see
her rise. And when she began to sink towards the horizon, they would
climb to the top of a hill near their house, so that they might be
able to gaze upon her face as long as possible. Then, when she at last
disappeared from view, they would mourn together. At the age of ninety
and nine, the wife died; and her spirit rode up to heaven on a magpie,
and there became a star. The husband, who was then one hundred and
three years old, sought consolation for his bereavement in looking at
the Moon and when he welcomed her rising and mourned her setting, it
seemed to him as if his wife were still beside him.
One summer night, Hakuy[=o]--now immortally beautiful and
young--descended from heaven upon her magpie, to visit her husband;
and he was made very happy by that visit. But from that time he
could think of nothing but the bliss of becoming a star, and joining
Hakuy[=o] beyond the River of Heaven. At last he also ascended to the
sky, riding upon a crow; and there he became a star-god. But he could
not join Hakuy[=o] at once, as he had hoped;--for between his allotted
place and hers flowed the River of Heaven; and it was not permitted
for either star to cross the stream, because the Master of Heaven
(_Ten-Tei_) daily bathed in its waters. Moreover, there was no bridge.
But on one day every year--the seventh day of the seventh month--they
were allowed to see each other. The Master of Heaven goes always
on that day to the Zenh[=o]do, to hear the preaching of the law of
Buddha; and then the magpies and the crows make, with their hovering
bodies and outspread wings, a bridge over the Celestial Stream; and
Hakuy[=o] crosses that bridge to meet her husband.
There can be little doubt that the Japanese festival called
Tanabata was originally identical with the festival of the Chinese
Weaving-Goddess, Tchi-Niu; the Japanese holiday seems to have
been especially a woman's holiday, from the earliest times; and
the characters with which the word Tanabata is written signify a
weaving-girl. But as both of the star-deities were worshiped on the
seventh of the seventh month, some Japanese scholars have not been
satisfied with the common explanation of the name, and have stated
that it was originally composed with the word _tané_ (seed, or grain),
and the word _hata_ (loom). Those who accept this etymology make the
appellation, Tanabata-Sama, plural instead of singular, and render
it as "the deities of grain and of the loom,"--that is to say, those
presiding over agriculture and weaving. In old Japanese pictures
the star-gods are represented according to this conception of their
respective attributes;--Hikoboshi being figured as a peasant lad
leading an ox to drink of the Heavenly River, on the farther side of
which Orihimé (Tanabata) appears, weaving at her loom. The garb of
both is Chinese; and the first Japanese pictures of these divinities
were probably copied from some Chinese original.
In the oldest collection of Japanese poetry extant,--the
Many[=o]sh[=u], dating from 760 A.D.,--the male divinity is usually
called Hikoboshi, and the female Tanabata-tsumé; but in later times
both have been called Tanabata. In Izumo the male deity is popularly
termed O-Tanabata Sama, and the female Mé-Tanabata Sama. Both are
still known by many names. The male is called Kaiboshi as well as
Hikoboshi and Kengy[=u]; while the female is called Asagao-himé
("Morning Glory Princess")[1], Ito-ori-himé ("Thread-Weaving
Princess"), Momoko-himé ("Peach-Child Princess"), Takimono-himé
("Incense Princess"), and Sasagani-himé ("Spider Princess"). Some
of these names are difficult to explain,--especially the last, which
reminds us of the Greek legend of Arachne. Probably the Greek myth and
the Chinese story have nothing whatever in common; but in old Chinese
books there is recorded a curious fact which might well suggest a
relationship. In the time of the Chinese Emperor Ming Hwang (whom the
Japanese call Gens[=o]), it was customary for the ladies of the court,
on the seventh day of the seventh month, to catch spiders and put them
into an incense-box for purposes of divination. On the morning of the
eighth day the box was opened; and if the spiders had spun thick webs
during the night the omen was good. But if they had remained idle the
omen was bad.
[Footnote 1: Asagao (lit., "morning-face") is the Japanese name for
the beautiful climbing plant which we call "morning glory."]
* * * * *
There is a story that, many ages ago, a beautiful woman visited the
dwelling of a farmer in the mountains of Izumo, and taught to the only
daughter of the household an art of weaving never before known. One
evening the beautiful stranger vanished away; and the people knew
that they had seen the Weaving-Lady of Heaven. The daughter of the
farmer became renowned for her skill in weaving. But she would never
marry,--because she had been the companion of Tanabata-Sama.
* * * * *
Then there is a Chinese story--delightfully vague--about a man who
once made a visit, unawares, to the Heavenly Land. He had observed
that every year, during the eighth month, a raft of precious wood came
floating to the shore on which he lived; and he wanted to know where
that wood grew. So he loaded a boat with provisions for a two years'
voyage, and sailed away in the direction from which the rafts used to
drift. For months and months he sailed on, over an always placid sea;
and at last he arrived at a pleasant shore, where wonderful trees
were growing. He moored his boat, and proceeded alone into the unknown
land, until he came to the bank of a river whose waters were bright as
silver. On the opposite shore he saw a pavilion; and in the pavilion
a beautiful woman sat weaving; she was white like moonshine, and made
a radiance all about her. Presently he saw a handsome young peasant
approaching, leading an ox to the water; and he asked the young
peasant to tell him the name of the place and the country. But the
youth seemed to be displeased by the question, and answered in a
severe tone: "If you want to know the name of this place, go back
to where you came from, and ask Gen-Kum-Pei."[2] So the voyager,
feeling afraid, hastened to his boat, and returned to China. There he
sought out the sage Gen-Kum-Pei, to whom he related the adventure.
Gen-Kum-Pei clapped his hands for wonder, and exclaimed, "So it was
you!... On the seventh day of the seventh month I was gazing at
the heavens, and I saw that the Herdsman and the Weaver were about
to meet;--but between them was a new Star, which I took to be a
Guest-Star. Fortunate man! you have been to the River of Heaven, and
have looked upon the face of the Weaving-Lady!..."
[Footnote 2: This is the Japanese reading of the Chinese name.]
* * * * *
--It is said that the meeting of the Herdsman and the Weaver can be
observed by any one with good eyes; for whenever it occurs those stars
burn with five different colors. That is why offerings of five colors
are made to the Tanabata divinities, and why the poems composed in
their praise are written upon paper of five different tints.
But, as I have said before, the pair can meet only in fair weather.
If there be the least rain upon the seventh night, the River of Heaven
will rise, and the lovers must wait another whole year. Therefore the
rain that happens to fall on Tanabata night is called _Namida no Amé_,
"The Rain of Tears."
When the sky is clear on the seventh night, the lovers are fortunate;
and their stars can be seen to sparkle with delight. If the star
Kengy[=u] then shines very brightly, there will be great rice crops
in the autumn. If the star Shokujo looks brighter than usual, there
will be a prosperous time for weavers, and for every kind of female
industry.
* * * * *
In old Japan it was generally supposed that the meeting of the pair
signified good fortune to mortals. Even to-day, in many parts of the
country, children sing a little song on the evening of the Tanabata
festival,--_Tenki ni nari!_ ("O weather, be clear!") In the province
of Iga the young folks also sing a jesting song at the supposed hour
of the lovers' meeting:--
Tanabata ya!
Amari isogaba,
Korobubéshi![3]
But in the province of Izumo, which is a very rainy district, the
contrary belief prevails; and it is thought that if the sky be clear
on the seventh day of the seventh month, misfortune will follow. The
local explanation of this belief is that if the stars can meet, there
will be born from their union many evil deities who will afflict the
country with drought and other calamities.
[Footnote 3: "Ho! Tanabata! if you hurry too much, you will tumble
down!"]
* * * * *
The festival of Tanabata was first celebrated in Japan on the seventh
day of the seventh month of Tomby[=o] Sh[=o]h[=o] (A.D. 755). Perhaps
the Chinese origin of the Tanabata divinities accounts for the fact
that their public worship was at no time represented by many temples.
I have been able to find record of only one temple to them, called
Tanabata-jinja, which was situated at a village called Hoshiaimura,
in the province of Owari, and surrounded by a grove called
Tanabata-mori.[4]
[Footnote 4: There is no mention, however, of any such village in any
modern directory.]
Even before Temby[=o] Sh[=o]h[=o], however, the legend of the
Weaving-Maiden seems to have been well known in Japan; for it is
recorded that on the seventh night of the seventh year of Y[=o]r[=o]
(A.D. 723) the poet Yamagami no Okura composed the song:--
Amanogawa,
Ai-muki tachité,
Waga koïshi
Kimi kimasu nari--
Himo-toki makina![5]
It would seem that the Tanabata festival was first established
in Japan eleven hundred and fifty years ago, as an Imperial Court
festival only, in accordance with Chinese precedent. Subsequently
the nobility and the military classes everywhere followed imperial
example; and the custom of celebrating the Hoshi-mat-suri, or
Star-Festival,--as it was popularly called,--spread gradually
downwards, until at last the seventh day of the seventh month became,
in the full sense of the term, a national holiday. But the fashion of
its observance varied considerably at different eras and in different
provinces.
[Footnote 5: For a translation and explanation of this song, see
_infra_, page 30.]
The ceremonies at the Imperial Court were of the most elaborate
character: a full account of them is given in the _K[=o]ji
Kongen_,--with explanatory illustrations. On the evening of the
seventh day of the seventh month, mattings were laid down on the east
side of that portion of the Imperial Palace called the Seir-y[=o]den;
and upon these mattings were placed four tables of offerings to the
Star-deities. Besides the customary food-offerings, there were placed
upon these tables rice-wine, incense, vases of red lacquer containing
flowers, a harp and flute, and a needle with five eyes, threaded
with threads of five different colors. Black-lacquered oil-lamps were
placed beside the tables, to illuminate the feast. In another part of
the grounds a tub of water was so placed as to reflect the light of
the Tanabata-stars; and the ladies of the Imperial Household attempted
to thread a needle by the reflection. She who succeeded was to be
fortunate during the following year. The court-nobility (_Kugé_) were
obliged to make certain offerings to the Imperial House on the day
of the festival. The character of these offerings, and the manner of
their presentation, were fixed by decree. They were conveyed to the
palace upon a tray, by a veiled lady of rank, in ceremonial dress.
Above her, as she walked, a great red umbrella was borne by an
attendant. On the tray were placed seven _tanzaku_ (longilateral
slips of fine tinted paper for the writing of poems); seven
_kudzu_-leaves;[6] seven inkstones; seven strings of _s[=o]men_
(a kind of vermicelli); fourteen writing-brushes; and a bunch of
yam-leaves gathered at night, and thickly sprinkled with dew. In the
palace grounds the ceremony began at the Hour of the Tiger,--4 A.M.
Then the inkstones were carefully washed,--prior to preparing the ink
for the writing of poems in praise of the Star-deities,--and each one
set upon a _kudzu_-leaf. One bunch of bedewed yam-leaves was then
laid upon every inkstone; and with this dew, instead of water, the
writing-ink was prepared. All the ceremonies appear to have been
copied from those in vogue at the Chinese court in the time of the
Emperor Ming-Hwang.
[Footnote 6: _Pueraria Thunbergiana._]
* * * * *
It was not until the time of the Tokugawa Sh[=o]gunate that the
Tanabata festival became really a national holiday; and the popular
custom of attaching _tansaku_ of different colors to freshly-cut
bamboos, in celebration of the occasion, dates only from the era
of Bunser (1818). Previously the _tanzaku_ had been made of a very
costly quality of paper; and the old aristocratic ceremonies had been
not less expensive than elaborate. But in the time of the Tokugawa
Sh[=o]gunate a very cheap paper of various colors was manufactured;
and the holiday ceremonies were suffered to assume an inexpensive
form, in which even the poorest classes could indulge.
The popular customs relating to the festival differed according to
locality. Those of Izumo--where all classes of society, _samurai_ or
common folk, celebrated the holiday in much the same way--used to be
particularly interesting; and a brief account of them will suggest
something of the happy aspects of life in feudal times. At the Hour
of the Tiger, on the seventh night of the seventh month, everybody
was up; and the work of washing the inkstones and writing-brushes
was performed. Then, in the household garden, dew was collected upon
yam-leaves. This dew was called _Amanogawa no suzuki_ ("drops from the
River of Heaven"); and it was used to make fresh ink for writing the
poems which were to be suspended to bamboos planted in the garden. It
was usual for friends to present each other with new inkstones at the
time of the Tanabata festival; and if there were any new inkstones
in the house, the fresh ink was prepared in these. Each member of
the family then wrote poems. The adults composed verses, according to
their ability, in praise of the Star-deities; and the children either
wrote dictation or tried to improvise. Little folk too young to use
the writing-brush without help had their small hands guided, by parent
or elder sister or elder brother, so as to shape on a _tanzaku_
the character of some single word or phrase relating to the
festival,--such as "Amanogawa," or "Tanabata," or "Kasasagi no Hashi"
(the Bridge of Magpies). In the garden were planted two freshly-cut
bamboos, with branches and leaves entire,--a male bamboo
(_otoko-daké_) and a female bamboo (_onna-daké_). They were set
up about six feet apart, and to a cord extended between them were
suspended paper-cuttings of five colors, and skeins of dyed thread of
five colors. The paper-cuttings represented upper-robes,--_kimono_.
To the leaves and branches of the bamboos were tied the _tanzaku_
on which poems had been written by the members of the family.
And upon a table, set between the bamboos, or immediately before
them, were placed vessels containing various offerings to the
Star-deities,--fruits, _s[=o]men_, rice-wine, and vegetables of
different kinds, such as cucumbers and watermelons.
But the most curious Izumo custom relating to the festival was the
_Nému-nagashi_, or "Sleep-wash-away" ceremony. Before day-break the
young folks used to go to some stream, carrying with them bunches
composed of _némuri_-leaves and bean-leaves mixed together. On
reaching the stream, they would fling their bunches of leaves into the
current, and sing a little song:--
Nému wa, nagaré yo!
Mamé no ha wa, tomaré!
These verses might be rendered in two ways; because the word _nému_
can be taken in the meaning either of _némuri_ (sleep), or of
_nemuri-gi_ or _némunoki_, the "sleep-plant" (mimosa),--while the
syllables _mamé_, as written in _kana_, can signify either "bean," or
"activity," or "strength," "vigor," "health," etc. But the ceremony
was symbolical, and the intended meaning of the song was:--
Drowsiness, drift away!
Leaves of vigor, remain!
After this, all the young folk would jump into the water, to bathe or
swim, in token of their resolve to shed all laziness for the coming
year, and to maintain a vigorous spirit of endeavor.
* * * * *
Yet it was probably in Yédo (now T[=o]ky[=o]) that the Tanabata
festival assumed its most picturesque aspects. During the two days
that the celebration lasted,--the sixth and seventh of the seventh
month,--the city used to present the appearance of one vast bamboo
grove; fresh bamboos, with poems attached to them, being erected upon
the roofs of the houses. Peasants were in those days able to do a
great business in bamboos, which were brought into town by hundreds of
wagonloads for holiday use. Another feature of the Yédo festival was
the children's procession, in which bamboos, with poems attached to
them, were carried about the city. To each such bamboo there was also
fastened a red plaque on which were painted, in Chinese characters,
the names of the Tanabata stars.
But almost everywhere, under the Tokugawa régime, the Tanabata
festival used to be a merry holiday for the young people of all
classes,--a holiday beginning with lantern displays before sunrise,
and lasting well into the following night. Boys and girls on that day
were dressed in their best, and paid visits of ceremony to friends and
neighbors.
* * * * *
--The moon of the seventh month used to be called _Tanabata-tsuki_, or
"The Moon of Tanabata." And it was also called _Fumi-tsuki_, or "The
Literary Moon," because during the seventh month poems were everywhere
composed in praise of the Celestial Lovers.
* * * * *
I think that my readers ought to be interested in the following
selection of ancient Japanese poems, treating of the Tanabata legend.
All are from the _Many[=o]sh[=u]_. The _Many[=o]sh[=u]_, or "Gathering
of a Myriad Leaves," is a vast collection of poems composed before the
middle of the eighth century. It was compiled by Imperial order, and
completed early in the ninth century. The number of the poems which
it contains is upwards of four thousand; some being "long poems"
(_naga-uta_), but the great majority _tanka_, or compositions limited
to thirty-one syllables; and the authors were courtiers or high
officials. The first eleven _tanka_ hereafter translated were composed
by Yamagami no Okura, Governor of the province of Chikuzen more than
eleven hundred years ago. His fame as a poet is well deserved; for
not a little of his work will bear comparison with some of the finer
epigrams of the Greek Anthology. The following verses, upon the death
of his little son Furubi, will serve as an example:--
Wakakeréba
Nichi-yuki shiraji:
Mahi wa sému,
Shitabé no tsukahi
Ohité-tohorasé.
--[_As he is so young, he cannot know the way.... To the
messenger of the Underworld I will give a bribe, and entreat
him, saying: "Do thou kindly take the little one upon thy back
along the road."_]
Eight hundred years earlier, the Greek poet Diodorus Zonas of Sardis
had written:--
"_Do thou, who rowest the boat of the dead in the water of
this reedy lake, for Hades, stretch out thy hand, dark
Charon, to the son of Kinyras, as he mounts the ladder by the
gang-way, and receive him. For his sandals will cause the lad
to slip, and he fears to set his feet naked on the sand of the
shore._"
But the charming epigram of Diodorus was inspired only by a myth,--for
the "son of Kinyras" was no other than Adonis,--whereas the verses of
Okura express for us the yearning of a father's heart.
* * * * *
--Though the legend of Tanabata was indeed borrowed from China, the
reader will find nothing Chinese in the following compositions.
They represent the old classic poetry at its purest, free from alien
influence; and they offer us many suggestions as to the condition of
Japanese life and thought twelve hundred years ago. Remembering that
they were written before any modern European literature had yet taken
form, one is startled to find how little the Japanese written language
has changed in the course of so many centuries. Allowing for a few
obsolete words, and sundry slight changes of pronunciation, the
ordinary Japanese reader to-day can enjoy these early productions of
his native muse with about as little difficulty as the English reader
finds in studying the poets of the Elizabethan era. Moreover, the
refinement and the simple charm of the _Many[=o]sh[=u]_ compositions
have never been surpassed, and seldom equaled, by later Japanese
poets.
As for the forty-odd _tanka_ which I have translated, their chief
attraction lies, I think, in what they reveal to us of the human
nature of their authors. Tanabata-tsumé still represents for us the
Japanese wife, worshipfully loving;--Hikoboshi appears to us with none
of the luminosity of the god, but as the young Japanese husband of the
sixth or seventh century, before Chinese ethical convention had begun
to exercise its restraint upon life and literature. Also these poems
interest us by their expression of the early feeling for natural
beauty. In them we find the scenery and the seasons of Japan
transported to the Blue Plain of High Heaven;--the Celestial Stream
with its rapids and shallows, its sudden risings and clamourings
within its stony bed, and its water-grasses bending in the autumn
wind, might well be the Kamogawa;--and the mists that haunt its shores
are the very mists of Arashiyama. The boat of Hikoboshi, impelled
by a single oar working upon a wooden peg, is not yet obsolete; and
at many a country ferry you may still see the _hiki-funé_ in which
Tanabata-tsumé prayed her husband to cross in a night of storm,--a
flat broad barge pulled over the river by cables. And maids and wives
still sit at their doors in country villages, on pleasant autumn days,
to weave as Tanabata-tsumé wove for the sake of her lord and lover.
* * * * *
--It will be observed that, in most of these verses, it is not the
wife who dutifully crosses the Celestial River to meet her husband,
but the husband who rows over the stream to meet the wife; and there
is no reference to the Bridge of Birds.... As for my renderings, those
readers who know by experience the difficulty of translating Japanese
verse will be the most indulgent, I fancy. The Romaji system of
spelling has been followed (except in one or two cases where I thought
it better to indicate the ancient syllabication after the method
adopted by Aston); and words or phrases necessarily supplied have been
inclosed in parentheses.
Amanogawa
Ai-muki tachité,
Waga koïshi
Kimi kimasu nari
Himo-toki makéna!
[_He is coming, my long-desired lord, whom I have been waiting
to meet here, on the banks of the River of Heaven.... The
moment of loosening my girdle is nigh!_[7]]
[Footnote 7: The last line alludes to a charming custom of which
mention is made in the most ancient Japanese literature. Lovers,
ere parting, were wont to tie each other's inner girdle (_himo_) and
pledge themselves to leave the knot untouched until the time of their
next meeting. This poem is said to have been composed in the seventh
year of Y[=o]r[=o],--A.D. 723,--eleven hundred and eighty-two years
ago.]
Hisakata no[8]
Ama no kawasé ni,
Funé ukété,
Koyoï ka kimi ga
Agari kimasan?
[Footnote 8: _Hisakata-no_ is a "pillow-word" used by the old poets in
relation to celestial objects; and it is often difficult to translate.
Mr. Aston thinks that the literal meaning of _hisakata_ is simply
"long-hard," in the sense of long-enduring,--_hisa_ (long), _katai_
(hard, or firm),--so that _hisakata-no_ would have the meaning of
"firmamental." Japanese commentators, however, say that the term
is composed with the three words, _hi_ (sun), _sasu_ (shine), and
_kata_ (side);--and this etymology would justify the rendering
of _hisakata-no_ by some such expression as "light-shedding,"
"radiance-giving." On the subject of pillow-words, see Aston's
_Grammar of the Japanese Written Language_.]
[_Over the Rapids of the Everlasting Heaven, floating in his
boat, my lord will doubtless deign to come to me this very
night._]
Kazé kumo wa
Futatsu no kishi ni
Kayoëdomo,
Waga toho-tsuma no
Koto zo kayowanu!
[_Though winds and clouds to either bank may freely come or
go, between myself and my faraway spouse no message whatever
may pass._]
Tsubuté[9] ni mo
Nagé koshitsu-béki,
Amanogawa
Hédatéréba ka mo,
Amata subé-naki!
[_To the opposite bank one might easily fling a pebble; yet,
being separated from him by the River of Heaven, alas! to hope
for a meeting (except in autumn) is utterly useless._]
[Footnote 9: The old text has _tabuté_.]
Aki-kazé no
Fukinishi hi yori
"Itsushika" to--;
Waga machi koîshi
Kimi zo kimaséru.
[_From the day that the autumn wind began to blow (I kept
saying to myself), "Ah! when shall we meet?"--but now my
beloved, for whom I waited and longed, has come indeed!_]
Amanogawa
Ito kawa-nami wa
Tatanédomo,
Samorai gatashi--
Chikaki kono sé wo.
[_Though the waters of the River of Heaven have not greatly
risen, (yet to cross) this near stream and to wait upon (my
lord and lover) remains impossible._]
Sodé furaba
Mi mo kawashitsu-béku
Chika-kerédo,
Wataru subé nashi,
Aki nishi aranéba.
[_Though she is so near that the waving of her (long) sleeves
can be distinctly seen, yet there is no way to cross the
stream before the season of autumn._]
Kagéroï no
Honoka ni miété
Wakarénaba;--
Motonaya koïn
Aü-toki madé wa!
[_When we were separated, I had seen her for a moment
only,--and dimly as one sees a flying midge;[10] now I
must vainly long for her as before, until time of our next
meeting!_]
Hikoboshi no
Tsuma mukaë-buné
Kogizurashi,--
Ama-no-Kawara ni
Kiri no tatéru wa.
[Footnote 10: _Kagéroï_ is an obsolete form of _kagér[=o]_, meaning an
ephemera.]
[_Methinks that Hikoboshi must be rowing his boat to meet his
wife,--for a mist (as of oar-spray) is rising over the course
of the Heavenly Stream._]
Kasumi tatsu
Ama-no-Kawara ni,
Kimi matsu to,--
Ikay[=o] hodo ni
Mono-suso nurenu.
[_While awaiting my lord on the misty shore of the River of
Heaven, the skirts of my robe have somehow become wet._]
Amanogawa,
Mi-tsu no nami oto
Sawagu-nari:
Waga matsu-kimi no
Funadé-surashi mo.
[_On the River of Heaven, at the place of the august
ferry, the sound of the water has become loud: perhaps my
long-awaited lord will soon be coming in his boat._]
Tanabata no
Sodé maku yoï no
Akatoki wa,
Kawasé no tazu wa
Nakazu to mo yoshi.
[_As Tanabata (slumbers) with her long sleeves rolled up,
until the reddening of the dawn, do not, O storks of the
river-shallows, awaken her by your cries._[11]]
[Footnote 11: Lit., "not to cry out (will be) good"--but a literal
translation of the poem is scarcely possible.]
Amanogawa
Kiri-tachi-wataru:
Ky[=o], ky[=o], to--
Waga matsu-koïshi
Funadé-surashi!
[_(She sees that) a mist is spreading across the River of
Heaven.... "To-day, to-day," she thinks, "my long-awaited lord
will probably come over in his boat."_]
Amanogawa,
Yasu no watari ni,
Funé ukété;--
Waga tachi-matsu to
Imo ni tsugé koso.
[_By the ferry of Yasu, on the River of Heaven, the boat is
floating: I pray you tell my younger sister[12] that I stand
here and wait._]
[Footnote 12: That is to say, "wife." In archaic Japanese the word
_imo_ signified both "wife" and "younger sister." The term might also
be rendered "darling" or "beloved."]
[=O]-sora yo
Kay[=o] waré sura,
Na ga yué ni,
Amanokawa-ji no
Nazumité zo koshi.
[_Though I (being a Star-god) can pass freely to and fro,
through the great sky,--yet to cross over the River of Heaven,
for your sake, was weary work indeed!_]
Yachihoko no
Kami no mi-yo yori
Tomoshi-zuma;--
Hito-shiri ni keri
Tsugitéshi omoëba.
[_From the august Age of the
God-of-Eight-Thousand-Spears_,[13] _she had been my spouse in
secret_[14] _only; yet now, because of my constant longing for
her, our relation has become known to men._]
[Footnote 13: Yachihoko-no-Kami, who has many other names, is
the Great God of Izumo, and is commonly known by his appellation
Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami, or the "Deity-Master-of-the Great-Land." He
is locally worshiped also as the god of marriage,--for which reason,
perhaps, the poet thus refers to him.]
[Footnote 14: Or, "my seldom-visited spouse." The word _tsuma_
(_zuma_), in ancient Japanese, signified either wife or husband; and
this poem might be rendered so as to express either the wife's or the
husband's thoughts.]
Amé tsuchi to
Wakaréshi toki yo
Onoga tsuma;
Shika zo té ni aru
Aki matsu aré wa.
[_From the time when heaven and earth were parted, she has
been my own wife;--yet, to be with her, I must always wait
till autumn._[15]]
[Footnote 15: By the ancient calendar, the seventh day of the seventh
month would fall in the autumn season.]
Waga k[=o]ru
Niho no omo wa
Koyoï mo ka
Ama-no-kawara ni
Ishi-makura makan.
[_With my beloved, of the ruddy-tinted cheeks_,[16] _this
night indeed will I descend into the bed of the River of
Heaven, to sleep on a pillow of stone._]
[Footnote 16: The literal meaning is "_béni_-tinted face,"--that is to
say, a face of which the cheeks and lips have been tinted with _béni_,
a kind of rouge.]
Amanogawa.
Mikomori-gusa no
Aki-kazé ni
Nabikafu miréba,
Toki kitarurashi.
[_When I see the water-grasses of the River of Heaven bend
in the autumn wind (I think to myself): "The time (for our
meeting) seems to have come."_]
Waga séko ni
Ura-koi oréba,
Amanogawa
Yo-funé kogi-toyomu
Kaji no 'to kikoyu.
[_When I feel in my heart a sudden longing for my
husband_,[17] _then on the River of Heaven the sound of the
rowing of the night-boat is heard, and the plash of the oar
resounds._]
[Footnote 17: In ancient Japanese the word _séko_ signified either
husband or elder brother. The beginning of the poem might also be
rendered thus:--"When I feel a secret longing for my husband," etc.]
T[=o]-zuma to
Tamakura kawashi
Nétaru yo wa,
Tori-gané na naki
Akéba aku to mo!
[_In the night when I am reposing with my (now) far-away
spouse, having exchanged jewel-pillows_[18] _with her, let not
the cock crow, even though the day should dawn._]
[Footnote 18: "To exchange jewel-pillows" signifies to use each
other's arms for pillows. This poetical phrase is often used in
the earliest Japanese literature. The word for jewel, _tama_, often
appears in compounds as an equivalent of "precious," "dear," etc.]
Yorozu-yo ni
Tazusawari ité
Ai mi-domo,
Omoi-sugu-béki
Koi naranaku ni.
[_Though for a myriad ages we should remain hand-in-hand and
face to face, our exceeding love could never come to an end.
(Why then should Heaven deem it necessary to part us?)_]
Waga tamé to,
Tanabata-tsumé no,
Sono yado ni,
Oreru shirotai
Nuït ken kamo?
[_The white cloth which Tanabata has woven for my sake, in
that dwelling of hers, is now, I think, being made into a robe
for me._]
Shirakumo no
I-ho é kakurité
T[=o]-kédomo,
Yoï-sarazu min
Imo ga atari wa.
[_Though she be far-away, and hidden from me by five hundred
layers of white cloud, still shall I turn my gaze each night
toward the dwelling-place of my younger sister (wife)._]
Aki saréba
Kawagiri tatéru
Amanogawa,
Kawa ni muki-ité
Kru[19] yo zo [=o]ki!
[Footnote 19: For _kofuru_.]
[_When autumn comes, and the river-mists spread over the
Heavenly Stream, I turn toward the river, (and long); and the
nights of my longing are many!_]
Hito-tosé ni
Nanuka no yo nomi
Aü-hito no--
Koï mo tsuki-néba
Sayo zo aké ni keru!
[_But once in the whole year, and only upon the seventh night
(of the seventh month), to meet the beloved person--and
lo! The day has dawned before our mutual love could express
itself!_[20]]
[Footnote 20: Or "satisfy itself." A literal rendering is difficult.]
Toshi no koï
Koyoï tsukushíté,
Asu yori wa,
Tsuné no gotoku ya
Waga koï oran.
[_The love-longing of one whole year having ended to-night,
every day from to-morrow I must again pine for him as
before!_]
Hikoboshi to
Tanabata-tsumé to
Koyoï aü;--
Ama-no-Kawa to ni
Nami tatsu-na yumé!
[_Hikoboshi and Tanabata-tsumé are to meet each other
to-night;--ye waves of the River of Heaven, take heed that ye
do not rise!_]
Aki-kazé no
Fuki tadayowasu
Shirakumo wa,
Tanabata-tsumé no
Amatsu hiré kamo?
[_Oh! that white cloud driven by the autumn-wind--can it be
the heavenly hiré[21] of Tana-bata-tsumé?_]
[Footnote 21: At different times, in the history of Japanese female
costume, different articles of dress were called by this name. In the
present instance, the _hiré_ referred to was probably a white scarf,
worn about the neck and carried over the shoulders to the breast,
where its ends were either allowed to hang loose, or were tied into
an ornamental knot. The _hiré_ was often used to make signals with,
much as handkerchiefs are waved to-day for the same purpose;--and the
question uttered in the poem seems to signify: "Can that be Tanabata
waving her scarf--to call me?" In very early times, the ordinary
costumes worn were white.]
Shiba-shiba mo
Ai minu kimi wo,
Amanogawa
Funa-dé haya séyo
Yo no fukénu ma ni.
[_Because he is my not-often-to-be-met beloved, hasten to
row the boat across the River of Heaven ere the night be
advanced._]
Amanogawa
Kiri tachi-watari
Hikoboshi no
Kaji no 'to kikoyu
Yo no fuké-yukéba.
[_Late in the night, a mist spreads over_] _the River of
Heaven; and the sound of the oar[22] of Hikoboshi is heard._]
[Footnote 22: Or, "the creaking of the oar." (The word _kaji_ to-day
means "helm";--the single oar, or scull, working upon a pivot, and
serving at once for rudder and oar, being now called _ro_.) The mist
passing across the Amanogawa is, according to commentators, the spray
from the Star-god's oar.]
Amanogawa
Kawa 'to sayakéshi:
Hikoboshi no
Haya kogu funé no
Nami no sawagi ka?
[_On the River of Heaven a sound of plashing can be distinctly
heard: is it the sound of the rippling made by Hikoboshi
quickly rowing his boat?_]
Kono y[=u]bé,
Furikuru amé wa,
Hikoboshi no
Haya kogu funé no
Kaï no chiri ka mo.
[_Perhaps this evening shower is but the spray (flung down)
from the oar of Hikoboshi, rowing his boat in haste._]
Waga tama-doko wo
Asu yori wa
Uchi haraï,
Kimi to inézuté
Hitori ka mo nen!
[_From to-morrow, alas! after having put my jewel-bed in
order, no longer reposing with my lord, I must sleep alone!_]
Kazé fukité,
Kawa-nami tachinu;--
Hiki-funé ni
Watari mo kimasé
Yo no fukénu ma ni.
[_The wind having risen, the waves of the river have become
high;--this night cross over in a towboat,[23] I pray thee,
before the hour be late!_]
[Footnote 23: Lit. "pull-boat" (_hiki-funé_),--a barge or boat pulled
by a rope.]
Amanogawa
Nami wa tatsutomo,
Waga funé wa
Iza kogi iden
Yo no fukénu ma ni.
[_Even though the waves of the River of_ _Heaven run high, I
must row over quickly, before it becomes late in the night._]
Inishié ni
Oritéshi hata wo;
Kono y[=u]bé
Koromo ni nuïté--
Kimi matsu aré wo!
[_Long ago I finished weaving the material; and, this evening,
having finished sewing the garment for him--(why must) I still
wait for my lord?_]
Amanogawa
Sé wo hayami ka mo?
Nubatama no
Yo wa fuké ni tsutsu,
Awanu Hikoboshi!
[_Is it that the current of the River of_ _Heaven (has become too)
rapid? The jet-black night[24] advances--and Hikoboshi has not come!_]
[Footnote 24: _Nubatama no yo_ might better be rendered by some such
phrase as "the berry-black night,"--but the intended effect would be
thus lost in translation. _Nubatama-no_ (a "pillow-word") is written
with characters signifying "like the black fruits of _Karasu-[=O]gi_;"
and the ancient phrase "_nubatama no yo_" therefore may be said
to have the same meaning as our expressions "jet-black night," or
"pitch-dark night."]
Watashi-mori,
Funé haya watasé;--
Hito-tosé ni
Futatabi kay[=o]
Kimi naranaku ni!
[_Oh, ferryman, make speed across the stream!--my lord is not
one who can come and go twice in a year!_]
Aki kazé no
Fukinishi hi yori,
Amanogawa
Kawasé ni dédachi;--
Matsu to tsugé koso!
[_On the very day that the autumn-wind began to blow, I set
out for the shallows of the River of Heaven;--I pray you, tell
my lord that I am waiting here still!_]
Tanabata no
Funanori surashi,--
Maso-kagami,
Kiyoki tsuki-yo ni
Kumo tachi-wataru.
[_Methinks Tanabata must be coming in her boat; for a cloud is
even now passing across the clear face of the moon._[25]]
[Footnote 25: Composed by the famous poet [=O]tomo no Sukuné
Yakamochi, while gazing at the Milky Way, on the seventh night of
the seventh month of the tenth year of Tampy[=o] (A.D. 738). The
pillow-word in the third line (_maso-kagami_) is untranslatable.]
--And yet it has been gravely asserted that the old Japanese poets
could find no beauty in starry skies!...
Perhaps the legend of Tanabata, as it was understood by those old
poets, can make but a faint appeal to Western minds. Nevertheless,
in the silence of transparent nights, before the rising of the moon,
the charm of the ancient tale sometimes descends upon me, out of the
scintillant sky,--to make me forget the monstrous facts of science,
and the stupendous horror of Space. Then I no longer behold the Milky
Way as that awful Ring of the Cosmos, whose hundred million suns are
powerless to lighten the Abyss, but as the very Amanogawa itself,--the
River Celestial. I see the thrill of its shining stream, and the mists
that hover along its verge, and the water-grasses that bend in the
winds of autumn. White Orihimé I see at her starry loom, and the Ox
that grazes on the farther shore;--and I know that the falling dew is
the spray from the Herdsman's oar. And the heaven seems very near and
warm and human; and the silence about me is filled with the dream of
a love unchanging, immortal,--forever yearning and forever young, and
forever left unsatisfied by the paternal wisdom of the gods.