FARCE (KYOGEN) 253-257
SHORT BIBLIOGRAPHY 258-259
APPENDICES 260-268
ILLUSTRATIONS
YOUNG WOMAN’S MASK _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
YOUNG MAN’S MASK 70
DEMON MASK 152
THE ANGEL IN _HAGOROMO_ 176
IZUTSU 216
THE DRAGON LADY IN _AMA_ 234
YŪYA READING THE LETTER 238
YAMAUBA (THE LADY OF THE MOUNTAINS) 244
[Illustration: KEY TO PLAN I
THEATRE SET UP IN THE RIVER-BED AT KYŌTO IN 1464; ONAMI’S TROUPE
ACTED ON IT FOR THREE DAYS “WITH IMMENSE SUCCESS.”
A The Shōgun.
B His attendants.
C His litter.
D His wife.
E Her ladies.
F Her litter.
G Auditorium.
H Stage.
I Musicians.
J _Hashigakari._
K _Gakuya_, served as actors’ dressing-room and musicians’ room.
]
[Illustration]
[Illustration: KEY TO PLAN II
MODERN STAGE
A The Stage.
B The _shite’s_ Pillar.
C _Shite’s_ seat, also called “Name-saying seat.”
D _Metsuke-bashira_, Pillar on which the actor fixes his eye.
E _Sumi_, the corner.
F _Waki’s_ Pillar, also called the Prime Minister’s Pillar.
G _Waki’s_ seat.
H _Waki’s_ direction-point. (The point he faces when in his normal
position.)
I Flute-player’s Pillar.
J _Atoza_, the Behind-space.
K _Kagami-ita_, the back-wall with the pine-tree painted on it.
L The musicians. (Represented by the four small circles.)
M The stage-attendant’s place. (A stage-hand in plain clothes who
fetches and carries.)
N _Kirido_, “Hurry-door,” also called “Forgetting-door” and
“Stomach-ache-door”; used by the chorus and occasionally by actors
making a hurried exit. _Vide_ _Hōkazō_, p. 205.
O Chorus, the leader sits near P.
P The Nobles’ door (now seldom used).
Q The _Hashigakari_.
R The _kyōgen’s seat_.
S The three pine-branches.
T _Shirasu_, a gravel-path.
U _Kizahashi_, steps from stage to auditorium, formerly used by an
actor summoned to speak with the Shōgun.
V Actors’ dressing-room.
W Curtain between Q and V.
X Dressing-room window.
Y Musicians’ room.]
[Illustration]
INTRODUCTION
The theatre of the West is the last stronghold of realism. No one
treats painting or music as mere transcripts of life. But even pioneers
of stage-reform in France and Germany appear to regard the theatre as
belonging to life and not to art. The play is an organized piece of
human experience which the audience must as far as possible be allowed
to share with the actors.
A few people in America and Europe want to go in the opposite
direction. They would like to see a theatre that aimed boldly at
stylization and simplification, discarding entirely the pretentious
lumber of 19th century stageland. That such a theatre exists and has
long existed in Japan has been well-known here for some time. But
hitherto very few plays have been translated in such a way as to give
the Western reader an idea of their literary value. It is only through
accurate scholarship that the “soul of Nō” can be known to the West.
Given a truthful rendering of the texts the American reader will supply
for himself their numerous connotations, a fact which Japanese writers
do not always sufficiently realize. The Japanese method of expanding a
five-line poem into a long treatise in order to make it intelligible to
us is one which obliterates the structure of the original design. Where
explanations are necessary they have been given in footnotes. I have
not thought it necessary to point out (as a Japanese critic suggested
that I ought to have done) that, for example, the “mood” of _Komachi_
is different from the “mood” of _Kumasaka_. Such differences will be
fully apparent to the American reader, who would not be the better off
for knowing the technical name of each _kurai_ or class of Nō. Surely
the Japanese student of Shakespeare does not need to be told that the
_kurai_ of “Hamlet” is different from that of “Measure for Measure”?
It would be possible to burden a book of this kind with as great a mass
of unnecessary technicality as irritates us in a smart sale-catalogue
of Japanese Prints. I have avoided such terms to a considerable extent,
treating the plays as literature, not as some kind of Delphic mystery.
In this short introduction I shall not have space to give a complete
description of modern Nō, nor a full history of its origins. But the
reader of the translations will find that he needs some information
on these points. I have tried to supply it as concisely as possible,
sometimes in a schematic rather than a literary form.
These are some of the points about which an American reader may wish to
know more:
(1) THE NŌ STAGE.
Something of its modern form may be seen from Plate II and from the
plans on pp. 10-13. The actual stage (A) is about 18 feet square. On
the boards of the back wall is painted a pine-tree; the other sides
are open. A gallery (called _hashigakari_) leads to the green-room,
from which it is separated by a curtain which is raised to admit the
actor when he makes his entry. The audience sit either on two or three
sides of the stage. The chorus, generally in two rows, sit (or rather
squat) in the recess (O). The musicians sit in the recess (J) at the
back of the stage, the stick-drum nearest the “gallery,” then the two
hand-drums and the flute. A railing runs round the musician’s recess,
as also along the gallery. To the latter railing are attached three
real pine-branches, marked S in the plan. They will be seen in Plate
II. The stage is covered by a roof of its own, imitating in form the
roof of a Shintō temple.
(2) THE PERFORMERS.
(_a_) _The Actors._
The first actor who comes on to the stage (approaching from the
gallery) is the _waki_ or assistant. His primary business is to explain
the circumstances under which the principal actor (called _shite_ or
“doer”) came to dance the central dance of the play. Each of these main
actors (_waki_ and _shite_) has “adjuncts” or “companions.”
Some plays need only the two main actors. Others use as many as ten or
even twelve. The female rôles are of course taken by men. The _waki_ is
always a male rôle.
(_b_) _The Chorus._
This consists of from eight to twelve persons in ordinary native dress
seated in two rows at the side of the stage. Their sole function is to
sing an actor’s words for him when his dance-movements prevent him
from singing comfortably. They enter by a side-door before the play
begins and remain seated till it is over.
(_c_) _The Musicians._
Nearest to the gallery sits the “big-drum,” whose instrument rests on
the ground and is played with a stick. This stick-drum is not used in
all plays.
Next comes a hand-drummer who plays with thimbled finger; next a second
who plays with the bare hand.
Finally, the flute. It intervenes only at stated intervals,
particularly at the beginning, climax and end of plays.
COSTUME.
Though almost wholly banishing other extrinsic aids, the Nō relies
enormously for its effects on gorgeous and elaborate costume. Some
references to this will be found in Oswald Sickert’s letters at the end
of my book.
Masks are worn only by the _shite_ (principal actor) and his
subordinates. The _shite_ always wears a mask if playing the part of a
woman or very old man. Young men, particularly warriors, are usually
unmasked. In child-parts (played by boy-actors) masks are not worn. The
reproduction of a female mask will be found on Plate I. The masks are
of wood. Many of those still in use are of great antiquity and rank as
important specimens of Japanese sculpture.
PROPERTIES.
The properties of the Nō stage are of a highly conventionalized kind.
An open frame-work represents a boat; another differing little from it
denotes a chariot. Palace, house, cottage, hovel are all represented
by four posts covered with a roof. The fan which the actor usually
carries often does duty as a knife, brush or the like. Weapons are more
realistically represented. The short-sword, belt-sword, pike, spear and
Chinese broad-sword are carried; also bows and arrows.
DANCING AND ACTING.
Every Nō play (with, I think, the sole exception of _Hachi no Ki_,
translated on p. 100) includes a _mai_ or dance, consisting usually
of slow steps and solemn gestures, often bearing little resemblance
to what is in America associated with the word “dance.” When the
_shite_ dances, his dance consists of five “movements” or parts; a
“subordinate’s” dance consists of three. Both in the actors’ miming and
in the dancing an important element is the stamping of beats with the
shoeless foot.
THE PLAYS.
The plays are written partly in prose, partly in verse. The prose
portions serve much the same purpose as the iambics in a Greek play.
They are in the Court or upper-class colloquial of the 14th century, a
language not wholly dead to-day, as it is still the language in which
people write formal letters.
The chanting of these portions is far removed from singing; yet they
are not “spoken.” The voice falls at the end of each sentence in a
monotonous cadence.
A prose passage often gradually heightens into verse. The chanting,
which has hitherto resembled the intoning of a Roman Catholic priest,
takes on more of the character of “recitativo” in opera, occasionally
attaining to actual song. The verse of these portions is sometimes
irregular, but on the whole tends to an alternation of lines of five
and seven syllables.
The verse of the lyric portions is marked by frequent use of
pivot-words[1] and puns, particularly puns on place-names. The 14th
century Nō-writer, Seami, insists that pivot-words should be used
sparingly and with discretion. Many Nō-writers did not follow this
advice; but the use of pivot-words is not in itself a decoration more
artificial than rhyme, and I cannot agree with those European writers
to whom this device appears puerile and degraded. Each language must
use such embellishments as suit its genius.
Another characteristic of the texts is the use of earlier literary
material. Many of the plays were adapted from dance-ballads already
existing and even new plays made use of such poems as were associated
in the minds of the audience with the places or persons named in the
play. Often a play is written round a poem or series of poems, as will
be seen in the course of this book.
This use of existing material exceeds the practice of Western
dramatists; but it must be remembered that if we were to read Webster,
for example, in editions annotated as minutely as the Nō-plays, we
should discover that he was far more addicted to borrowing than we
had been aware. It seems to me that in the finest plays this use of
existing material is made with magnificent effect and fully justifies
itself.
The reference which I have just made to dance-ballads brings us to
another question. What did the Nō-plays grow out of?
ORIGINS.
Nō as we have it to-day dates from about the middle of the 14th
century. It was a combination of many elements.
These were:
(1) Sarugaku, a masquerade which relieved the solemnity of Shintō
ceremonies. What we call Nō was at first called Sarugaku no Nō.
(2) Dengaku, at first a rustic exhibition of acrobatics and jugglery;
later, a kind of opera in which performers alternately danced and
recited.
(3) Various sorts of recitation, ballad-singing, etc.
(4) The Chinese dances practised at the Japanese Court.
Nō owes its present form to the genius of two men. Kwanami Kiyotsugu
(1333-1384 A. D.) and his son Seami Motokiyo (1363-1444 A.
D.).[2]
Kwanami was a priest of the Kasuga Temple near Nara. About 1375 the
Shōgun Yoshimitsu saw him performing in a Sarugaku no Nō at the New
Temple (one of the three great temples of Kumano) and immediately took
him under his protection.
This Yoshimitsu had become ruler of Japan in 1367 at the age of ten.
His family had seized the Shōgunate in 1338 and wielded absolute power
at Kyōto, while two rival Mikados, one in the north and one in the
south, held impotent and dwindling courts.
The young Shōgun distinguished himself by patronage of art and letters;
and by his devotion to the religion of the Zen Sect.[3] It is probable
that when he first saw Kwanami he also became acquainted with the son
Seami, then a boy of twelve.
A diary of the period has the following entry for the 7th day of the
6th month, 1368:
For some while Yoshimitsu has been making a favourite of a
Sarugaku-boy from Yamato, sharing the same meat and eating from the
same vessels. These Sarugaku people are mere mendicants, but he
treats them as if they were Privy Counsellors.
From this friendship sprang the art of Nō as it exists to-day. Of Seami
we know far more than of his father Kwanami. For Seami left behind him
a considerable number of treatises and autobiographical fragments.[4]
These were not published till 1908 and have not yet been properly
edited. They establish, among other things, the fact that Seami wrote
both words and music for most of the plays in which he performed. It
had before been supposed that the texts were supplied by the Zen[5]
priests. For other information brought to light by the discovery of
Seami’s _Works_ see Appendix II.
YŪGEN
It is obvious that Seami was deeply imbued with the teachings of
Zen, in which cult his patron Yoshimitsu may have been his master.
The difficult term _yūgen_ which occurs constantly in the _Works_ is
derived from Zen literature. It means “what lies beneath the surface”;
the subtle as opposed to the obvious; the hint, as opposed to the
statement. It is applied to the natural grace of a boy’s movements,
to the restraint of a nobleman’s speech and bearing. “When notes fall
sweetly and flutter delicately to the ear,” that is the _yūgen_ of
music. The symbol of _yūgen_ is “a white bird with a flower in its
beak.” “To watch the sun sink behind a flower-clad hill, to wander on
and on in a huge forest with no thought of return, to stand upon the
shore and gaze after a boat that goes hid by far-off islands, to ponder
on the journey of wild-geese seen and lost among the clouds”--such are
the gates to _yūgen_.
I will give a few specimens of Seami’s advice to his pupils:
PATRONS
The actor should not stare straight into the faces of the audience, but
look between them. When he looks in the direction of the Daimyōs he
must not let his eyes meet theirs, but must slightly avert his gaze.
At Palace-performances or when acting at a banquet, he must not let
his eyes meet those of the Shōgun or stare straight into the Honourable
Face. When playing in a large enclosure he must take care to keep
as close as possible to the side where the Nobles are sitting; if
in a small enclosure, as far off as possible. But particularly in
Palace-performances and the like he must take the greatest pains to
keep as far away as he possibly can from the August Presence.
Again, when the recitations are given at the Palace it is equally
essential to begin at the right moment. It is bad to begin too soon and
fatal to delay too long.
It sometimes happens that the “noble gentlemen” do not arrive at the
theatre until the play has already reached its Development and Climax.
In such cases the play is at its climax, but the noble gentlemen’s
hearts are ripe only for Introduction. If they, ready only for
Introduction, are forced to witness a Climax, they are not likely
to get pleasure from it. Finally even the spectators who were there
before, awed by the entry of the “exalted ones,” become so quiet
that you would not know they were there, so that the whole audience
ends by returning to the Introductory mood. At such a moment the Nō
cannot possibly be a success. In such circumstances it is best to take
Development-Nō and give it a slightly “introductory” turn. Then, if it
is played gently, it may win the August Attention.
It also happens that one is suddenly sent for to perform at a Shōgunal
feast or the like. The audience is already in a “climax-mood”; but
“introductory” Nō must be played. This is a great difficulty. In
such circumstances the best plan is to tinge the introduction with a
_nuance_ of “development.” But this must be done without “stickiness,”
with the lightest possible touch, and the transition to the real
Development and Climax must be made as quickly as possible.
In old times there were masters who perfected themselves in Nō without
study. But nowadays the nobles and gentlemen have become so critical
that they will only look with approbation on what is good and will not
give attention to anything bad.
Their honourable eyes have become so keen that they notice the least
defect, so that even a masterpiece that is as pearls many times
polished or flowers choicely culled will not win the applause of our
gentlemen to-day.
At the same time, good actors are becoming few and the Art is
gradually sinking towards its decline. For this reason, if very
strenuous study is not made, it is bound to disappear altogether.
When summoned to play before the noble gentlemen, we are expected to
give the regular “words of good-wish” and to divide our performance
into the three parts, Introduction, Development and Climax, so that the
pre-arranged order cannot be varied.... But on less formal occasions,
when, for example, one is playing not at a Shōgunal banquet but on a
common, everyday (_yo no tsune_) stage, it is obviously unnecessary to
limit oneself to the set forms of “happy wish.”
One’s style should be easy and full of graceful _yūgen_, and the
piece[6] selected should be suitable to the audience. A ballad
(_ko-utai_) or dance-song (_kuse-mai_) of the day will be best. One
should have in one’s repertory a stock of such pieces and be ready to
vary them according to the character of one’s audience.
In the words and gestures (of a farce, kyōgen) there should be nothing
low. The jokes and repartee should be such as suit the august ears of
the nobles and gentry. On no account must vulgar words or gestures be
introduced, however funny they may be. This advice must be carefully
observed.
Introduction, Development and Climax must also be strictly adhered
to when _dancing_ at the Palace. If the chanting proceeds from an
“introductory-mood,” the dancing must belong to the same mood.... When
one is suddenly summoned to perform at a riotous banquet, one must take
into consideration the state of the noble gentlemen’s spirits.
IMITATION (Monomane).
In imitation there should be a tinge of the “unlike.” For if imitation
be pressed too far it impinges on reality and ceases to give an
impression of likeness. If one aims only at the beautiful, the “flower”
is sure to appear. For example, in acting the part of an old man, the
master actor tries to reproduce in his dance only the refinement and
venerability of an old gentleman.[7] If the actor is old himself, he
need not think about producing an impression of old age....
The appearance of old age will often be best given by making all
movements a little late, so that they come just after the musical beat.
If the actor bears this in mind, he may be as lively and energetic as
he pleases. For in old age the limbs are heavy and the ears slow; there
is the will to move but not the corresponding capacity.
It is in such methods as this that true imitation lies.... Youthful
movements made by an old person are, indeed, delightful; they are like
flowers blossoming on an old tree.
If, because the actor has noticed that old men walk with bent
knees and back and have shrunken frames, he simply imitates these
characteristics, he may achieve an appearance of decrepitude, but it
will be at the expense of the “flower.” And if the “flower” be lacking
there will be no beauty in his impersonation.
Women should be impersonated by a young actor.... It is very difficult
to play the part of a Princess or lady-in-waiting, for little
opportunity presents itself of studying their august behaviour and
appearance. Great pains must be taken to see that robes and cloaks are
worn in the correct way. These things do not depend on the actor’s
fancy but must be carefully ascertained.
The appearance of ordinary ladies such as one is used to see about one
is easy to imitate.... In acting the part of a dancing-girl, mad-woman
or the like, whether he carry the fan or some fancy thing (a flowering
branch, for instance) the actor must carry it loosely; his skirts
must trail low so as to hide his feet; his knees and back must not be
bent, his body must be poised gracefully. As regards the way he holds
himself--if he bends back, it looks bad when he faces the audience; if
he stoops, it looks bad from behind. But he will not look like a woman
if he holds his head too stiffly. His sleeves should be as long as
possible, so that he never shows his fingers.
APPARITIONS
Here the outward form is that of a ghost; but within is the heart of a
man.
Such plays are generally in two parts. The beginning, in two or three
sections, should be as short as possible. In the second half the
_shite_ (who has hitherto appeared to be a man) becomes definitely the
ghost of a dead person.
Since no one has ever seen a real ghost[8] from the Nether Regions, the
actor may use his fancy, aiming only at the beautiful. To represent
real life is far more difficult.
If ghosts are terrifying, they cease to be beautiful. For the
terrifying and the beautiful are as far apart as black and white.
CHILD PLAYS
In plays where a lost child is found by its parents, the writer should
not introduce a scene where they clutch and cling to one another,
sobbing and weeping....
Plays in which child-characters occur, even if well done, are always
apt to make the audience exclaim in disgust, “Don’t harrow our feelings
in this way!”
RESTRAINT
In representing anger the actor should yet retain some gentleness in
his mood, else he will portray not anger but violence.
In representing the mysterious (_yūgen_) he must not forget the
principle of energy.
When the body is in violent action, the hands and feet must move as
though by stealth. When the feet are in lively motion, the body must be
held in quietness. Such things cannot be explained in writing but must
be shown to the actor by actual demonstration.
* * * * *
It is above all in “architecture,” in the relation of parts to the
whole, that these poems are supreme.[9] The early writers created a
“form” or general pattern which the weakest writing cannot wholly rob
of its beauty. The plays are like those carved lamp-bearing angels
in the churches at Seville; a type of such beauty was created by a
sculptor of the sixteenth century that even the most degraded modern
descendant of these masterpieces retains a certain distinction of form.
First comes the _jidai_ or opening-couplet, enigmatic, abrupt. Then in
contrast to this vague shadow come the hard outlines of the _waki’s_
exposition, the formal naming of himself, his origin and destination.
Then, shadowy again, the “song of travel,” in which picture after
picture dissolves almost before it is seen.
But all this has been mere introduction--the imagination has been
quickened, the attention grasped in preparation for one thing only--the
hero’s entry. In the “first chant,” in the dialogue which follows, in
the successive dances and climax, this absolute mastery of construction
is what has most struck me in reading the plays.
Again, Nō does not make a frontal attack on the emotions. It creeps at
the subject warily. For the action, in the commonest class of play,
does not take place before our eyes, but is lived through again in
mimic and recital by the ghost of one of the participants in it. Thus
we get no possibility of crude realities; a vision of life indeed, but
painted with the colours of memory, longing or regret.
In a paper read before the Japan Society in 1919 I tried to illustrate
this point by showing, perhaps in too fragmentary and disjointed a
manner, how the theme of Webster’s “Duchess of Malfi” would have been
treated by a Nō writer. I said then (and the Society kindly allows me
to repeat those remarks):
The plot of the play is thus summarized by Rupert Brooke in his “John
Webster and the Elizabethan Drama”: “The Duchess of Malfi is a young
widow forbidden by her brothers, Ferdinand and the Cardinal, to marry
again. They put a creature of theirs, Bosola, into her service as a
spy. The Duchess loves and marries Antonio, her steward, and has three
children. Bosola ultimately discovers and reports this. Antonio and the
Duchess have to fly. The Duchess is captured, imprisoned and mentally
tortured and put to death. Ferdinand goes mad. In the last Act he, the
Cardinal, Antonio and Bosola are all killed with various confusions and
in various horror.”
Just as Webster took his themes from previous works (in this case from
Painter’s “Palace of Pleasure”), so the Nō plays took theirs from the
Romances or “Monogatari.” Let us reconstruct the “Duchess” as a Nō
play, using Webster’s text as our “Monogatari.”
Great simplification is necessary, for the Nō play corresponds
in length to one act of our five-act plays, and has no space for
divagations. The comic is altogether excluded, being reserved for the
_kyōgen_ or farces which are played as interludes between the Nō.
The persons need not be more than two--the Pilgrim, who will act the
part of _waki_, and the Duchess, who will be _shite_ or Protagonist.
The chorus takes no part in the action, but speaks for the _shite_
while she is miming the more engrossing parts of her rôle.
The Pilgrim comes on to the stage and first pronounces in his _Jidai_
or preliminary couplet, some Buddhist aphorism appropriate to the
subject of the play. He then names himself to the audience thus (in
prose):
“I am a pilgrim from Rome. I have visited all the other shrines of
Italy, but have never been to Loretto. I will journey once to the
shrine of Loretto.”
Then follows (in verse) the “Song of Travel” in which the Pilgrim
describes the scenes through which he passes on his way to the shrine.
While he is kneeling at the shrine, _Shite_ (the Protagonist) comes on
to the stage. She is a young woman dressed, “contrary to the Italian
fashion,” in a loose-bodied gown. She carries in her hand an unripe
apricot. She calls to the Pilgrim and engages him in conversation. He
asks her if it were not at this shrine that the Duchess of Malfi took
refuge. The young woman answers with a kind of eager exaltation, her
words gradually rising from prose to poetry. She tells the story of
the Duchess’s flight, adding certain intimate touches which force the
priest to ask abruptly, “Who is it that is speaking to me?”
And the girl shuddering (for it is hateful to a ghost to name itself)
answers: “_Hazukashi ya!_ I am the soul of the Duke Ferdinand’s sister,
she that was once called Duchess of Malfi. Love still ties my soul to
the earth. _Toburai tabi-tamaye!_ Pray for me, oh, pray for my release!”
Here closes the first part of the play. In the second the young ghost,
her memory quickened by the Pilgrim’s prayers (and this is part of the
medicine of salvation), endures again the memory of her final hours.
She mimes the action of kissing the hand (_vide_ Act IV, Scene 1),
finds it very cold:
I fear you are not well after your travel.
Oh! horrible!
What witchcraft does he practise, that he hath left
A dead man’s hand here?
And each successive scene of the torture is so vividly mimed that
though it exists only in the Protagonist’s brain, it is as real to the
audience as if the figure of dead Antonio lay propped upon the stage,
or as if the madmen were actually leaping and screaming before them.
Finally she acts the scene of her own execution:
Heaven-gates are not so highly arched
As princes’ palaces; they that enter there
Must go upon their knees. (_She kneels._)
Come, violent death,
Serve for mandragora to make me sleep!
Go tell my brothers, when I am laid out,
They then may feed in quiet.
(_She sinks her head and folds her hands._)
The chorus, taking up the word “quiet,” chant a phrase from the
Hokkekyō: _Sangai Mu-an_, “In the Three Worlds there is no quietness or
rest.”
But the Pilgrim’s prayers have been answered. Her soul has broken its
bonds: is free to depart. The ghost recedes, grows dimmer and dimmer,
till at last
_use-ni-keri_
_use-ni-keri_
it vanishes from sight.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] For example in _yuku kata shira-yuki ni_ ... _shira_ does
duty twice, meaning both “unknown” and “white.” The meaning is
“whither-unknown amid the white snow.”
[2] These dates have only recently been established.
[3] See p. 32.
[4] Not to be confused with the forged book printed in 1600 and used by
Fenollosa.
[5] See note on Buddhism, p. 32.
[6] The piece to be used as an introduction. Modern performances are
not confined to full Nō. Sometimes actors in plain dress recite without
the aid of instrumental music, sitting in a row. Or one actor may
recite the piece, with music (this is called _Hayashi_); or the piece
may be mimed without music (this is called _Shimai_).
[7] An old shirōto, i. e. person not engaged in trade.
[8] This shows that, in Seami’s hands, the device of making an
apparition the hero of the play was simply a dramatic convention.
[9] This, too, is the only aspect of them that I can here discuss; no
other kind of criticism being possible without quotation of the actual
words used by the poet.
NOTE ON BUDDHISM
The Buddhism of the Nō plays is of the kind called the “Greater
Vehicle,” which prevails in China, Japan and Tibet. Primitive Buddhism
(the “Lesser Vehicle”), which survives in Ceylon and Burma, centres
round the person of Shākyamuni, the historical Buddha, and uses Pāli
as its sacred language. The “Greater Vehicle,” which came into being
about the same time as Christianity and sprang from the same religious
impulses, to a large extent replaces Shākyamuni by a timeless, ideal
Buddha named Amida, “Lord of Boundless Light,” perhaps originally a
sun-god, like Ormuzd of the Zoroastrians. Primitive Buddhism had taught
that the souls of the faithful are absorbed into Nirvāna, in other
words into Buddha. The “Greater Vehicle” promised to its adherents an
after-life in Amida’s Western Paradise. It produced scriptures in the
Sanskrit language, in which Shākyamuni himself describes this Western
Land and recommends the worship of Amida; it inculcated too the worship
of the Bodhisattvas, half-Buddhas, intermediaries between Buddha
and man. These Bodhisattvas are beings who, though fit to receive
Buddhahood, have of their own free will renounced it, that they may
better alleviate the miseries of mankind.
Chief among them is Kwannon, called in India Avalokiteshvara, who
appears in the world both in male and female form, but it is chiefly
thought of as a woman in China and Japan; Goddess of Mercy, to whom men
pray in war, storm, sickness or travail.
The doctrine of Karma and of the transmigration of souls was common
both to the earlier and later forms of Buddhism. Man is born to an
endless chain of re-incarnations, each one of which is, as it were, the
fruit of seed sown in that which precedes.
The only escape from this “Wheel of Life and Death” lies in _satori_,
“Enlightenment,” the realization that material phenomena are thoughts,
not facts.
Each of the four chief sects which existed in medieval Japan had its
own method of achieving this Enlightenment.
(1) The Amidists sought to gain _satori_ by the study of the _Hokke
Kyō_, called in Sanskrit _Saddharma Pundarika Sūtra_ or “Scripture
of the Lotus of the True Law,” or even by the mere repetition of its
complete title “Myōhō Renge Hokke Kyō.” Others of them maintained that
the repetition of the formula “Praise to Amida Buddha” (_Namu Amida
Butsu_) was in itself a sufficient means of salvation.
(2) Once when Shākyamuni was preaching before a great multitude, he
picked up a flower and twisted it in his fingers. The rest of his
hearers saw no significance in the act and made no response; but the
disciple Kāshyapa smiled.
In this brief moment a perception of transcendental truth had flashed
from Buddha’s mind to the mind of his disciple. Thus Kāshyapa became
the patriarch of the Zen Buddhists, who believe that Truth cannot be
communicated by speech or writing, but that it lies hidden in the heart
of each one of us and can be discovered by “Zen” or contemplative
introspection.
At first sight there would not appear to be any possibility of
reconciling the religion of the Zen Buddhists with that of the
Amidists. Yet many Zen masters strove to combine the two faiths,
teaching that Amida and his Western Paradise exist, not in time or
space, but mystically enshrined in men’s hearts.
Zen denied the existence of Good and Evil, and was sometimes regarded
as a dangerous sophistry by pious Buddhists of other sects, as, for
example, in the story of Shunkwan (see p. 229) and in _The Hōka
Priests_ (see p. 165), where the murderer’s interest in Zen doctrines
is, I think, definitely regarded as a discreditable weakness and is
represented as the cause of his undoing.
The only other play, among those I have here translated, which deals
much with Zen tenets, is _Sotoba Komachi_. Here the priests represent
the _Shingon Shū_ or Mystic Sect, while Komachi, as becomes a poetess,
defends the doctrines of Zen. For Zen was the religion of artists;
it had inspired the painters and poets of the Sung dynasty in China;
it was the religion of the great art-patrons who ruled Japan in the
fifteenth century.[10]
It was in the language of Zen that poetry and painting were discussed;
and it was in a style tinged with Zen that Seami wrote of his own art.
But the religion of the Nō plays is predominantly Amidist; it is the
common, average Buddhism of medieval Japan.
(3) I have said that the priests in _Sotoba Komachi_ represent the
Mystic Sect. The followers of this sect sought salvation by means of
charms and spells, corruptions of Sanskrit formulae. Their principal
Buddha was Dainichi, “The Great Sun.” To this sect belonged the
Yamabushi, mountain ascetics referred to in _Tanikō_ and other plays.
(4) Mention must be made of the fusion between Buddhism and Shintō.
The Tendai Sect which had its headquarters on Mount Hiyei preached an
eclectic doctrine which aimed at becoming the universal religion of
Japan. It combined the cults of native gods with a Buddhism tolerant
in dogma, but magnificent in outward pomp, with a leaning towards the
magical practices of Shingon.
The Little Saint of Yokawa in the play _Aoi no Uye_ is an example of
the Tendai ascetic, with his use of magical incantations.
_Hatsuyuki_ appeared in “Poetry,” Chicago, and is here reprinted with
the editor’s kind permission.
FOOTNOTE:
[10] See further my _Zen Buddhism & its relation to Art_. Luzac, 1922.
ATSUMORI, IKUTA, AND TSUNEMASA.
In the eleventh century two powerful clans, the Taira and the Minamoto,
contended for mastery. In 1181 Kiyomori the chief of the Tairas died,
and from that time their fortunes declined. In 1183 they were forced
to flee from Kyōto, carrying with them the infant Emperor. After many
hardships and wanderings they camped on the shores of Suma, where they
were protected by their fleet.
Early in 1184 the Minamotos attacked and utterly routed them at the
Battle of Ichi-no-Tani, near the woods of Ikuta. At this battle fell
Atsumori, the nephew of Kiyomori, and his brother Tsunemasa.
When Kumagai, who had slain Atsumori, bent over him to examine the
body, he found lying beside him a bamboo-flute wrapped in brocade. He
took the flute and gave it to his son.
The bay of Suma is associated in the mind of a Japanese reader not only
with this battle but also with the stories of Prince Genji and Prince
Yukihira.
(See p. 226.)
ATSUMORI
By SEAMI
PERSONS
_THE PRIEST RENSEI (formerly the warrior Kumagai)._
_A YOUNG REAPER, who turns out to be the ghost of Atsumori._
_HIS COMPANION._
_CHORUS._
PRIEST.
Life is a lying dream, he only wakes
Who casts the World aside.
I am Kumagai no Naozane, a man of the country of Musashi. I have left
my home and call myself the priest Rensei; this I have done because of
my grief at the death of Atsumori, who fell in battle by my hand. Hence
it comes that I am dressed in priestly guise.
And now I am going down to Ichi-no-Tani to pray for the salvation of
Atsumori’s soul.
(_He walks slowly across the stage, singing a song descriptive of
his journey._)
I have come so fast that here I am already at Ichi-no-Tani, in the
country of Tsu.
Truly the past returns to my mind as though it were a thing of to-day.
But listen! I hear the sound of a flute coming from a knoll of rising
ground. I will wait here till the flute-player passes, and ask him to
tell me the story of this place.
REAPERS (_together_).
To the music of the reaper’s flute
No song is sung
But the sighing of wind in the fields.
YOUNG REAPER.
They that were reaping,
Reaping on that hill,
Walk now through the fields
Homeward, for it is dusk.
REAPERS (_together_).
Short is the way that leads[11]
From the sea of Suma back to my home.
This little journey, up to the hill
And down to the shore again, and up to the hill,--
This is my life, and the sum of hateful tasks.
If one should ask me
I too[12] would answer
That on the shores of Suma
I live in sadness.
Yet if any guessed my name,
Then might I too have friends.
But now from my deep misery
Even those that were dearest
Are grown estranged. Here must I dwell abandoned
To one thought’s anguish:
That I must dwell here.
PRIEST.
Hey, you reapers! I have a question to ask you.
YOUNG REAPER.
Is it to us you are speaking? What do you wish to know?
PRIEST.
Was it one of you who was playing on the flute just now?
YOUNG REAPER.
Yes, it was we who were playing.
PRIEST.
It was a pleasant sound, and all the pleasanter because one does not
look for such music from men of your condition.
YOUNG REAPER.
Unlooked for from men of our condition, you say!
Have you not read:--
“Do not envy what is above you
Nor despise what is below you”?
Moreover the songs of woodmen and the flute-playing of herdsmen,
Flute-playing even of reapers and songs of wood-fellers
Through poets’ verses are known to all the world.
Wonder not to hear among us
The sound of a bamboo-flute.
PRIEST.
You are right. Indeed it is as you have told me.
Songs of woodmen and flute-playing of herdsmen ...
REAPER.
Flute-playing of reapers ...
PRIEST.
Songs of wood-fellers ...
REAPERS.
Guide us on our passage through this sad world.
PRIEST.
Song ...
REAPER.
And dance ...
PRIEST.
And the flute ...
REAPER.
And music of many instruments ...
CHORUS.
These are the pastimes that each chooses to his taste.
Of floating bamboo-wood
Many are the famous flutes that have been made;
Little-Branch and Cicada-Cage,
And as for the reaper’s flute,
Its name is Green-leaf;
On the shore of Sumiyoshi
The Corean flute they play.
And here on the shore of Suma
On Stick of the Salt-kilns
The fishers blow their tune.
PRIEST.
How strange it is! The other reapers have all gone home, but you alone
stay loitering here. How is that?
REAPER.
How is it, you ask? I am seeking for a prayer in the voice of the
evening waves. Perhaps you will pray the Ten Prayers for me?
PRIEST.
I can easily pray the Ten Prayers for you, if you will tell me who you
are.
REAPER.
To tell you the truth--I am one of the family of Lord Atsumori.
PRIEST.
One of Atsumori’s family? How glad I am!
Then the priest joined his hands (_he kneels down_) and prayed:--
NAMU AMIDABU.
Praise to Amida Buddha!
“If I attain to Buddhahood,
In the whole world and its ten spheres
Of all that dwell here none shall call on my name
And be rejected or cast aside.”
CHORUS.
“Oh, reject me not!
One cry suffices for salvation,
Yet day and night
Your prayers will rise for me.
Happy am I, for though you know not my name,
Yet for my soul’s deliverance
At dawn and dusk henceforward I know that you will pray.”
So he spoke. Then vanished and was seen no more.
(_Here follows the Interlude between the two Acts, in which
a recitation concerning Atsumori’s death takes place. These
interludes are subject to variation and are not considered part of
the literary text of the play._)
PRIEST.
Since this is so, I will perform all night the rites of prayer for the
dead, and calling upon Amida’s name will pray again for the salvation
of Atsumori.
(_The ghost of_ ATSUMORI _appears, dressed as a young warrior_.)
ATSUMORI.
Would you know who I am
That like the watchmen at Suma Pass
Have wakened at the cry of sea-birds roaming
Upon Awaji shore?
Listen, Rensei. I am Atsumori.
PRIEST.
How strange! All this while I have never stopped beating my gong and
performing the rites of the Law. I cannot for a moment have dozed, yet
I thought that Atsumori was standing before me. Surely it was a dream.
ATSUMORI.
Why need it be a dream? It is to clear the karma of my waking life that
I am come here in visible form before you.
PRIEST.
Is it not written that one prayer will wipe away ten thousand sins?
Ceaselessly I have performed the ritual of the Holy Name that clears
all sin away. After such prayers, what evil can be left? Though you
should be sunk in sin as deep ...
ATSUMORI.
As the sea by a rocky shore,
Yet should I be salved by prayer.
PRIEST.
And that my prayers should save you ...
ATSUMORI.
This too must spring
From kindness of a former life.[13]
PRIEST.
Once enemies ...
ATSUMORI.
But now ...
PRIEST.
In truth may we be named ...
ATSUMORI.
Friends in Buddha’s Law.
CHORUS.
There is a saying, “Put away from you a wicked friend; summon to your
side a virtuous enemy.” For you it was said, and you have proven it
true.
And now come tell with us the tale of your confession, while the night
is still dark.
CHORUS.
He[14] bids the flowers of Spring
Mount the tree-top that men may raise their eyes
And walk on upward paths;
He bids the moon in autumn waves be drowned
In token that he visits laggard men
And leads them out from valleys of despair.
ATSUMORI.
Now the clan of Taira, building wall to wall,
Spread over the earth like the leafy branches of a great tree:
CHORUS.
Yet their prosperity lasted but for a day;
It was like the flower of the convolvulus.
There was none to tell them[15]
That glory flashes like sparks from flint-stone,
And after,--darkness.
Oh wretched, the life of men!
ATSUMORI.
When they were on high they afflicted the humble;
When they were rich they were reckless in pride.
And so for twenty years and more
They ruled this land.
But truly a generation passes like the space of a dream.
The leaves of the autumn of Juyei[16]
Were tossed by the four winds;
Scattered, scattered (like leaves too) floated their ships.
And they, asleep on the heaving sea, not even in dreams
Went back to home.
Caged birds longing for the clouds,--
Wild geese were they rather, whose ranks are broken
As they fly to southward on their doubtful journey.
So days and months went by; Spring came again
And for a little while
Here dwelt they on the shore of Suma
At the first valley.[17]
From the mountain behind us the winds blew down
Till the fields grew wintry again.
Our ships lay by the shore, where night and day
The sea-gulls cried and salt waves washed on our sleeves.
We slept with fishers in their huts
On pillows of sand.
We knew none but the people of Suma.
And when among the pine-trees
The evening smoke was rising,
Brushwood, as they call it,[18]
Brushwood we gathered
And spread for carpet.
Sorrowful we lived
On the wild shore of Suma,
Till the clan Taira and all its princes
Were but villagers of Suma.
ATSUMORI.
But on the night of the sixth day of the second month
My father Tsunemori gathered us together.
“To-morrow,” he said, “we shall fight our last fight.
To-night is all that is left us.”
We sang songs together, and danced.
PRIEST.
Yes, I remember; we in our siege-camp
Heard the sound of music
Echoing from your tents that night;
There was the music of a flute ...
ATSUMORI.
The bamboo-flute! I wore it when I died.
PRIEST.
We heard the singing ...
ATSUMORI.
Songs and ballads ...
PRIEST.
Many voices
ATSUMORI.
Singing to one measure.
(ATSUMORI _dances_.)
First comes the Royal Boat.
CHORUS.
The whole clan has put its boats to sea.
He[19] will not be left behind;
He runs to the shore.
But the Royal Boat and the soldiers’ boats
Have sailed far away.
ATSUMORI.
What can he do?
He spurs his horse into the waves.
He is full of perplexity.
And then
CHORUS.
He looks behind him and sees
That Kumagai pursues him;
He cannot escape.
Then Atsumori turns his horse
Knee-deep in the lashing waves,
And draws his sword.
Twice, three times he strikes; then, still saddled,
In close fight they twine; roll headlong together
Among the surf of the shore.
So Atsumori fell and was slain, but now the Wheel of Fate
Has turned and brought him back.
(ATSUMORI _rises from the ground and advances toward the_ PRIEST
_with uplifted sword_.)
“There is my enemy,” he cries, and would strike,
But the other is grown gentle
And calling on Buddha’s name
Has obtained salvation for his foe;
So that they shall be re-born together
On one lotus-seat.
“No, Rensei is not my enemy.
Pray for me again, oh pray for me again.”
FOOTNOTES:
[11] See p. 226.
[12] Like Yukihira; see p. 227.
[13] Atsumori must have done Kumagai some kindness in a former
incarnation. This would account for Kumagai’s remorse.
[14] Buddha.
[15] I have omitted a line the force of which depends upon a play on
words.
[16] The Taira evacuated the Capital in the second year of Juyei, 1188.
[17] Ichi-no-Tani means “First Valley.”
[18] The name of so humble a thing was unfamiliar to the Taira lords.
[19] Atsumori. This passage is mimed throughout.
IKUTA
By ZEMBŌ MOTOYASU (1453-1532)
PERSONS
_PRIEST (a follower of Hōnen Shōnin)._[20]
_ATSUMORI’S CHILD._
_ATSUMORI._
_CHORUS._
PRIEST.
I am one that serves Hōnen Shōnin of Kurodani; and as for this child
here,--once when Hōnen was on a visit to the Temple of Kamo he saw
a box lying under a trailing fir-tree; and when he raised the lid,
what should he find inside but a lovely man-child one year old! It
did not seem to be more than a common foundling, but my master in his
compassion took the infant home with him. Ever since then he has had it
in his care, doing all that was needful for it; and now the boy is over
ten years old.
But it is a hard thing to have no father or mother, so one day after
his preaching the Shōnin told the child’s story. And sure enough a
young woman stepped out from among the hearers and said it was her
child. And when he took her aside and questioned her, he found that
the child’s father was Taira no Atsumori, who had fallen in battle
at Ichi-no-Tani years ago. When the boy was told of this, he longed
earnestly to see his father’s face, were it but in a dream, and the
Shōnin bade him go and pray at the shrine of Kamo. He was to go every
day for a week, and this is the last day.
That is why I have brought him out with me.
But here we are at the Kamo shrine.
Pray well, boy, pray well!
BOY.
How fills my heart with awe
When I behold the crimson palisade
Of this abode of gods!
Oh may my heart be clean
As the River of Ablution;[21]
And the God’s kindness deep
As its unfathomed waters. Show to me,
Though it were but in dream,
My father’s face and form.
Is not my heart so ground away with prayer,
So smooth that it will slip
Unfelt into the favour of the gods?
But thou too, Censor of our prayers,
God of Tadasu,[22] on the gods prevail
That what I crave may be!
How strange! While I was praying I fell half-asleep and had a wonderful
dream.
PRIEST.
Tell me your wonderful dream.
BOY.
A strange voice spoke to me from within the Treasure Hall, saying, “If
you are wanting, though it were but in a dream, to see your father’s
face, go down from here to the woods of Ikuta in the country of
Settsu.” That is the marvellous dream I had.
PRIEST.
It is indeed a wonderful message that the God has sent you. And why
should I go back at once to Kurodani? I had best take you straight to
the forest of Ikuta. Let us be going.
PRIEST (_describing the journey_).
From the shrine of Kamo,
From under the shadow of the hills,
We set out swiftly;
Past Yamazaki to the fog-bound
Shores of Minasé;
And onward where the gale
Tears travellers’ coats and winds about their bones.
“Autumn has come to woods where yesterday
We might have plucked the green.”[23]
To Settsu, to those woods of Ikuta
Lo! We are come.
We have gone so fast that here we are already at the woods of Ikuta in
the country of Settsu. I have heard tell in the Capital of the beauty
of these woods and the river that runs through them. But what I see now
surpasses all that I have heard.
Look! Those meadows must be the Downs of Ikuta. Let us go nearer and
admire them.
But while we have been going about looking at one view and another, the
day has dusked.
I think I see a light over there. There must be a house. Let us go to
it and ask for lodging.
ATSUMORI (_speaking from inside a hut_).
Beauty, perception, knowledge, motion, consciousness,--
The Five Attributes of Being,--
All are vain mockery.
How comes it that men prize
So weak a thing as body?
For the soul that guards it from corruption
Suddenly to the night-moon flies,
And the poor naked ghost wails desolate
In the autumn wind.
Oh! I am lonely. I am lonely!
PRIEST.
How strange! Inside that grass-hut I see a young soldier dressed in
helmet and breastplate. What can he be doing there?
ATSUMORI.
Oh foolish men, was it not to meet me that you came to this place? I
am--oh! I am ashamed to say it,--I am the ghost of what once was ...
Atsumori.
BOY.
Atsumori? My father ...
CHORUS.
And lightly he ran,
Plucked at the warrior’s sleeve,
And though his tears might seem like the long woe
Of nightingales that weep,
Yet were they tears of meeting-joy,
Of happiness too great for human heart.
So think we, yet oh that we might change
This fragile dream of joy
Into the lasting love of waking life!
ATSUMORI.
Oh pitiful!
To see this child, born after me,
Darling that should be gay as a flower,
Walking in tattered coat of old black cloth.
Alas!
Child, when your love of me
Led you to Kamo shrine, praying to the God
That, though but in a dream,
You might behold my face,
The God of Kamo, full of pity, came
To Yama, king of Hell.
King Yama listened and ordained for me
A moment’s respite, but hereafter, never.
CHORUS.
“The moon is sinking.
Come while the night is dark,” he said,
“I will tell my tale.”
ATSUMORI.
When the house of Taira was in its pride,
When its glory was young,
Among the flowers we sported,
Among birds, wind and moonlight;
With pipes and strings, with song and verse
We welcomed Springs and Autumns.
Till at last, because our time was come,
Across the bridges of Kiso a host unseen
Swept and devoured us.
Then the whole clan
Our lord leading
Fled from the City of Flowers.
By paths untrodden
To the Western Sea our journey brought us.
Lakes and hills we crossed
Till we ourselves grew to be like wild men.
At last by mountain ways--
We too tossed hither and thither like its waves--
To Suma came we,
To the First Valley and the woods of Ikuta.
And now while all of us,
We children of Taira, were light of heart
Because our homes were near,
Suddenly our foes in great strength appeared.
CHORUS.
Noriyori, Yoshitsune,--their hosts like clouds,
Like mists of spring.
For a little while we fought them,
But the day of our House was ended,
Our hearts weakened
That had been swift as arrows from the bowstring.
We scattered, scattered; till at last
To the deep waters of the Field of Life[24]
We came, but how we found there Death, not Life,
What profit were it to tell?
ATSUMORI.
Who is that?
(_Pointing in terror at a figure which he sees off the stage._)
Can it be Yama’s messenger? He comes to tell me that I have out-stayed
my time. The Lord of Hell is angry: he asks why I am late?
CHORUS.
So he spoke. But behold
Suddenly black clouds rise,
Earth and sky resound with the clash of arms;
War-demons innumerable
Flash fierce sparks from brandished spears.
ATSUMORI.
The Shura foes who night and day
Come thick about me!
CHORUS.
He waves his sword and rushes among them,
Hither and thither he runs slashing furiously;
Fire glints upon the steel.
But in a little while
The dark clouds recede;
The demons have vanished,
The moon shines unsullied;
The sky is ready for dawn.
ATSUMORI.
Oh! I am ashamed....
And the child to see me so....
CHORUS.
“To see my misery!
I must go back.
Oh pray for me; pray for me
When I am gone,” he said,
And weeping, weeping,
Dropped the child’s hand.
He has faded; he dwindles
Like the dew from rush-leaves
Of hazy meadows.
His form has vanished.
FOOTNOTES:
[20] A great preacher; died 1212 A.D.
[21] The name given to streams which flow through temples. In this case
the River Kamo.
[22] Tadasu means to “straighten,” “correct.” The shrine of Kamo lay in
the forest of Tadasu.
[23] Adapted from a poem in the _Shin Kokinshū_.
[24] Ikuta means “Field of Life.”
TSUNEMASA
By SEAMI
PERSONS
THE PRIEST GYŌKEI.
THE GHOST OF TAIRA NO TSUNEMASA.
CHORUS.
GYŌKEI.
I am Gyōkei, priest of the imperial temple Ninnaji. You must know that
there was a certain prince of the House of Taira named Tsunemasa, Lord
of Tajima, who since his boyhood has enjoyed beyond all precedent the
favour of our master the Emperor. But now he has been killed at the
Battle of the Western Seas.
It was to this Tsunemasa in his lifetime that the Emperor had given
the lute called Green Hill. And now my master bids me take it and
dedicate it to Buddha, performing a liturgy of flutes and strings for
the salvation of Tsunemasa’s soul. And that was my purpose in gathering
these musicians together.
Truly it is said that strangers who shelter under the same tree or draw
water from the same pool will be friends in another life. How much the
more must intercourse of many years, kindness and favour so deep ...[25]
Surely they will be heard,
The prayers that all night long
With due performance of rites
I have reverently repeated in this Palace
For the salvation of Tsunemasa
And for the awakening of his soul.
CHORUS.
And, more than all, we dedicate
The lute Green Hill for this dead man;
While pipe and flute are joined to sounds of prayer.
For night and day the Gate of Law
Stands open and the Universal Road
Rejects no wayfarer.
TSUNEMASA (_speaking off the stage_).
“The wind blowing through withered trees: rain from a cloudless sky.
The moon shining on level sands: frost on a summer’s night.”[26]
Frost lying ... but I, because I could not lie at rest,
Am come back to the World for a while,
Like a shadow that steals over the grass.
I am like dews that in the morning
Still cling to the grasses. Oh pitiful the longing
That has beset me!
GYŌKEI.
How strange! Within the flame of our candle that is burning low because
the night is far spent, suddenly I seemed to see a man’s shadow dimly
appearing. Who can be here?
TSUNEMASA (_his shadow disappearing_).
I am the ghost of Tsunemasa. The sound of your prayers has brought me
in visible shape before you.
GYŌKEI.
“I am the ghost of Tsunemasa,” he said, but when I looked to where the
voice had sounded nothing was there, neither substance nor shadow!
TSUNEMASA.
Only a voice,
GYŌKEI.
A dim voice whispers where the shadow of a man
Visibly lay, but when I looked
TSUNEMASA.
It had vanished--
GYŌKEI.
This flickering form ...
TSUNEMASA.
Like haze over the fields.
CHORUS.
Only as a tricking magic,
A bodiless vision,
Can he hover in the world of his lifetime,
Swift-changing Tsunemasa.
By this name we call him, yet of the body
That men named so, what is left but longing?
What but the longing to look again, through the wall of death,
On one he loved?
“Sooner shall the waters in its garden cease to flow
Than I grow weary of living in the Palace of my Lord.”[27]
Like a dream he has come,
Like a morning dream.
GYŌKEI.
How strange! When the form of Tsunemasa had vanished, his voice
lingered and spoke to me! Am I dreaming or waking? I cannot tell. But
this I know,--that by the power of my incantations I have had converse
with the dead. Oh! marvellous potency of the Law!
TSUNEMASA.
It was long ago that I came to the Palace. I was but a boy then, but
all the world knew me; for I was marked with the love of our Lord, with
the favour of an Emperor. And, among many gifts, he gave to me once
while I was in the World this lute which you have dedicated. My fingers
were ever on its strings.
CHORUS.
Plucking them even as now
This music plucks at your heart;
The sound of the plectrum, then as now
Divine music fulfilling
The vows of Sarasvati.[28]
But this Tsunemasa,
Was he not from the days of his childhood pre-eminent
In faith, wisdom, benevolence,
Honour and courtesy; yet for his pleasure
Ever of birds and flowers,
Of wind and moonlight making
Ballads and songs to join their harmony
To pipes and lutes?
So springs and autumns passed he.
But in a World that is as dew,
As dew on the grasses, as foam upon the waters,
What flower lasteth?
GYŌKEI.
For the dead man’s sake we play upon this lute Green Hill that he loved
when he was in the World. We follow the lute-music with a concord of
many instruments.
(_Music._)
TSUNEMASA.
And while they played the dead man stole up behind them. Though he
could not be seen by the light of the candle, they felt him pluck the
lute-strings....
GYŌKEI.
It is midnight. He is playing _Yabanraku_, the dance of midnight-revel.
And now that we have shaken sleep from our eyes ...
TSUNEMASA.
The sky is clear, yet there is a sound as of sudden rain....
GYŌKEI.
Rain beating carelessly on trees and grasses. What season’s music[29]
ought we to play?
TSUNEMASA.
No. It is not rain. Look! At the cloud’s fringe
CHORUS.
The moon undimmed
Hangs over the pine-woods of Narabi[30] Hills.
It was the wind you heard;
The wind blowing through the pine-leaves
Pattered, like the falling of winter rain.
O wonderful hour!
“The big strings crashed and sobbed
Like the falling of winter rain.
And the little strings whispered secretly together.
The first and second string
Were like a wind sweeping through pine-woods,
Murmuring disjointedly.
The third and fourth string
Were like the voice of a caged stork
Crying for its little ones at night
In low, dejected notes.”[31]
The night must not cease.
The cock shall not crow
And put an end to his wandering.[32]
TSUNEMASA.
“One note of the phœnix-flute[33]
CHORUS.
Shakes the autumn clouds from the mountain-side.”[34]
The phœnix and his mate swoop down
Charmed by its music, beat their wings
And dance in rapture, perched upon the swaying boughs
Of kiri and bamboo.
(_Dance._)
TSUNEMASA.
Oh terrible anguish!
For a little while I was back in the World and my heart set on its
music, on revels of midnight. But now the hate is rising in me....[35]
GYŌKEI.
The shadow that we saw before is still visible.
Can it be Tsunemasa?
TSUNEMASA.
Oh! I am ashamed; I must not let them see me.
Put out your candle.
CHORUS.
“Let us turn away from the candle and watch together
The midnight moon.”
Lo, he who holds the moon,
The god Indra, in battle appeareth
Warring upon demons.
Fire leaps from their swords,
The sparks of their own anger fall upon them like rain.
To wound another he draws his sword,
But it is from his own flesh
That the red waves flow;
Like flames they cover him.
“Oh, I am ashamed of the woes that consume me.
No man must see me. I will put out the candle!” he said;
For a foolish man is like a summer moth that flies into the flame.[36]
The wind that blew out the candle
Carried him away. In the darkness his ghost has vanished.
The shadow of his ghost has vanished.
FOOTNOTES:
[25] The relation between Tsunemasa and the Emperor is meant.
[26] I. e. the wind sounds like rain; the sands appear to be covered
with frost. A couplet from a poem by Po Chü-i.
[27] Part of the poem which Tsunemasa gave to the Emperor before he
went to battle.
[28] Goddess of Music, who vowed that she would lead all souls to
salvation by the music of her lute.
[29] Different tunes were appropriate to different seasons.
[30] A range of hills to the south of the Ninnaji. The name means the
“Row of Hills.”
[31] Quotation from Po Chü-i’s “Lute Girl’s Song”; for paraphrase see
Giles’ _Chinese Literature_, p. 166.
[32] The ghost must return at dawn.
[33] The _shēng_.
[34] Quotation from Chinese poem in _Rōyei Shu_.
[35] He had died in battle and was therefore condemned to perpetual war
with the demons of Hell.
[36] “The wise man is like the autumn deer crying in the mountains; the
fool is like the moth which flies into the candle” (_Gempei Seisuiki_,
chap. viii.).
CHAPTER II
KUMASAKA
EBOSHI-ORI
BENKEI ON THE BRIDGE
These three plays deal with the boyhood of the hero Yoshitsune, whose
child-name was Ushiwaka.
_Eboshi-ori_ is a _genzai-mono_, that is to say a play which describes
events actually in progress. In _Kumasaka_ these same events are
rehearsed by the ghost of one who participated in them. There are two
other well-known Yoshitsune plays, _Funa-Benkei_ and _Ataka_. In the
former the phantoms of the dead Taira warriors attack the boat in which
Yoshitsune and Benkei are riding; in the latter occurs the famous scene
called the _Kwanjinchō_, in which Benkei pretends to read out from a
scroll a long document which he is in reality improvising on the spot.
(See Mr. Sansom’s translations of these two plays in the _Transactions
of the Asiatic Society of Japan_, 1911.) The _Kwanjinchō_ was borrowed
by the popular stage, and became one of the favourite “turns” of the
great Danjūrō (1660-1703) and his successors.
KUMASAKA
By ZENCHIKU UJINOBU (1414-1499?)
PERSONS
_A PRIEST FROM THE CAPITAL._
_A PRIEST OF AKASAKA (really the ghost of the robber KUMASAKA NO
CHOHAN)._
_CHORUS._
PRIEST.
These weary feet that found the World
Too sad to walk in, whither
Oh whither shall wandering lead them?
I am a priest from the Capital. I have never seen the East country, and
now I am minded to go there on pilgrimage.
(_He describes the journey, walking slowly round the stage._)
Over the mountains, down the Ōmi road by a foam-flecked stream;
And through the woods of Awazu.
Over the long bridge of Seta
Heavily my footfall clangs.
In the bamboo-woods of Noji I await the dawn.
There where the morning dew lies thick, over the Greenfield Plain,
Green in name only--for the leaves are red with autumn--
In evening sunshine to the village of Akasaka I am come!
KUMASAKA.
(_It is convenient to call him this, but he is the ghost of
Kumasaka, appearing in the guise of a priest._)
Hey, you priest, I have something to say to you!
PRIEST.
What is it you would say to me?
KUMASAKA.
To-day is some one’s birthday. I beg of you to pray for the salvation
of his soul.
PRIEST.
I have left the World, and it is my business now to say such prayers;
but of whom am I to think when I pray?
KUMASAKA.
There is no need to know his name. He is buried in that tomb over
there, among the rushes to this side of the pine-tree. It is because he
cannot get free[37] that he needs your prayers.
PRIEST.
No, no; it will not do. I cannot pray for him unless I know his name.
KUMASAKA.
Pray, none the less. For it is written, “All the creatures of the world
shall be profited.
There shall be no distinction.”
PRIEST.
From dying and being born.
KUMASAKA.
Deliver him, oh deliver him!
CHORUS.
For he that taketh a prayer unto himself
Even though his name be not named, if he receive it gladly,
Is the owner of the prayer.
Was not the promise made to the trees of the field,
To the soil of the land? Though the heart that prays marks no name
upon the prayer,
Yet shall it be heard.
KUMASAKA.
Then come back to my cottage with me and pass the night there.
PRIEST.
I will come.
(_They go into the cottage, which is represented by a wicker
framework at the front._)
Listen! I thought you were taking me to where there would be a chapel,
so that I could begin my prayers. But here I can see no painted picture
nor carven image that I could put up. There is nothing on the wall
but a great pike,--no handstaff, but only an iron crowbar; and other
weapons of war are nailed up. What is the reason of this?
KUMASAKA.
You must know that when I first took the vows of priesthood I went
round from village to village here, to Tarui, Auhaka and Akasaka--there
is no end to them, but I know all the roads,--through the tall grass at
Aono and the thick woods of Koyasu, night or day, rain or fine. For I
was a hill-bandit in those days, a thief of the night, tilting baggage
from mules’ backs; even stripping servant-girls of their clothes, as
they went from farm to farm, and leaving them sobbing.
Then it was that I used to take with me that pike there and waving it
in their faces, “Stand and deliver!” I would cry.
But at last a time came when it was not so.[38] And after that time I
was glad enough to find shelter even in such a place as this. I yielded
my will and was content. For at last I had indeed resolved to leave the
hateful World.
Oh petty prowess of those days!
CHORUS.
For hand of priest unfit indeed
Such deeds and weapons had I thought;
Yet among gods
Hath not the Lord Amida his sharp sword?
Doth not the King of Love[39]
Shoot arrows of salvation from his bow?
Tamon with tilted lance
Outbattled demons and hath swept away
All perils from the world.
KUMASAKA.
Thoughts of love and pity
May be sins fouler
CHORUS.
Than the Five Faults of Datta;[40]
And the taking of life for faith
Be holiness greater
Than the six virtues of Bosatsu.[41]
These things have I seen and heard.
But for the rest, is it not Thought alone
That either wanders in the trackless night
Of Error or awakes to the wide day?
“Master thy thoughts, or they will master thee,”
An ancient proverb[42] says.
(_Speaking for Kumasaka._)
“But I must have done, or dawn will find me talking still. Go to your
rest, Sir; and I too will doze awhile.” So he spoke, and seemed to go
into the bedroom. But suddenly the cottage vanished: nothing was left
but the tall grass. It was under the shadow of a pine-tree that he[43]
had rested!
(_There is usually an interlude to occupy the time while Kumasaka
is changing his costume. An inhabitant of Akasaka tells stories of
Kumasaka’s exploits._)
PRIEST.
I have seen strange things. I cannot sleep, no, not even for a while
as little as the space between the antlers of a young stag. Under this
autumn-winded pine-tree lying, all night long I will perform a service
of chanted prayer.[44]
KUMASAKA.
(_Reappearing with a scarf tied round his head and a long pike over
his shoulder._)
The wind is rising in the south-east. The clouds of the north-west are
shifting; it is a dark night. A wild wind is sweeping the woods under
the hill.
CHORUS.
See how the branches are heaving.
KUMASAKA.
The moon does not rise till dawn to-night; and even when she rises she
will be covered.
Send along the order for an assault!
(_Recollecting himself._)
The whole heart divided between bow-hand and rein-hand,--oh the sin of
it! For ever seizing another’s treasure! Look, look on my misery, how
my heart clings to the World!
PRIEST.
If you are Kumasaka himself, tell me the story of those days.
KUMASAKA.
There was a merchant, a trafficker in gold, called Kichiji of the Third
Ward. Each year he brought together a great store, and loading it in
bales carried it up-country. And thinking to waylay him I summoned
divers trusty men....
PRIEST.
Tell me the names of those that were chosen by you and the countries
they came from.
KUMASAKA.
There was Kakujō of Kawachi, and the brothers Surihari that had no
rivals in fencing.
PRIEST.
Well, and from within the City itself among many there were--
KUMASAKA.
There was Emon of the Third Ward and Kozaru of Mibu.
PRIEST.
Skilful torch-throwers; in broken-attack
KUMASAKA.
Their like will never be seen.
PRIEST.
And from the North country, from Echizen
KUMASAKA.
There was Matsuwaka of Asau and Kurō of Mikuni.
PRIEST.
And from the country of Kaga, from Kumasaka
KUMASAKA.
There was this Chōhan, the first of them, a great hand at deeds of
villainy; and with him seventy men of the band.
PRIEST.
On all the roads where Kichiji might be passing, up hill and down dale
on every halting-place they spied, till at last
KUMASAKA.
Here at the Inn of Akasaka we found him,--a fine place, with many roads
leading from it. We set watch upon the place. The merchants had sent
for women. From nightfall they feasted. They roystered the hours away--
PRIEST.
And at last, very late at night,
Kichiji and his brother, with no thought for safety,
Fell into a sodden sleep.
KUMASAKA.
But there was with them a boy of sixteen.[45]
He put his bright eye to a hole in the wall.
He did not make the least noise.
PRIEST.
He did not sleep a wink.
KUMASAKA.
Ushiwaka! We did not know he was there.
PRIEST.
Then the robbers, whose luck was run out,
KUMASAKA.
Thinking that the hour of fortune was come,
PRIEST.
Waited impatiently.
CHORUS.
Oh how long it seemed till at last the order came.
KUMASAKA.
Dash in!
CHORUS.
And, hurling their firebrands,
In they rushed, each jostling to be first,
More of them and more, in a wild onslaught.
Not even the God of Peril had dared to face them.
But little Ushiwaka showed no fear.
He drew his belt-sword and met them.
The Lion Pounce, The Tiger Leap, The Bird Pounce ...[46]
He parried them all. They thrust at him but could not prevail.
Thirteen there were who attacked him;
And now, done to death, on the same pillow head to head they lie.
And others, wounded, have flung down their swords and slunk back
weaponless,
Stripped of all else but life.
Then Kumasaka cried: “What demon or god can he be
Under whose hand all these have fallen? For a man he cannot be!
But even robbers need their lives! This is no work for me; I will
withdraw.”
And slinging his pike, slowly he turned to go.
KUMASAKA.
I was thinking.
CHORUS.
He was thinking as he went,
“Though this stripling slash so bravely,
Yet should Kumasaka employ his secret art,--
Then though the boy be ogre or hobgoblin,
Waist-strangled he would be pressed to dust.”
“I will avenge the fallen,” he cried, and, turning back,
He levelled his pike and sheltered behind the wattled door,
Waiting for the urchin to come.
Ushiwaka saw him, and drawing his sword held it close to his side,
Stood apart and watched. But Kumasaka too stood with his pike ready.
Each was waiting for the other to spring.
Then Kumasaka lost patience. He lunged with his left foot and with
his pike
Struck a blow that would have pierced an iron wall.
But Ushiwaka parried it lightly and sprang to the left.
Kumasaka was after him in a moment, and as he sprang nimbly over the
pike,[47]
Turned the point towards him.
But as he drew back the pike, Ushiwaka crossed to the right.
Then levelling the pike, Kumasaka struck a great blow.
This time the boy parried it with a blow that disengaged them,
And springing into the air leapt hither and thither with invisible
speed.
And while the robber sought him,
The wonderful boy pranced behind and stuck his sword through a chink
in his coat of mail.
“Hey, what is that?” cried Kumasaka. “Has this urchin touched me?”
And he was very angry.
But soon Heaven’s fatal ordinance was sealed by despair:
“This sword-play brings me no advantage,” he cried; “I will wrestle
with him.”
Then he threw away his pike, and spreading out his great hands,
Down this corridor and into this corner he chased him, but when he
would have grasped him,
Like lightning, mist, moonlight on the water,--
The eye could see, but the hand could not touch.
KUMASAKA.
I was wounded again and again.
CHORUS.
He was wounded many times, till the fierce strength of his spirit
weakened and weakened. Like dew upon the moss that grows.
KUMASAKA.
Round the foot of this pine-tree
CHORUS.
Are vanished the men of this old tale.
“Oh, help me to be born to happiness.”
(KUMASAKA _entreats the_ PRIEST _with folded hands_.)
The cocks are crowing. A whiteness glimmers over the night.
He has hidden under the shadow of the pine-trees of Akasaka;
(KUMASAKA _hides his face with his left sleeve_.)
Under the shadow of the pine-trees he has hidden himself away.
FOOTNOTES:
[37] I. e. he is “attached” to earth and cannot get away to the Western
Paradise.
[38] I. e. the time of his encounter with Ushiwaka.
[39] Aizen.
[40] Devadatta, the wicked contemporary of Buddha.
[41] The six paths to Bodisattva-hood, i. e. Almsgiving, Observance of
Rules, Forbearance, Meditation, Knowledge and Singleness of Heart.
[42] Actually from the Nirvana Sutra.
[43] The Priest.
[44] _Koye-butsuji_, “Voice-service.”
[45] Yoshitsune (Ushiwaka) had run away from the temple where he was
being educated and joined the merchant’s caravan; see p. 70.
[46] Names of strokes in fencing.
[47] I have thought it better to print these “recitals” as verse,
though in the original (as obviously in my translation) they are almost
prose.
EBOSHI-ORI
By MIYAMASU (sixteenth century?)
PERSONS
_KICHIJI_ }
_HIS BROTHER KICHIROKU_ } _Gold-merchants._
_USHIWAKA._
_HATMAKER._
_INNKEEPER._
_BRIGANDS._
_MESSENGER._
_HATMAKER’S WIFE._
_KUMASAKA._
_CHORUS._
KICHIJI.
We as travellers dressed--
Our weary feet upon the Eastern road
For many days must speed.
I am Sanjō no Kichiji. I have now amassed a great store of treasure and
with my brother Kichiroku am going to take it down to the East. Ho!
Kichiroku, let us get together our bundles and start now.
KICHIROKU.
I am ready. Let us start at once.
USHIWAKA.
Hie, you travellers! If you are going up-country, please take me with
you.
KICHIJI.
That is a small thing to ask. Certainly we would take you with us ...,
but by the look of you, I fancy you must be an apprentice playing
truant from your master. If that is so, I cannot take you.
USHIWAKA.
I have neither father nor mother, and my master has turned me adrift.
Please let me go with you.
KICHIJI.
If that is so, I cannot any longer refuse to take you with me.
(_Describing his own action._)
Then he offered the boy a broad-brimmed hat.
USHIWAKA.
And Ushiwaka eagerly grasped it.
To-day, he said, begins our troublous journey’s toil.
CHORUS (_describing the journey and speaking for_ USHIWAKA).
Past the creek of Awata, to Matsusaka,
To the shore of Shinomiya I travel.
Down the road to the barrier of Ōsaka walking behind pack-ponies,
How long shall I serve in sadness these hucksters of gold?
Here where once the blind harper[48] lay sorrowing
On a cottage-bed, far away from the City,
Thinking perhaps some such thoughts as I do now.
We have passed the plain of Awazu. Over the long bridge of Seta
The hoofs of our ponies clank.
We cross the hill of Moru, where the evening dew
Lies thick on country paths and, caught in the slanting light,
Gleams on the under-leaves till suddenly night
Comes on us and in darkness we approach
The Mirror Inn.
KICHIJI.
We have travelled so fast that we have already reached the Mirror Inn.
Let us rest here for a little while.
MESSENGER.
I am a servant in the Palace of Rokuhara. I have been sent to fetch
back young Ushiwaka, Lord Yoshitomo’s son, who has escaped from the
Temple of Kurama. It is thought that he has taken service with the
merchant Kichiji and has gone up-country with him; so they sent me to
bring him back. Why, I believe that is he! But perhaps he is not alone.
I cannot be sure. I had better go home and fetch help, for if I were
one against many, how could I hope to take him?
[Illustration: YOUNG MAN’S MASK]
USHIWAKA.
I think it is about me that this messenger is speaking. I must not
let him know me. I will cut my hair and wear an _eboshi_[49], so that
people may think I am an Eastern boy.
(_He goes to the curtain which separates the green-room from the
entrance-passage. This represents for the moment the front of the
hatmaker’s shop._)
May I come in? (_The curtain is raised._)
HATMAKER.
Who is it?
USHIWAKA.
I have come to order an _eboshi_.
HATMAKER.
An _eboshi_ at this time of night? I will make you one to-morrow, if
you like.
USHIWAKA.
Please make it now. I am travelling in a hurry and cannot wait.
HATMAKER.
Very well then; I will make it now. What size do you take?
USHIWAKA.
Please give me an _eboshi_ of the third size, folded to the left.
HATMAKER.
I am afraid I cannot do that. They were worn folded to the left in the
time of the Minamotos. But now that the Tairas rule the whole land it
would not be possible to wear one folded so.
USHIWAKA.
In spite of that I beg of you to make me one. There is a good reason
for my asking.
HATMAKER.
Well, as you are so young there cannot be much harm in your wearing it.
I will make you one.
(_He begins to make the hat._)
There is a fine story about these left-folded _eboshi_ and the luck
they bring. Shall I tell it you?
USHIWAKA.
Yes, pray tell me the story.
HATMAKER.
My grandfather lived at Karasu-maru in the Third Ward.
It was the time when Hachimantarō Yoshi-iye, having routed[50] the
brothers Sadatō and Munetō,
Came home in triumph to the Capital.
And when he was summoned to the Emperor’s Palace, he went first to
my grandfather and ordered from him
A left-folded _eboshi_ for the Audience. And when he was come before
the Throne
The Emperor welcomed him gladly
And as a token of great favour made him lord
Of the lands of Outer Mutsu.
Even such an _eboshi_ it is that I am making now,
A garment of good omen.
Wear it and when into the world
CHORUS.
When into the world you go, who knows but that Fate’s turn
May not at last bring you to lordship of lands,
Of Dewa or the country of Michi.
And on that day remember,
Oh deign to remember, him that now with words of good omen
Folds for you this _eboshi_.
On that day forget not the gift you owe!
But alas!
These things were, but shall not be again.
The time of the left-folded _eboshi_ was long ago:
When the houses of Gen and Hei[51] were in their pride,
Like the plum-tree and cherry-tree among flowers,
Like Spring and Autumn among the four seasons.
Then, as snow that would outsparkle the moonlight,
Gen strove with Hei; and after the years of Hōgen,[52]
The house of Hei prevailed and the whole land was theirs
So is it now.
But retribution shall come; time shall bring
Its changes to the world and like the cherry-blossom
This _eboshi_ that knows its season
Shall bloom again. Wait patiently for that time!
HATMAKER.
And while they prayed
CHORUS.
Lo! The cutting of the _eboshi_ was done.
Then he decked it brightly with ribbons of three colours,
Tied the strings to it and finished it handsomely.
“Pray deign to wear it,” he cried, and set it on the boy’s head.
Then, stepping back to look,
“Oh admirable skill! Not even the captain of a mighty host
Need scorn to wear this hat!”
HATMAKER.
There is not an _eboshi_ in the land that fits so well.
USHIWAKA.
You are right; please take this sword in payment for it.
HATMAKER.
No, no! I could not take it in return for such a trifle.
USHIWAKA.
I beg you to accept it.
HATMAKER.
Well, I cannot any longer refuse. How glad my wife will be!
(_Calling._) Are you there?
WIFE.
What is it? (_They go aside._)
HATMAKER.
This young lad asked me to make him an _eboshi_, and when it was made
he gave me this sword as a present. Is it not a noble payment? Here,
look at it. (_The wife takes the sword and when she has examined it
bursts into tears._) Why, I thought you would treasure it like a gift
from Heaven. And here you are shedding tears over it! What is the
matter?
WIFE.
Oh! I am ashamed. When I try to speak, tears come first and choke the
words. I am going to tell you something I have never told you before.
I am the sister of Kamada Masakiyo who fell at the Battle of Utsumi in
the country of Noma. At the time when Tokiwa bore Ushiwaka, her third
son, the lord her husband sent her this weapon as a charm-sword, and I
was the messenger whom he charged to carry it. Oh were he in the world
again;[53] then would our eyes no longer behold such misery. Oh sorrow,
sorrow!
HATMAKER.
You say that you are the sister of Kamada Masakiyo?
WIFE.
I am.
HATMAKER.
How strange, how strange! I have lived with you all these years and
months, and never knew till now. But are you sure that you recognize
this weapon?
WIFE.
Yes; this was the sword they called Konnentō.
HATMAKER.
Ah! I have heard that name. Then this must be the young Lord Ushiwaka
from Kurama Temple. Come with me. We must go after him and give him
back the sword at once. Why, he is still there! (_To_ USHIWAKA.) Sir,
this woman tells me she knows the sword; I beg of you to take it back.
USHIWAKA.
Oh! strange adventure; to meet so far from home
With humble folk that show me kindness!
HATMAKER and WIFE.
My Lord, forgive us! We did not know you; but now we see in you Lord
Ushiwaka, the nursling of Kurama Temple.
USHIWAKA.
I am no other. (_To the_ WIFE.) And you, perhaps, are some kinswoman of
Masakiyo?[54]
WIFE.
You have guessed wisely, sir; I am the Kamada’s sister.
USHIWAKA.
Lady Akoya?
WIFE.
I am.
USHIWAKA.
Truly I have reason to know.... And _I_
CHORUS.
Am Ushiwaka fallen on profitless days.
Of whom no longer you may speak
As master, but as one sunk in strange servitude.
Dawn is in the east; the pale moon fades from the sky, as he sets
forth from the Mirror Inn.
HATMAKER and WIFE.
Oh! it breaks my heart to see him! A boy of noble name walking barefoot
with merchants, and nothing on his journey but cloth of Shikama to
clothe him. Oh! piteous sight!
USHIWAKA.
Change rules the world for ever, and Man but for a little while. What
are fine clothes to me, what life itself while foemen flaunt?
HATMAKER.
As a journey-present to speed you on the Eastern road ...
CHORUS.
So he spoke and pressed the sword into the young lord’s hands. And the
boy could not any longer refuse, but taking it said, “If ever I come
into the World[55] again, I will not forget.” And so saying he turned
and went on his way in company with the merchants his masters. On they
went till at last, weary with travel, they came to the Inn of Akasaka
in the country of Mino.
KICHIJI (_the merchant_).
We have come so fast that here we are at the Inn of Akasaka.
(_To his_ BROTHER.)
Listen, Kichiroku, you had better take lodging for us here.
KICHIROKU.
I obey. (_Goes towards the hashigakari or actors’ entrance-passage._)
May I come in?
INNKEEPER.
Who are you? Ah! it is Master Kichiroku. I am glad to see you back
again so soon.
(_To_ KICHIJI.)
Be on your guard, gentleman. For a desperate gang has got wind of your
coming and has sworn to set upon you to-night.
KICHIJI.
What are we to do?
KICHIROKU.
I cannot tell.
USHIWAKA (_comes forward_).
What are you speaking of?
KICHIJI.
We have heard that robbers may be coming to-night. We were wondering
what we should do....
USHIWAKA.
Let them come in what force they will; yet if one stout soldier go
to meet them, they will not stand their ground, though they be fifty
mounted men.
KICHIJI.
These are trusty words that you have spoken to us. One and all we look
to you....
USHIWAKA.
Then arm yourselves and wait. I will go out to meet them.
CHORUS.
And while he spoke, evening passed to darkness. “Now is the time,” he
cried, “to show the world those arts of war that for many months and
years upon the Mountain of Kurama I have rehearsed.”
Then he opened the double-doors and waited there for the slow in-coming
of the white waves.[56]
BRIGANDS.
Loud the noise of assault. The lashing of white waves against the
rocks, even such is the din of our battle-cry.
KUMASAKA.
Ho, my man! Who is there?
BRIGAND.
I stand before you.
KUMASAKA.
How fared those skirmishers I sent to make a sudden breach? Blew wind
briskly within?
BRIGAND.
Briskly indeed; for some are slain and many grievously wounded.
KUMASAKA.
How can that be? I thought that none were within but the merchants,
Kichiji and his brother. Who else is there?
BRIGAND.
By the light of a rocket[57] I saw a lad of twelve or thirteen years
slashing about him with a short-sword; and he was nimble as a butterfly
or bird.
KUMASAKA.
And the brothers Surihari?
BRIGAND.
Stood foster-fathers[57] to the fire-throwers and were the first to
enter.
But soon there meets them this child I tell of and with a blow at each
whisks off their heads from their necks.
KUMASAKA.
Ei! Ei! Those two, and the horsemen that were near a hundred
strong,--all smitten! The fellow has bewitched them!
BRIGAND.
When Takase saw this, thinking perhaps no good would come of this
night-attack, he took some seventy horsemen and galloped away with them.
KUMASAKA.
Ha! It is not the first time that lout has played me false.
How fared the torch-diviners?[57]
BRIGAND.
The first torch was slashed in pieces; the second was trampled on till
it went out; the third they caught and threw back at us, but it too
went out. There are none left.
KUMASAKA.
Then is all lost. For of these torch-diviners they sing that the first
torch is the soul of an army, the second torch is the wheel of Fate,
and the third torch--Life itself. All three are out, and there is no
hope left for this night’s brigandage.
BRIGAND.
It is as you say. Though we were gods, we could not redeem our plight.
Deign to give the word of retreat.
KUMASAKA.
Why, even brigands must be spared from slaughter. Come, withdraw my men.
BRIGAND.
I obey.
KUMASAKA.
Stay! Shall Kumasaka Chōhan be worsted in to-night’s affray? Never!
Where could he then hide his shame? Come, robbers, to the attack!
CHORUS.
So with mighty voice he called them to him, and they, raising their
war-cry, leapt to the assault.
(_Speaking for_ USHIWAKA.)
“Hoho! What a to-do! Himself has come, undaunted by the fate of those
he sent before him. Now, Hachiman,[58] look down upon me, for no other
help is here.” So he prayed, and stood waiting at the gap.
(_Speaking for_ KUMASAKA.)
“Sixty-three years has Kumasaka lived, and to-day shall make his last
night-assault.”[59] So he spoke and kicking off his iron-shoes in a
twinkling he levelled his great battle-sword that measured five foot
three, and as he leapt forward like a great bird pouncing on his prey,
no god or demon had dared encounter him.
(_Speaking for_ USHIWAKA.)
“Ha, bandit! Be not so confident! These slinking night-assaults
displease me”; and leaving him no leisure, the boy dashed in to the
attack.
Then, Kumasaka, deeply versed in use of the battle-sword, lunged with
his left foot and in succession he executed The Ten-Side Cut, The
Eight-Side Sweep, The Body Wheel, The Hanyū Turn, The Wind Roll, The
Blade Drop, The Gnashing Lion, The Maple-Leaf Double, The Flower Double.
Now fire dances at the sword-points;
Now the sword-backs clash.
At last even the great battle-sword has spent its art. Parried by
the little belt-sword of Zōshi,[60] it has become no more than a
guard-sword.
(_Speaking for_ KUMASAKA.)
“This sword-play brings me no advantage; I will close with him and try
my strength!”
Then he threw down his battle-sword and spreading out his great hands
rushed wildly forward. But Ushiwaka dodged him, and as he passed mowed
round at his legs.
The robber fell with a crash, and as he struggled to rise
The belt-sword of Ushiwaka smote him clean through the waist.
And Kumasaka that had been one man
Lay cloven in twain.
FOOTNOTES:
[48] Semimaru.
[49] A tall, nodding hat.
[50] 1064 A.D.
[51] I. e. Minamoto and Taira.
[52] 1156-1159 A.D.
[53] Yoshi-iye.
[54] Ushiwaka had not heard this conversation between the hatmaker and
his wife, which takes place as an “aside.”
[55] I. e. into power.
[56] I. e. robbers. A band of brigands who troubled China in 184 A.
D. were known the White Waves, and the phrase was later applied to
robbers in general.
[57] Torches were thrown among the enemy to discover their number and
defences.
[58] God of War and clan-god of the Minamotos.
[59] He feels that he is too old for the work.
[60] I. e. Ushiwaka.
BENKEI ON THE BRIDGE
(HASHI-BENKEI)
By HIYOSHI SA-AMI YASUKIYO
(_Date unknown, probably first half of the fifteenth century._)
PERSONS
_BENKEI._
_USHIWAKA._
_FOLLOWER._
_CHORUS._
BENKEI.
I am one who lives near the Western Pagoda. My name is Musashi-bō
Benkei. In fulfillment of a certain vow I have been going lately by
night at the hour of the Ox[61] to worship at the Gojō Temple. To-night
is the last time; I ought soon to be starting.
Hie! Is any one there?
FOLLOWER.
Here I am.
BENKEI.
I sent for you to tell you that I shall be going to the Gojō Temple
to-night.
FOLLOWER.
I tremble and listen. But there is a matter that I must bring to your
notice. I hear that yesterday there was a boy of twelve or thirteen
guarding the Gojō Bridge. They say he was slashing round with his short
sword as nimble as a bird or butterfly. I beg that you will not make
your pilgrimage to-night. Do not court this peril.
BENKEI.
That’s a strange thing to ask! Why, were he demon or hobgoblin, he
could not stand alone against many. We will surround him and you shall
soon see him on his knees.
FOLLOWER.
They have tried surrounding him, but he always escapes as though by
magic, and none is able to lay hands on him.
BENKEI.
When he seems within their grasp
FOLLOWER.
From before their eyes
BENKEI.
Suddenly he vanishes.
CHORUS.
This strange hobgoblin, elfish apparition,
Into great peril may bring
The reverend limbs of my master.
In all this City none can withstand the prowess
Of this unparalleled monster.
BENKEI.
If this is as you say, I will not go to-night; and yet ... No. It is
not to be thought of that such a one as Benkei should be affrighted by
a tale. To-night when it is dark I will go to the bridge and humble
this arrogant elf.
CHORUS.
And while he spoke,
Evening already to the western sky had come;
Soon the night-wind had shattered and dispersed
The shapes of sunset. Cheerless night
Came swiftly, but with step too slow
For him who waits.
(_A Comic interlude played by a bow-master is sometimes used here
to fill in the time while_ BENKEI _is arming himself_.)
USHIWAKA.
I am Ushiwaka. I must do as my mother told me; “Go up to the Temple[62]
at daybreak,” she said. But it is still night. I will go to Gojō
Bridge and wait there till suddenly
Moonlight mingles with the rising waves;
No twilight closes
The autumn day, but swiftly
The winds of night bring darkness.
CHORUS (_speaking for_ USHIWAKA).
Oh! beauty of the waves! High beats my heart,
High as their scattered pearls!
Waves white as dewy calabash[63] at dawn,
By Gojō Bridge.
Silently the night passes,
No sound but my own feet upon the wooden planks
Clanking and clanking; still I wait
And still in vain.
BENKEI.
The night grows late. Eastward the bells of the Three Pagodas toll.
By the moonlight that gleams through leaves of these thick cedar-trees
I gird my armour on;
I fasten the black thongs of my coat of mail.
I adjust its armoured skirts.
By the middle I grasp firmly
My great halberd that I have loved so long.
I lay it across my shoulder; with leisurely step stride forward.
Be he demon or hobgoblin, how shall he stand against me?
Such trust have I in my own prowess. Oh, how I long
For a foeman worthy of my hand!
USHIWAKA.
The river-wind blows keen;
The night is almost spent,
But none has crossed the Bridge.
I am disconsolate and will lie down to rest.
BENKEI.
Then Benkei, all unknowing,
Came towards the Bridge where white waves lapped.
Heavily his feet clanked on the boards of the Bridge.
USHIWAKA.
And even before he saw him Ushiwaka gave a whoop of joy.
“Some one has come,” he cried, and hitching his cloak over his
shoulder
Took his stand at the bridge-side.
BENKEI.
Benkei discerned him and would have spoken....
But when he looked, lo! it was a woman’s form!
Then, because he had left the World,[64] with troubled mind he
hurried on.
USHIWAKA.
Then Ushiwaka said,
“I will make game of him,” and as Benkei passed
Kicked at the button of his halberd so that it jerked into the air.
BENKEI (_cries out in surprise_).
Ah! fool, I will teach you a lesson!
CHORUS.
Then Benkei while he retrieved his halberd
Cried out in anger,
“You shall soon feel the strength of my arm,” and fell fiercely
upon him.
But the boy, not a jot alarmed,
Stood his ground and with one hand pulled aside his cloak,
While with the other he quietly drew his sword from the scabbard
And parried the thrust of the halberd that threatened him.
Again and again he parried the halberd’s point.
And so they fought, now closing, now breaking.
What shall Benkei do? For when he thinks that he has conquered,
With his little sword the boy thrusts the blow aside.
Again and again Benkei strikes.
Again and again his blows are parried,
Till at last even he, mighty Benkei,
Can do battle no longer.
Disheartened he steps back the space of a few bridge-beams.
“Monstrous,” he cries, “that this stripling ... No, it cannot be.
He shall not outwit my skill.”
And holding out his halberd at full length before him
He rushed forward and dealt a mighty blow.
But Ushiwaka turned and dived swiftly to the left.
Benkei recovered his halberd and slashed at the boy’s skirts;
But _he_, unfaltering, instantly leapt from the ground.
And when he thrust at the boy’s body,
Then Ushiwaka squirmed with head upon the ground.
Thus a thousand, thousand bouts they fought,
Till the halberd fell from Benkei’s weary hands.
He would have wrestled, but the boy’s sword flashed before him,
And he could get no hold.
Then at his wits’ end, “Oh, marvellous youth!”
Benkei cried, and stood dumbfounded.
CHORUS.
Who are you that, so young and frail, possess such daring? Tell us your
name and state.
USHIWAKA.
Why should I conceal it from you? I am Minamoto Ushiwaka.
CHORUS.
Yoshitomo’s son?
USHIWAKA.
I am. And your name ...?
CHORUS (_speaking for_ BENKEI).
“I am called Musashi Benkei of the Western Pagoda.
And now that we have told our names,
I surrender myself and beg for mercy;
For you are yet a child, and I a priest.
Such are your rank and lineage, such your prowess
That I will gladly serve you.
Too hastily you took me for an enemy; but now begins
A three lives’ bond; henceforward[65]
As slave I serve you.”
So, while the one made vows of homage, the other girded up his cloak.
Then Benkei laid his halberd across his shoulder
And together they went on their way
To the palace of Kujō.[66]
FOOTNOTES:
[61] 1-3 A.M.
[62] The Kurama Temple.
[63] Flowers of the _yūgao_ or calabash. There is a reference to Lady
Yugao (see p. 142), who lived at Gojō.
[64] Because he was a priest.
[65] I. e. three incarnations.
[66] Ushiwaka’s home.
CHAPTER III
KAGEKIYO
HACHI NO KI
SOTOBA KOMACHI
KAGEKIYO
By SEAMI
PERSONS
_A GIRL (Kagekiyo’s daughter)._
_KAGEKIYO THE PASSIONATE._
_HER ATTENDANT._
_A VILLAGER._
_CHORUS._
GIRL and ATTENDANT.
Late dewdrops are our lives that only wait
Till the wind blows, the wind of morning blows.
GIRL.
I am Hitomaru. I live in the valley of Kamegaye. My father Kagekiyo
the Passionate fought for the House of Hei[67] and for this was hated
by the Genji.[68] I am told they have banished him to Miyazaki in the
country of Hyūga, and there in changed estate he passes the months
and years. I must not be downcast at the toil of the journey;[69] for
hardship is the lot of all that travel on unfamiliar roads, and I must
bear it for my father’s sake.
GIRL and ATTENDANT.
Oh double-wet our sleeves
With the tears of troubled dreaming and the dews
That wet our grassy bed.
We leave Sagami; who shall point the way
To Tōtōmi, far off not only in name?[70]
Over the sea we row:
And now the eight-fold Spider Bridge we cross
To Mikawa. How long, O City of the Clouds,[71]
Shall we, inured to travel, see you in our dreams?
ATTENDANT.
We have journeyed so fast that I think we must already have come to
Miyazaki in the country of Hyūga. It is here you should ask for your
father.
(_The voice of_ KAGEKIYO _is heard from within his hut_.)
KAGEKIYO.
Behind this gate,
This pine-wood barricade shut in alone
I waste the hours and days;
By me not numbered, since my eyes no longer
See the clear light of heaven, but in darkness,
Unending darkness, profitlessly sleep
In this low room.
For garment given but one coat to cover
From winter winds or summer’s fire
This ruin, this anatomy!
CHORUS (_speaking for_ KAGEKIYO).
Oh better had I left the world, to wear
The black-stained sleeve.
Who will now pity me, whose withered frame
Even to myself is hateful?
Or who shall make a care to search for me
And carry consolation to my woes?
GIRL.
How strange! That hut is so old, I cannot think that any one can live
there. Yet I heard a voice speaking within. Perhaps some beggar lodges
there; I will not go nearer. (_She steps back_.)
KAGEKIYO.
Though my eyes see not autumn
Yet has the wind brought tiding
GIRL.
Of one who wanders
By ways unknown bewildered,
Finding rest nowhere--
KAGEKIYO.
For in the Three Worlds of Being
Nowhere is rest,[72] but only
In the Void Eternal.
None is, and none can answer
_Where_ to thy asking.
ATTENDANT (_going up to_ KAGEKIYO’S _hut_).
I have come to your cottage to ask you something.
KAGEKIYO.
What is it you want?
ATTENDANT.
Can you tell me where the exile lives?
KAGEKIYO.
The exile? What exile do you mean? Tell me his name.
ATTENDANT.
We are looking for Kagekiyo the Passionate who fought for the Taira.
KAGEKIYO.
I have heard of him indeed. But I am blind, and have not seen him. I
have heard such sad tales of his plight that I needs must pity him. Go
further; ask elsewhere.
ATTENDANT (_to_ GIRL, _who has been waiting_).
It does not seem that we shall find him here. Let us go further and ask
again. (_They pass on._)
KAGEKIYO.
Who can it be that is asking for me? What if it should be the child of
this blind man? For long ago when I was at Atsuta in Owari I courted a
woman and had a child by her. But since the child was a girl, I thought
I would get no good of her and left her with the head-man of the valley
of Kamegaye. But she was not content to stay with her foster-parents
and has come all this way to meet her true father.
CHORUS.
To hear a voice,
To hear and not to see!
Oh pity of blind eyes!
I have let her pass by;
I have not told my name;
But it was love that bound me,
Love’s rope that held me.
ATTENDANT (_calling into the side-bridge_).
Hie! Is there any villager about?
VILLAGER (_raising the curtain that divides the side-bridge from the
stage_).
What do you want with me?
ATTENDANT.
Do you know where the exile lives?
VILLAGER.
The exile? What exile is it you are asking for?
ATTENDANT.
One called Kagekiyo the Passionate who fought for the Taira.
VILLAGER.
Did you not see some one in a thatched hut under the hillside as you
came along?
ATTENDANT.
Why, we saw a blind beggar in a thatched hut.
VILLAGER.
That blind beggar is your man. _He_ is Kagekiyo.
(_The_ GIRL _starts and trembles_.)
But why does your lady tremble when I tell you that he is Kagekiyo?
What is amiss with her?
ATTENDANT.
No wonder that you ask. I will tell you at once; this lady is
Kagekiyo’s daughter. She has borne the toil of this journey because she
longed to meet her father face to face. Please take her to him.
VILLAGER.
She is Kagekiyo’s daughter? How strange, how strange! But, lady, calm
yourself and listen.
Kagekiyo went blind in both his eyes, and finding himself helpless,
shaved his head and called himself the beggar of Hyūga. He begs a
little from travellers; and we villagers are sorry for him and see to
it that he does not starve. Perhaps he would not tell you his name
because he was ashamed of what he has become. But if you will come with
me I will shout “Kagekiyo” at him. He will surely answer to his own
name. Then you shall go to him and talk of what you will, old times or
now. Please come this way.
(_They go towards the hut._)
Hie, Kagekiyo, Kagekiyo! Are you there, Kagekiyo the Passionate?
KAGEKIYO (_stopping his ears with his hands, irritably_).
Noise, noise!
Silence! I was vexed already. For a while ago there came travellers
from my home! Do you think I let them stay? No, no. I could not show
them my loathsomeness.... It was hard to let them go,--not tell them my
name!
A thousand rivers of tears soften my sleeve!
A thousand, thousand things I do in dream
And wake to idleness! Oh I am resolved
To be in the world as one who is not in the world.
Let them shout “Kagekiyo, Kagekiyo”:
Need beggars answer?
Moreover, in this land I have a name.
CHORUS.
“In Hyūga sunward-facing
A fit name found I.
Oh call me not by the name
Of old days that have dropped
Like the bow from a stricken hand!
For I whom passion
Had left for ever
At the sound of that wrathful name
Am angry, angry.”
(_While the_ CHORUS _speaks his thought_ KAGEKIYO _mimes their
words, waving his stick and finally beating it against his thigh in
a crescendo of rage_.)
KAGEKIYO (_suddenly lowering his voice, gently_).
But while I dwell here
CHORUS.
“But while I dwell here
To those that tend me
Should I grow hateful
Then were I truly
A blind man staffless.
Oh forgive
Profitless anger, tongue untended,
A cripple’s spleen.”
KAGEKIYO.
For though my eyes be darkened
CHORUS.
“Though my eyes be darkened
Yet, no word spoken,
Men’s thoughts I see.
Listen now to the wind
In the woods upon the hill:
Snow is coming, snow!
Oh bitterness to wake
From dreams of flowers unseen!
And on the shore,
Listen, the waves are lapping
Over rough stones to the cliff.
The evening tide is in.
(KAGEKIYO _fumbles for his staff and rises, coming just outside the
hut. The mention of “waves,” “shore,” “tide,” has reminded him of
the great shore-battle at Yashima in which the Tairas triumphed_.)
“I was one of them, of those Tairas. If you will listen, I will tell
the tale....”
KAGEKIYO (_to the_ VILLAGER).
There was a weight on my mind when I spoke to you so harshly. Pray
forgive me.
VILLAGER.
No, no! you are always so! I do not heed you. But tell me, did not some
one come before, asking for Kagekiyo?
KAGEKIYO.
No,--you are the only one who has asked.
VILLAGER.
It is not true. Some one came here saying that she was Kagekiyo’s
daughter. Why did you not tell her? I was sorry for her and have
brought her back with me.
(_To the_ GIRL.) Come now, speak with your father.
GIRL (_going to_ KAGEKIYO’S _side and touching his sleeve_).
It is I who have come to you.
I have come all the long way,
Through rain, wind, frost and dew.
And now--you have not understood; it was all for nothing.
Am I not worth your love? Oh cruel, cruel! (_She weeps._)
KAGEKIYO.
All that till now I thought to have concealed
Is known; where can I hide,
I that have no more refuge than the dew
That finds no leaf to lie on?
Should you, oh flower delicately tended,
Call me your father, then would the World know you
A beggar’s daughter. Oh think not ill of me
That I did let you pass!
(_He gropes falteringly with his right hand and touches her
sleeve._)
CHORUS.
Oh sad, sad!
He that of old gave welcome
To casual strangers and would raise an angry voice
If any passed his door,
Now from his own child gladly
Would hide his wretchedness.
He that once
Among all that in the warships of Taira
Shoulder to shoulder, knee locked with knee,
Dwelt crowded--
Even Kagekiyo keen
As the clear moonlight--
Was ever called on to captain
The Royal Pinnace.
And though among his men
Many were brave and many of wise counsel,
Yet was he even as the helm of the boat.
And of the many who served him
None cavilled, disputed.
But now
He that of all was envied
Is like Kirin[73] grown old,
By every jade outrun.
VILLAGER (_seeing the_ GIRL _standing sadly apart_).
Poor child, come back again.
(_She comes back to her father’s side._)
Listen, Kagekiyo, there is something your daughter wants of you.
KAGEKIYO.
What is it she wants?
VILLAGER.
She tells me that she longs to hear the story of your high deeds at
Yashima. Could you not tell us the tale?
KAGEKIYO.
That is a strange thing for a girl to ask. Yet since kind love brought
her this long, long way to visit me, I cannot but tell her the tale.
Promise me that when it is finished you will send her back again to her
home.
VILLAGER.
I will. So soon as your tale is finished, I will send her home.
KAGEKIYO.
It was in the third year of Juyei,[74]
At the close of the third month.
We of Heike were in our ships,
The men of Genji on shore.
Two armies spread along the coast
Eager to bid in battle
For final mastery.
Then said Noritsune, Lord of Noto,
“Last year at Muro Hill in the land of Harima,
At Water Island, even at Jackdaw Pass,
We were beaten again and again; outwitted
By Yoshitsune’s strategy.
Oh that some plan might be found, some counsel given
For the slaying of Kurō.”[75] So spoke he.
Then thought Kagekiyo in his heart,
“Though he be called ‘Judge,’
Yet is he no god or demon, this Yoshitsune.
An easy task! Oh easy for one that loves not
His own life chiefly!”
So he took leave of Noritsune
And landed upon the beach.
The soldiers of Genji
“Death to him, death to him!” cried
As they swept towards him.
CHORUS.
And when he saw them,
“What great to-do!” he cried, then waving
His sword in the evening sunlight
He fell upon them swiftly.
They fled before his sword-point,
They could not withstand him, those soldiers;
This way, that way, they scuttled wildly, and he cried,
“They shall not escape me!”
KAGEKIYO (_breaking in excitedly_).
Cowards, cowards all of you!
CHORUS.
Cowards, all of you!
Sight shameful alike for Gen and Hei.
Then, thinking that to stop one man
Could not but be easy,
Sword under arm,
“I am Kagekiyo,” he cried,
“Kagekiyo the Passionate, a captain of the soldiers of Hei.”
And swiftly pursued, with naked hand to grasp
The helm that Mionoya wore.
He clutched at the neck-piece,
Twice and again he clutched, but it slipped from him, slid through
his fingers.
Then crying “He shall not escape me, this foe I have chosen,”
Swooped like a bird, seized upon the helmet,
“Eya, eya,” he cried, tugging,
Till “Crack”--the neck-piece tore from the helm and was left in
his hand,
While the master of it, suddenly free, ran till he was come
A good way off, then turning,
“O mighty Kagekiyo, how terrible the strength of your arm!”
And the other called back to him, “Nay, say rather ‘How strong
the shaft
Of Mionoya’s neck!’” So laughed they across the battle,
And went off each his way.
(KAGEKIYO, _who has been miming the battle, breaks off abruptly and
turns to the_ VILLAGER. _The_ CHORUS _speaks for him_.)
CHORUS.
“I am old: I have forgotten--things unforgettable!
My thoughts are tangled: I am ashamed.
But little longer shall this world,
This sorrowful world torment me.
The end is near: go to your home;
Pray for my soul departed, child, candle to my darkness,
Bridge to salvation!
(_He rises to his feet groping with his stick, comes to the_ GIRL,
_and gently pushes her before him towards the wing_.)
“I stay,” he said; and she “I go.”
The sound of this word
Was all he kept of her,
Nor passed between them
Remembrance other.
FOOTNOTES:
[67] The Tairas.
[68] The Minamotos, who came into power at the end of the twelfth
century.
[69] The journey to look for her father.
[70] Tōtōmi is written with characters meaning “distant estuary.” The
whole passage is full of double-meanings which cannot be rendered.
[71] The Capital.
[72] Quotation from the Parable Chapter of the _Hokkekyō_.
[73] A Chinese Pegasus. The proverb says, “Even Kirin, when he was old,
was outstripped by hacks.” Seami quotes this proverb, _Works_, p. 9.
[74] “Le vieux guerrier avengle, assis devant sa cabane d’exilé, mime
son dernier combat de gestes incertains et tremblants” (Péri).
[75] Yoshitsune.
HACHI NO KI
By SEAMI
PERSONS
_THE PRIEST (Lord Tokiyori disguised)._
_TSUNEYO GENZAYEMON (a former retainer of Tokiyori)._
_GENZAYEMON’S WIFE._
_TOKIYORI’S MINISTER, and followers._
_CHORUS._
PRIEST.
No whence nor whither know I, only onward,
Onward my way.
I am a holy man of no fixed abode. I have been travelling through the
land of Shinano; but the snow lies thick. I had best go up to Kamakura
now and wait there. When Spring comes I will set out upon my pilgrimage.
(_He walks round the stage singing his song of travel._)
Land of Shinano, Peak of Asama,
Thy red smoke rising far and near! Yet cold
Blows the great wind whose breath
From Greatwell Hill is fetched.
On to the Village of Friends--but friendless I,
Whose self is cast aside, go up the path
Of Parting Hill, that from the temporal world
Yet further parts me. Down the river, down
Runs my swift raft plank-nosed to Plank-nose Inn,
And to the Ford of Sano I am come.
I have travelled so fast that I am come to the Ford of Sano in the
country of Kōzuke. Ara! It is snowing again. I must seek shelter here.
(_Goes to the wing and knocks._) Is there anyone in this house?
TSUNEYO’S WIFE (_raising the curtain that divides the hashigakari from
the stage_).
Who is there?
PRIEST.