And for thanksgiving I bequeath
A dance of remembrance to the world,
Fit for the princes of men:
The dance-tune that makes to turn
The towers of the moon,
I will dance it here and as an heirloom leave it
To the sorrowful men of the world.
Give back my mantle, I cannot dance without it.
Say what you will, I must first have back the robe.
HAKURYŌ.
Not yet, for if I give back your robe, not a step would you dance, but
fly with it straight to the sky.
ANGEL.
No, no. Doubt is for mortals;
In heaven is no deceit.
HAKURYŌ.
I am ashamed. Look, I give back the robe.
(_He gives it to her and she takes it in both hands._)
ANGEL.
The heavenly lady puts on her garment,
She dances the dance of the Rainbow Skirt, of the Robe of Feathers.
HAKURYŌ.
The sky-robe flutters; it yields to the wind.
ANGEL.
Sleeve like a flower wet with rain ...
HAKURYŌ.
The first dance is over.
ANGEL.
Shall I dance?
CHORUS.
The dance of Suruga, with music of the East?
Thus was it first danced.
(_The_ ANGEL _dances, while the_ CHORUS _sings the words of the
dance, an ancient Shintō chant_.)
“Why name we
Wide-stretched and everlasting.
The sky of heaven?
Two gods[174] there came of old
And built, upon ten sides shut in,
A measured world for men;
But without limit arched they
The sky above, and named it
Wide-stretched and everlasting.”
ANGEL.
Thus is the Moon-God’s palace:
Its walls are fashioned
With an axe of jade.
CHORUS.
In white dress, black dress,
Thrice ten angels
In two ranks divided,
Thrice five for the waning,
Thrice five for nights of the waxing moon,
One heavenly lady on each night of the moon
Does service and fulfils
Her ritual task assigned.
ANGEL.
I too am of their number,
A moon-lady of heaven.
CHORUS.
“Mine is the fruit of the moon-tree,[175] yet came I to the East
incarnate,[176]
Dwelt with the people of Earth, and gave them
A gift of music, song-dance of Suruga.
Now upon earth trail the long mists of Spring;
Who knows but in the valleys of the moon
The heavenly moon-tree puts her blossom on?
The blossoms of her crown win back their glory:
It is the sign of Spring.
Not heaven is here, but beauty of the wind and sky.
Blow, blow, you wind, and build
Cloud-walls across the sky, lest the vision leave us
Of a maid divine!
This tint of springtime in the woods,
This colour on the headland,
Snow on the mountain,[177]
Moonlight on the clear shore,--
Which fairest? Nay, each peerless
At the dawn of a Spring day.
Waves lapping, wind in the pine-trees whispering
Along the quiet shore. Say you, what cause
Has Heaven to be estranged
From us Earth-men; are we not children of the Gods,
Within, without the jewelled temple wall,[178]
Born where no cloud dares dim the waiting moon,
Land of Sunrise?”
ANGEL.
May our Lord’s life,
Last long as a great rock rubbed
Only by the rare trailing
Of an angel’s feather-skirt.[179]
Oh, marvellous music!
The Eastern song joined
To many instruments;
Harp, zither, pan-pipes, flute,
Belly their notes beyond the lonely clouds.
The sunset stained with crimson light
From Mount Sumeru’s side;[180]
For green, the islands floating on the sea;
For whiteness whirled
A snow of blossom blasted
By the wild winds, a white cloud
Of sleeves waving.
(_Concluding the dance, she folds her hands and prays._)
NAMU KIMYO GWATTEN-SHI.
To thee, Monarch of the Moon,
Be glory and praise,
Thou son of Seishi Omnipotent![181]
CHORUS.
This is a dance of the East.
(_She dances three of the five parts of the dance called “Yo no
Mai,” the Prelude Dance._)
ANGEL.
I am robed in sky, in the empty blue of heaven.
CHORUS.
Now she is robed in a garment of mist, of Spring mist.
ANGEL.
Wonderful in perfume and colour, an angel’s skirt,--left, right,
left, left, right.
(_Springing from side to side._)
The skirt swishes, the flowers nod, the feathery sleeves trail out
and return, the dancing-sleeves.
(_She dances “Ha no Mai” the Broken Dance._)
CHORUS.
She has danced many dances,
But not yet are they numbered,
The dances of the East.
And now she, whose beauty is as the young moon,
Shines on us in the sky of midnight,
The fifteenth night,
With the beam of perfect fulfilment,
The splendor of Truth.
The vows[182] are fulfilled, and the land we live in
Rich with the Seven Treasures
By this dance rained down on us,
The gift of Heaven.
But, as the hours pass by,
Sky-cloak of feathers fluttering, fluttering,
Over the pine-woods of Mio,
Past the Floating Islands, through the feet of the clouds she flies
Over the mountain of Ashitaka, the high peak of Fuji,
Very faint her form,
Mingled with the mists of heaven;
Now lost to sight.
FOOTNOTES:
[170] A Chinese couplet quoted from the _Shih Jēn Yü Hsieh_ (“Jade-dust
of the Poets”), a Sung Dynasty work on poetry which was popular in
Japan.
[171] _Masse_ here means, I think, “future generations,” not “this
degraded age.”
[172] When an angel is about to die, the flowers of his crown wither,
his feather robe is stained with dust, sweat pours from under the
arm-pits, the eyelids tremble, he is tired of his place in heaven.
[173] The sacred bird of heaven.
[174] Izanagi and Izanami.
[175] The “Katsura” tree, a kind of laurel supposed to grow in the moon.
[176] Lit. “dividing my body,” an expression used of Buddhist
divinities that detach a portion of their godhead and incarnate it in
some visible form.
[177] Fuji.
[178] The inner and outer temples at Ise.
[179] Quoting an ancient prayer for the Mikado.
[180] Sumeru is the great mountain at the centre of the universe. Its
west side is of rubies, its south side of green stones, its east side
of white stones, etc.
[181] Called in Sanskrit Mahāsthāma-prāpta, third person of the Trinity
sitting on Amida’s right hand. The Moon-God is an emanation of this
deity.
[182] Of Buddha.
CHAPTER VI
TANIKŌ
IKENIYE
HATSUYUKI
HAKU RAKUTEN
NOTE ON TANIKŌ AND IKENIYE.
Both of these plays deal with the ruthless exactions of religion; in
each the first part lends itself better to translation than the second.
_Tanikō_ is still played; but _Ikeniye_, though printed by both Ōwada
and Haga, has probably not been staged for many centuries.
The pilgrims of _Tanikō_ are _Yamabushi_, “mountaineers,” to whom
reference has been made on page 33. They called themselves _Shu-genja_,
“portent-workers,” and claimed to be the knight-errants of Buddhism.
But their conduct seems to have differed little from that of the
_Sōhei_ (armed monks) who poured down in hordes from Mount Hiyei to
terrorize the inhabitants of the surrounding country. Some one in the
_Genji Monogatari_ is said to have “collected a crowd of evil-looking
Yamabushi, desperate, stick-at-nothing fellows.”
_Ikeniye_, the title of the second play, means “Pool Sacrifice,” but
also “Living Sacrifice,” i. e. human sacrifice.
TANIKŌ
(THE VALLEY-HURLING)
PART I
By ZENCHIKU
PERSONS
_A TEACHER._
_THE BOY’S MOTHER._
_PILGRIMS._
_A YOUNG BOY._
_LEADER OF THE PILGRIMS._
_CHORUS._
TEACHER.
I am a teacher. I keep a school at one of the temples in the City. I
have a pupil whose father is dead; he has only his mother to look after
him. Now I will go and say good-bye to them, for I am soon starting on
a journey to the mountains. (_He knocks at the door of the house._) May
I come in?
BOY.
Who is it? Why, it is the Master who has come out to see us!
TEACHER.
Why is it so long since you came to my classes at the temple?
BOY.
I have not been able to come because my mother has been ill.
TEACHER.
I had no idea of that. Please tell her at once that I am here.
BOY (_calling into the house_).
Mother, the Master is here.
MOTHER.
Ask him to come in.
BOY.
Please come in here.
TEACHER.
It is a long time since I was here. Your son says you have been ill.
Are you better now?
MOTHER.
Do not worry about my illness. It is of no consequence.
TEACHER.
I am glad to hear it. I have come to say good-bye, for I am soon
starting on a ritual mountain-climbing.
MOTHER.
A mountain-climbing? Yes, indeed; I have heard that it is a dangerous
ritual. Shall you take my child with you?
TEACHER.
It is not a journey that a young child could make.
MOTHER.
Well,--I hope you will come back safely.
TEACHER.
I must go now.
BOY.
I have something to say.
TEACHER.
What is it?
BOY.
I will go with you to the mountains.
TEACHER.
No, no. As I said to your mother, we are going on a difficult and
dangerous excursion. You could not possibly come with us. Besides, how
could you leave your mother when she is not well? Stay here. It is in
every way impossible that you should go with us.
BOY.
Because my mother is ill I will go with you to pray for her.
TEACHER.
I must speak to your mother again. (_He goes back into the inner
room._) I have come back,--your son says he is going to come with us. I
told him he could not leave you when you were ill and that it would be
a difficult and dangerous road. I said it was quite impossible for him
to come. But he says he must come to pray for your health. What is to
be done?
MOTHER.
I have listened to your words. I do not doubt what the boy says,--that
he would gladly go with you to the mountains: (_to the_ BOY) but since
the day your father left us I have had none but you at my side. I have
not had you out of mind or sight for as long a time as it takes a
dewdrop to dry! Give back the measure of my love. Let your love keep
you with me.
BOY.
This is all as you say.... Yet nothing shall move me from my purpose. I
must climb this difficult path and pray for your health in this life.
CHORUS.
They saw no plea could move him.
Then master and mother with one voice:
“Alas for such deep piety,
Deep as our heavy sighs.”
The mother said,
“I have no strength left;
If indeed it must be,
Go with the Master.
But swiftly, swiftly
Return from danger.”
BOY.
Checking his heart which longed for swift return
At dawn towards the hills he dragged his feet.[183]
* * * * *
TEACHER.
We have climbed so fast that we have already reached the first hut. We
will stay here a little while.
LEADER.
We obey.
BOY.
I have something to say.
TEACHER.
What is it?
BOY.
I do not feel well.
TEACHER.
Stay! Such things may not be said by those who travel on errands like
ours. Perhaps you are tired because you are not used to climbing. Lie
there and rest.
LEADER.
They are saying that the young boy is ill with climbing. I must ask the
Master about it.
PILGRIMS.
Do so.
LEADER.
I hear that this young boy is ill with climbing. What is the matter
with him? Are you anxious about him?
TEACHER.
He is not feeling well, but there is nothing wrong with him. He is only
tired with climbing.
LEADER.
So you are not troubled about him?
(_A pause._)
PILGRIM.
Listen, you pilgrims. Just now the Master said this boy was only tired
with climbing. But now he is looking very strange. Ought we not to
follow our Great Custom and hurl him into the valley?
LEADER.
We ought to indeed. I must tell the Master. Sir, when I enquired before
about the child you told me he was only tired with climbing; but now he
is looking very strange.
Though I say it with dread, there has been from ancient times a Great
Custom that those who fail should be cast down. All the pilgrims are
asking that he should be thrown into the valley.
TEACHER.
What, you would hurl this child into the valley?
LEADER.
We would.
TEACHER.
It is a Mighty Custom. I cannot gainsay it. But I have great pity in my
heart for that creature. I will tell him tenderly of this Great Custom.
LEADER.
Pray do so.
TEACHER.
Listen carefully to me. It has been the law from ancient times that if
any pilgrim falls sick on such journey as these he should be hurled
into the valley,--done suddenly to death. If I could take your place,
how gladly I would die. But now I cannot help you.
BOY.
I understand. I knew well that if I came on this journey I might lose
my life.
Only at the thought
Of my dear mother,
How her tree of sorrow
For me must blossom
With flower of weeping,--
I am heavy-hearted.
CHORUS.
Then the pilgrims sighing
For the sad ways of the world
And the bitter ordinances of it,
Make ready for the hurling.
Foot to foot
They stood together
Heaving blindly,
None guiltier than his neighbour.
And clods of earth after
And flat stones they flung.[184]
FOOTNOTES:
[183] Here follows a long lyric passage describing their journey and
ascent. The frequent occurrence of place-names and plays of word on
such names makes it impossible to translate.
[184] I have only summarized the last chorus. When the pilgrims reach
the summit, they pray to their founder, En no Gyōja, and to the God
Fudō that the boy may be restored to life. In answer to their prayers
a Spirit appears carrying the boy in her arms. She lays him at the
Priest’s feet and vanishes again, treading the Invisible Pathway that
En no Gyōja trod when he crossed from Mount Katsuragi to the Great Peak
without descending into the valley.
IKENIYE
(THE POOL-SACRIFICE)
PART I
By SEAMI[185]
PERSONS
_THE TRAVELLER._
_HIS WIFE._
_HIS DAUGHTER._
_THE INNKEEPER._
_THE PRIEST._
_THE ACOLYTE._
_CHORUS._
TRAVELLER.
I am a man who lives in the Capital. Maybe because of some great wrong
I did in a former life ... I have fallen into trouble and cannot go on
living here.
I have a friend in the East country. Perhaps he would help me. I will
take my wife and child and go at once to the ends of the East.
(_He travels to the East, singing as he goes a song about the
places through which he passes._)
We are come to the Inn. (_Knocks at the door._) We are travellers. Pray
give us shelter.
INNKEEPER.
Lodging, do you say? Come in with me. This way. Tell me, where have you
come from?
TRAVELLER.
I come from the Capital, and I am going down to the East to visit my
friend.
INNKEEPER.
Listen. I am sorry. There is something I must tell you privately.
Whoever passes this night at the Inn must go to-morrow to the drawing
of lots at the sacrifice. I am sorry for it, but you would do best to
leave the Inn before dawn. Tell no one what I have said, and mind you
start early.
TRAVELLER.
If we may sleep here now we will gladly start at dawn.
(_They lie down and sleep in the open courtyard. After a while they
rise and start on their journey._)
_Enter the_ PRIEST.
PRIEST.
Hey! where are you?
_Enter the_ ACOLYTE.
ACOLYTE.
Here I am.
PRIEST.
I hear that three travellers stayed at the Inn last night and have left
before dawn. Go after them and stop them.
ACOLYTE.
I listen and obey. Hey, you travellers, go no further!
TRAVELLER.
Is it at us you are shouting?
ACOLYTE.
Yes, indeed it is at you.
TRAVELLER.
And why should we stop? Tell me the reason.
ACOLYTE.
He is right. It is not to be wondered at that he should ask the reason.
(_To the_ TRAVELLER.) Listen. Each year at this place there is a
sacrifice at the Pool. To-day is the festival of this holy rite, and we
ask you to join in it.
TRAVELLER.
I understand you. But it is for those that live here, those that were
born children of this Deity, to attend his worship. Must a wanderer go
with you because he chances to lodge here for a night?
(_He turns to go._)
ACOLYTE.
No, No! For all you say, this will not do.
PRIEST.
Stay! Sir, we do not wonder that you should think this strange. But
listen to me. From ancient times till now no traveller has ever lodged
this night of the year at the Inn of Yoshiwara without attending the
sacrifice at the Pool. If you are in a hurry, come quickly to the
sacrifice, and then with a blessing set out again on your journey.
TRAVELLER.
I understand you. But, as I have said, for such rites as these you
should take men born in the place.... No, I still do not understand.
Why should a fleeting traveller be summoned to this Pool-Sacrifice?
PRIEST.
It is a Great Custom.
TRAVELLER.
That may be. I do not question that that is your rule. But I beg you,
consider my case and excuse me.
PRIEST.
Would you be the first to break a Great Custom that has been observed
since ancient times?
TRAVELLER.
No, that is not what I meant. But if we are to discuss this matter, I
must be plain with you.... I am a man of the Capital. Perhaps because
of some ill deed done in a former life I have suffered many troubles.
At last I could no longer build the pathway of my life, so I took my
wife and child and set out to seek my friend who lives in the East.
Pray let me go on my way.
PRIEST.
Indeed, indeed you have cause for distress. But from ancient times till
now
Parents have been taken
And countless beyond all knowing
Wives and husbands parted.
Call this, if you will, the retribution of a former life. But now come
with us quickly to the shores of the Holy Pool.
(_Describing his own actions._)
So saying, the Priest and acolytes went forward.
WIFE and DAUGHTER.
And the wife and child, crying “Oh what shall we do?” clutched at the
father’s sleeve.
TRAVELLER.
But the father could find no words to speak. He stood baffled,
helpless....
PRIEST.
They must not loiter. Divide them and drive them on!
ACOLYTE.
So he drove them before him and they walked like ...
TRAVELLER.
If true comparison were made ...
CHORUS.
Like guilty souls of the Dead
Driven to Judgment
By fiends reproachful;
Whose hearts unknowing
Like dew in day-time
To nothing dwindle.
Like sheep to shambles
They walk weeping,
No step without a tear
Till to the Pool they come.
PRIEST.
Now we are come to the Pool, and by its edge are ranged the Priest, the
acolytes, the virgins and dancing-boys.
CHORUS.
There is one doom-lot;
Yet those that are thinking
“Will it be mine?”
They are a hundred,
And many times a hundred.
PRIEST.
Embracing, clasping hands ...
CHORUS.
Pale-faced
PRIEST.
Sinking at heart
CHORUS.
“On whom will it fall?”
Not knowing, thick as snow,
White snow of winter fall their prayers
To their clan-gods, “Protect us” ...
Palm pressed to palm.
PRIEST.
At last the Priest mounted the daïs, raised the lid of the box and
counted the lots to see that there was one for each to take.
CHORUS.
Then all the people came forward
To draw their lots.
And each when he unfolded his lot
And found it was not the First,
How glad he was!
But the traveller’s daughter,
Knowing her fate,
Fell weeping to the earth.
PRIEST.
Are there not three travellers? They have only drawn two lots. The
First Lot is still undrawn. Tell them that one of them must draw it.
ACOLYTE.
I listen and obey. Ho, you travellers, it is to you I am speaking.
There are three of you, and you have only drawn two lots. The Priest
says one of you must draw the First Lot.
TRAVELLER.
We have all drawn.
ACOLYTE.
No, I am sure the young girl has not drawn her lot. Look, here it is.
Yes, and it is the Doom-lot!
WIFE.
The First Lot! How terrible!
Hoping to rear you to womanhood, we wandered blindly from the City and
came down to the unknown country of the East. For your sake we set our
hearts on this sad journey. If you are taken, what will become of us?
How hideous!
DAUGHTER.
Do not sob so! If you or my father had drawn this lot, what should I
have done? But now it has fallen to me, and it is hard for you to let
me go.
TRAVELLER.
What brave words! “If you or my father had drawn this lot....” There is
great piety in that saying. (_To his_ WIFE.) Come, do not sob so before
all these people. We are both parents and must have like feelings. But
from the time I set out to this holy lottery something told me that of
the three of us one would be taken. Look! I am not crying.
WIFE.
I thought as you did, yet ...
It is too much! Can it all be real?
TRAVELLER.
The father said “I will not show weakness,” yet while he was speaking
bravely
Because she was his dear daughter
His secret tears
Could not be checked.
WIFE.
Is this a dream or is it real?
(_She clings to the daughter, wailing._)
PRIEST.
Because the time had come
The Priest and his men
Stood waiting on the shore
CHORUS.
They decked the boat with ribands
And upon a bed of water-herbs
They laid the maiden of the Pool.
PRIEST.
The priest pulled the ribands
And spoke the words of prayer.
[In the second part of the play the dragon of the Pool is appeased
and the girl restored to life.]
FOOTNOTE:
[185] The play is given in a list of Seami’s works composed on the
authority of his great-grandson, Kwanze Nagatoshi, in 1524. Ōwada gives
it as anonymous.
HATSUYUKI
(EARLY SNOW)
By KOPARU ZEMBŌ MOTOYASU (1453-1532).
PERSONS
_EVENING MIST, a servant girl._
_A LADY, the Abbot’s daughter._
_TWO NOBLE LADIES._
_THE SOUL OF THE BIRD HATSUYUKI (“Early Snow”)._
_CHORUS._
SCENE: _The Great Temple at Izumo_.
SERVANT.
I am a servant at the Nyoroku Shrine in the Great Temple of Izumo. My
name is Evening Mist. You must know that the Lord Abbot has a daughter,
a beautiful lady and gentle as can be. And she keeps a tame bird that
was given her a year ago, and because it was a lovely white bird she
called it Hatsuyuki, Early Snow; and she loves it dearly.
I have not seen the bird to-day. I think I will go to the bird-cage and
have a look at it.
(_She goes to the cage._)
Mercy on us, the bird is not there! Whatever shall I say to my lady?
But I shall have to tell her. I think I’ll tell her now. Madam, madam,
your dear Snow-bird is not here!
LADY.
What is that you say? Early Snow is not there? It cannot be true.
(_She goes to the cage._)
It is true. Early Snow has gone! How can that be? How can it be that my
pretty one that was so tame should vanish and leave no trace?
Oh bitterness of snows
That melt and disappear!
Now do I understand
The meaning of a midnight dream
That lately broke my rest.
A harbinger it was
Of Hatsuyuki’s fate.
(_She bursts into tears._)
CHORUS.
Though for such tears and sighs
There be no cause,
Yet came her grief so suddenly,
Her heart’s fire is ablaze;
And all the while
Never a moment are her long sleeves dry.
They say that written letters first were traced
By feet of birds in sand
Yet Hatsuyuki leaves no testament.
(_They mourn._)
CHORUS (_“kuse” chant, irregular verse accompanied by dancing_).
How sad to call to mind
When first it left the breeding-cage
So fair of form
And coloured white as snow.
We called it Hatsuyuki, “Year’s First Snow.”
And where our mistress walked
It followed like a shadow at her side.
But now alas! it is a bird of parting[186]
Though not in Love’s dark lane.
LADY.
There’s no help now. (_She weeps bitterly._)
CHORUS.
Still there is one way left. Stop weeping, Lady,
And turn your heart to him who vowed to hear.
The Lord Amida, if a prayer be said--
Who knows but he can bring
Even a bird’s soul into Paradise
And set it on the Lotus Pedestal?[187]
LADY.
Evening Mist, are you not sad that Hatsuyuki has gone? ... But we must
not cry any more. Let us call together the noble ladies of this place
and for seven days sit with them praying behind barred doors. Go now
and do my bidding.
(EVENING MIST _fetches the_ NOBLE LADIES _of the place_).
TWO NOBLE LADIES (_together_).
A solemn Mass we sing
A dirge for the Dead;
At this hour of heart-cleansing
We beat on Buddha’s gong.
(_They pray._)
NAMU AMIDA BUTSU NAMU NYORAI
Praise to Amida Buddha,
Praise to Mida our Saviour!
(_The prayers and gong-beating last for some time and form the
central ballet of the play._)
CHORUS (_the bird’s soul appears as a white speck in the sky_).
Look! Look! A cloud in the clear mid-sky!
But it is not a cloud.
With pure white wings beating the air
The Snow-bird comes!
Flying towards our lady
Lovingly he hovers,
Dances before her.
THE BIRD’S SOUL.
Drawn by the merit of your prayers and songs
CHORUS.
Straightway he was reborn in Paradise.
By the pond of Eight Virtues he walks abroad:
With the Phœnix and Fugan his playtime passing.
He lodges in the sevenfold summit of the trees of Heaven.
No hurt shall harm him
For ever and ever.
Now like the tasselled doves we loose
From battlements on holy days
A little while he flutters;
Flutters a little while and then is gone
We know not where.
FOOTNOTES:
[186] “Wakare no tori,” the bird which warns lovers of the approach of
day.
[187] Turn it into a Buddha.
HAKU RAKUTEN
By SEAMI
INTRODUCTION
The Chinese poet Po Chü-i, whom the Japanese call Haku Rakuten, was
born in 772 A. D. and died in 847. His works enjoyed immense
contemporary popularity in China, Korea and Japan. In the second
half of the ninth century the composition of Chinese verse became
fashionable at the Japanese Court, and native forms of poetry were for
a time threatened with extinction.
The Nō play _Haku Rakuten_ deals with this literary peril. It was
written at the end of the fourteenth century, a time when Japanese
art and literature were again becoming subject to Chinese influence.
Painting and prose ultimately succumbed, but poetry was saved.
Historically, Haku Rakuten never came to Japan. But the danger of his
influence was real and actual, as may be deduced from reading the
works of Sugawara no Michizane, the greatest Japanese poet of the
ninth century. Michizane’s slavish imitations of Po Chü-i show an
unparalleled example of literary prostration. The plot of the play is
as follows:
Rakuten is sent by the Emperor of China to “subdue” Japan with his
art. On arriving at the coast of Bizen, he meets with two Japanese
fishermen. One of them is in reality the god of Japanese poetry,
Sumiyoshi no Kami. In the second act his identity is revealed. He
summons other gods, and a great dancing-scene ensues. Finally the wind
from their dancing-sleeves blows the Chinese poet’s ship back to his
own country.
Seami, in his plays, frequently quotes Po Chü-i’s poems; and in his
lament for the death of his son, Zemparu Motomasa, who died in 1432, he
refers to the death of Po Chü-i’s son, A-ts’ui.
PERSONS
_RAKUTEN_ (_a Chinese poet_).
_AN OLD FISHERMAN, SUMIYOSHI NO KAMI, who in Act II becomes the God
of Japanese Poetry._
_ANOTHER FISHERMAN._
_CHORUS OF FISHERMEN._
SCENE: _The coast of Bizen in Japan_.
HAKU.
I am Haku Rakuten, a courtier of the Prince of China. There is a land
in the East called Nippon.[188] Now, at my master’s bidding, I am sent
to that land to make proof of the wisdom of its people. I must travel
over the paths of the sea.
I will row my boat towards the rising sun,
The rising sun;
And seek the country that lies to the far side
Over the wave-paths of the Eastern Sea.
Far my boat shall go,
My boat shall go,--
With the light of the setting sun in the waves of its wake
And a cloud like a banner shaking the void of the sky.
Now the moon rises, and on the margin of the sea
A mountain I discern.
I am come to the land of Nippon,
The land of Nippon.
So swiftly have I passed over the ways of the ocean that I am come
already to the shores of Nippon. I will cast anchor here a little
while. I would know what manner of land this may be.
THE TWO FISHERMEN (_together_).
Dawn over the Sea of Tsukushi,
Place of the Unknown Fire.
Only the moonlight--nothing else left!
THE OLD FISHERMAN.
The great waters toss and toss;
The grey waves soak the sky.
THE TWO FISHERMEN.
So was it when Han Rei[189] left the land of Etsu
And rowed in a little boat
Over the misty waves of the Five Lakes.
How pleasant the sea looks!
From the beach of Matsura
Westward we watch the hill-less dawn.
A cloud, where the moon is setting,
Floats like a boat at sea,
A boat at sea
That would anchor near us in the dawn.
Over the sea from the far side,
From China the journey of a ship’s travel
Is a single night’s sailing, they say.
And lo! the moon has vanished!
HAKU.
I have borne with the billows of a thousand miles of sea and come at
last to the land of Nippon. Here is a little ship anchored near me. An
old fisherman is in it. Can this be indeed an inhabitant of Nippon?
OLD FISHERMAN.
Aye, so it is. I am an old fisher of Nihon. And your Honour, I think,
is Haku Rakuten, of China.
HAKU.
How strange! No sooner am I come to this land than they call me by my
name! How can this be?
SECOND FISHERMAN.
Although your Honour is a man of China, your name and fame have come
before you.
HAKU.
Even though my name be known, yet that you should know my face is
strange surely!
THE TWO FISHERMEN.
It was said everywhere in the Land of Sunrise that your Honour,
Rakuten, would come to make trial of the wisdom of Nihon. And when,
as we gazed westwards, we saw a boat coming in from the open sea, the
hearts of us all thought in a twinkling, “This is he.”
CHORUS.
“He has come, he has come.”
So we cried when the boat came in
To the shore of Matsura,
The shore of Matsura.
Sailing in from the sea
Openly before us--
A Chinese ship
And a man from China,--
How could we fail to know you,
Haku Rakuten?
But your halting words tire us.
Listen as we will, we cannot understand
Your foreign talk.
Come, our fishing-time is precious.
Let us cast our hooks,
Let us cast our hooks!
HAKU.
Stay! Answer me one question.[190] Bring your boat closer and tell me,
Fisherman, what is your pastime now in Nippon?
FISHERMAN.
And in the land of China, pray how do your Honours disport yourselves?
HAKU.
In China we play at making poetry.
FISHERMAN.
And in Nihon, may it please you, we venture on the sport of making
“uta.”[191]
HAKU.
And what are “uta”?
FISHERMAN.
You in China make your poems and odes out of the Scriptures of India;
and we have made our “uta” out of the poems and odes of China. Since
then our poetry is a blend of three lands, we have named it Yamato, the
great Blend, and all our songs “Yamato Uta.” But I think you question
me only to mock an old man’s simplicity.
HAKU.
No, truly; that was not my purpose. But come, I will sing a Chinese
poem about the scene before us.
“Green moss donned like a cloak
Lies on the shoulders of the rocks;
White clouds drawn like a belt
Surround the flanks of the mountains.”
How does that song please you?
FISHERMAN.
It is indeed a pleasant verse. In our tongue we should say the poem
thus:
_Koke-goromo
Kitaru iwao wa
Samonakute,
Kinu kinu yama no
Obi wo suru kana!_
HAKU.
How strange that a poor fisherman should put my verse into a sweet
native measure! Who can he be?
FISHERMAN.
A poor man and unknown. But as for the making of “uta,” it is not only
men that make them. “For among things that live there is none that has
not the gift of song.”[192]
HAKU (_taking up the other’s words as if hypnotized_).
“Among things that have life,--yes, and birds and insects--”
FISHERMAN.
They have sung Yamato songs.
HAKU.
In the land of Yamato ...
FISHERMAN.
... many such have been sung.
CHORUS.
“The nightingale singing on the bush,
Even the frog that dwells in the pond----”
I know not if it be in your Honour’s land,
But in Nihon they sing the stanzas of the “uta.”
And so it comes that an old man
Can sing the song you have heard,
A song of great Yamato.
CHORUS (_changing the chant_).
And as for the nightingale and the poem it made,--
They say that in the royal reign
Of the Emperor Kōren
In the land of Yamato, in the temple of High Heaven
A priest was dwelling.[193]
Each year at the season of Spring
There came a nightingale
To the plum-tree at his window.
And when he listened to its song
He heard it singing a verse:
“_Sho-yō mei-chō rai
Fu-sō gem-bon sei._”
And when he wrote down the characters,
Behold, it was an “uta”-song
Of thirty letters and one.
And the words of the song--
FISHERMAN.
_Hatsu-haru no_ Of Spring’s beginning
_Ashita goto ni wa_ At each dawn
_Kitaredomo_ Though I come,
CHORUS.
_Awade zo kaeru_ Unmet I return
_Moto no sumika ni._ To my old nest.
Thus first the nightingale,
And many birds and beasts thereto,
Sing “uta,” like the songs of men.
And instances are many;
Many as the myriad pebbles that lie
On the shore of the sea of Ariso.
“For among things that live
There is none that has not the gift of song.”
Truly the fisherman has the ways of Yamato in his heart. Truly, this
custom is excellent.
FISHERMAN.
If we speak of the sports of Yamato and sing its songs, we should show
too what dances we use; for there are many kinds.
CHORUS.
Yes, there are the dances; but there is no one to dance.
FISHERMAN.
Though there be no dancer, yet even I--
CHORUS.
For drums--the beating of the waves.
For flutes--the song of the sea-dragon.
For dancer--this ancient man
Despite his furrowed brow
Standing on the furrowed sea
Floating on the green waves
Shall dance the Sea Green Dance.
FISHERMAN.
And the land of Reeds and Rushes....
CHORUS.
Ten thousand years our land inviolate!
[_The rest of the play is a kind of “ballet”_; the words are merely
a commentary on the dances.]
FOOTNOTES:
[188] The fact that Haku is a foreigner is conventionally emphasized by
his pronunciation of this word. The fishermen, when using the same word
later on, called it “Nihon.”
[189] The Chinese call him Fan Li. He lived in China in the fifth
century B.C. Having rendered important services to the country
of Yüeh (Etsu), he went off with his mistress in a skiff, knowing that
if he remained in public life his popularity was bound to decline. The
Fishermen are vaguely groping towards the idea of “a Chinaman” and a
“boat.” They are not yet consciously aware of the arrival of Rakuten.
[190] Haku throughout omits the honorific turns of speech which
civility demands. The Fishermen speak in elaborately deferential and
honorific language. The writer wishes to portray Haku as an ill-bred
foreigner.
[191] “Uta,” i. e. the thirty-one syllable Japanese stanza.
[192] Quotation from the Preface to the _Kokinshū_ (“Collection of
Songs Ancient and Modern”). The fact that Haku continues the quotation
shows that he is under a sort of spell and makes it clear for the first
time that his interlocutor is not an ordinary mortal. From this point
onwards, in fact, the Fisherman gradually becomes a God.
[193] The priest’s acolyte had died. The nightingale was the boy’s soul.
ACT II.
FISHERMAN (_transformed into_ SUMIYOSHI NO KAMI, _the God of Poetry_).
Sea that is green with the shadow of the hills in the water!
Sea Green Dance, danced to the beating of the waves.
(_He dances the Sea Green Dance._)
Out of the wave-lands,
Out of the fields of the Western Sea
CHORUS.
He rises before us,
The God of Sumiyoshi,
The God of Sumiyoshi!
THE GOD.
I rise before you
The god--
CHORUS.
The God of Sumiyoshi whose strength is such
That he will not let you subdue us, O Rakuten!
So we bid you return to your home,
Swiftly over the waves of the shore!
First the God of Sumiyoshi came.
Now other gods[194] have come--
Of Isé and Iwa-shimizu,
Of Kamo and Kasuga,
Of Ka-shima and Mi-shima,
Of Suwa and Atsuta.
And the goddess of the Beautiful Island,
The daughter of Shakāra
King of the Dragons of the Sea--
Skimming the face of the waves
They have danced the Sea Green Dance.
And the King of the Eight Dragons--
With his Symphony of Eight Musics.
As they hovered over the void of the sea,
Moved in the dance, the sleeves of their dancing-dress
Stirred up a wind, a magic wind
That blew on the Chinese boat
And filled its sails
And sent it back again to the land of Han.
Truly, the God is wondrous;
The God is wondrous, and thou, our Prince,
Mayest thou rule for many, many years
Our Land Inviolate!
FOOTNOTE:
[194] They do not appear on the stage.
CHAPTER VII
SUMMARIES
IZUTSU
KAKITSUBATA
HANAKATAMI
OMINAMESHI
MATSUKAZE
SHUNKWAN
AMA
TAKE NO YUKI
TORI-OI
YUYA
TANGO-MONOGURUI
IKKAKU SENNIN
YAMAUBA
HOTOKE NO HARA
MARI
TŌRU
MAI-GURUMA
Of the plays which are founded on the _Ise Monogatari_[195] the best
known are _Izutsu_ and _Kakitsubata_, both by Seami. _Izutsu_ is
founded on the episode which runs as follows:
Once upon a time a boy and a girl, children of country people, used to
meet at a well and play there together. When they grew up they became a
little shame-faced towards one another, but he could think of no other
woman, nor she of any other man. He would not take the wife his parents
had found for him, nor she the husband that her parents had found for
her.
Then he sent her a poem which said:
“Oh, the well, the well!
I who scarce topped the well-frame
Am grown to manhood since we met.”
And she to him:
“The two strands of my hair
That once with yours I measured,
Have passed my shoulder;
Who but you should put them up?”[196]
So they wrote, and at last their desire was fulfilled. Now after a year
or more had passed the girl’s parents died, and they were left without
sustenance. They could not go on living together; the man went to and
fro between her house and the town of Takayasu in Kawachi, while she
stayed at home.
Now when he saw that she let him go gladly and showed no grief in her
face, he thought it was because her heart had changed. And one day,
instead of going to Kawachi, he hid behind the hedge and watched. Then
he heard the girl singing:
“The mountain of Tatsuta that rises
Steep as a wave of the sea when the wind blows
To-night my lord will be crossing all alone!”
And he was moved by her song, and went no more to Takayasu in Kawachi.
In the play a wandering priest meets with a village girl, who turns
out to be the ghost of the girl in this story. The text is woven out of
the words of the _Ise Monogatari_.
[Illustration: IZUTSU]
_Kakitsubata_ is based on the eighth episode. Narihira and his
companions come to a place called Yatsuhashi, where, across an
iris-covered swamp, zigzags a low footpath of planks.
Narihira bids them compose an anagram on the word _Kakitsubata_,
“iris,” and some one sings:
“_Ka_ra-goromo
_Ki_-tsutsu nare-ni-shi
_Tsu_ma shi areba
_Ba_ru-baru ki-nuru
_Ta_bi wo shi zo omou.”
The first syllables of each line make, when read consecutively, the
word _Kakitsubata_, and the poem, which is a riddle with many meanings,
may be translated:
“My lady’s love
Sat close upon me like a coat well worn;
And surely now
Her thoughts go after me down this long road!”
“When he had done singing, they all wept over their dried-rice till it
grew soppy.”
In the play, a priest comes to this place and learns its story from a
village-girl, who turns out to be the “soul of the iris-flower.” At
the end she disappears into the Western Paradise. “Even the souls of
flowers can attain to Buddhahood.”
FOOTNOTES:
[195] The love-adventures of Narihira (825-880 A.D.) in 125
episodes, supposed to have been written by Narihira himself.
[196] The husband puts up the bride’s hair.
HANAKATAMI
(THE FLOWER BASKET)
By KWANAMI; REVISED BY SEAMI
Before he came to the throne, the Emperor Keitai[197] loved the Lady
Teruhi. On his accession he sent her a letter of farewell and a basket
of flowers. In the play the messenger meets her on the road to her
home; she reads the letter, which in elaborately ceremonial language
announces the Emperor’s accession and departure to the Capital.
TERUHI.
The Spring of our love is passed! Like a moon left lonely
In the sky of dawn, back to the hills I go,
To the home where once we dwelt.
(_She slips quietly from the stage, carrying the basket and letter.
In the next scene the_ EMPEROR[198] _is carried on to the stage in
a litter borne by two attendants. It is the coronation procession.
Suddenly_ TERUHI, _who has left her home distraught, wanders on to
the stage followed by her maid, who carries the flower-basket and
letter_.)
TERUHI (_speaking wildly_).
Ho, you travellers! Show me the road to the Capital! I am mad,
you say?
Mad I may be; but love bids me ask. O heartless ones! why will they
not answer me?
MAID.
Madam, from these creatures we shall get no answer. Yet there is a sign
that will guide our steps to the City. Look, yonder the wild-geese are
passing!
TERUHI.
Oh well-remembered! For southward ever
The wild-geese pass
Through the empty autumn sky; and southward lies
The city of my lord.
Then follows the “song of travel,” during which Teruhi and her
companion are supposed to be journeying from their home in Echizen
to the Capital in Yamato. They halt at last on the _hashigakari_,
announcing that they have “arrived at the City.” Just as a courtier
(who together with the boy-Emperor and the two litter-bearers
represents the whole coronation procession) is calling: “Clear the
way, clear the way! The Imperial procession is approaching,” Teruhi’s
maid advances on to the stage and crosses the path of the procession.
The courtier pushes her roughly back, and in doing so knocks the
flower-basket to the ground.
MAID.
Oh, look what he has done! O madam, he has dashed your basket to the
ground, the Prince’s flower-basket!
TERUHI.
What! My lord’s basket? He has dashed it to the ground? Oh hateful deed!
COURTIER.
Come, mad-woman! Why all this fuss about a basket? You call it your
lord’s basket; what lord can you mean?
TERUHI.
What lord should I mean but the lord of this land of Sunrise? Is there
another?
Then follow a “mad dance” and song. The courtier orders her to come
nearer the Imperial litter and dance again, that her follies may divert
the Emperor.
She comes forward and dances the story of Wu Ti and Li Fu-jēn.[199]
Nothing could console him for her death. He ordered her portrait to
be painted on the walls of his palace. But, because the face neither
laughed nor grieved, the sight of it increased his sorrow. Many
wizards laboured at his command to summon her soul before him. At last
one of them projected upon a screen some dim semblance of her face and
form. But when the Emperor would have touched it, it vanished, and he
stood in the palace alone.
COURTIER.
His Majesty commands you to show him your flower-basket.
(_She holds the basket before the_ EMPEROR.)
COURTIER.
His Majesty has deigned to look at this basket. He says that without
doubt it was a possession of his rural days.[200] He bids you forget
the hateful letter that is with it and be mad no more. He will take you
back with him to the palace.
FOOTNOTES:
[197] Reigned 507-531.
[198] In this play as in all the part of Emperor is played by a young
boy or “child-actor.”
[199] A Chinese Emperor of the Han dynasty and his concubine.
[200] The time before his accession.
OMINAMESHI
By SEAMI
The play is written round a story and a poem. A man came to the capital
and was the lover of a woman there. Suddenly he vanished, and she, in
great distress, set out to look for him in the country he came from.
She found his house, and asked his servants where he was. They told her
he had just married and was with his wife. When she heard this she ran
out of the house and leapt into the Hōjō River.
GHOST OF THE LOVER.
When this was told him,
Startled, perturbed, he went to the place;
But when he looked,
Pitiful she lay,
Limp-limbed on the ground.
Then weeping, weeping--
GHOST OF GIRL.
He took up the body in his arms,
And at the foot of this mountain
Laid it to rest in earth.
GHOST OF LOVER.
And from that earth sprang up
A lady-flower[201] and blossomed
Alone upon her grave.
Then he:
“This flower is her soul.”
And still he lingered, tenderly
Touched with his hand the petals’ hem,
Till in the flower’s dress and on his own
The same dew fell.
But the flower, he thought,
Was angry with him, for often when he touched it
It drooped and turned aside.
Such is the story upon which the play is founded. The poem is one by
Bishop Henjō (816-890):
O lady-flowers
That preen yourselves upon the autumn hill,
Even you that make so brave a show,
Last but “one while.”
_Hito toki_, “one while,” is the refrain of the play. It was for “one
while” that they lived together in the Capital; it is for “one while”
that men are young, that flowers blossom, that love lasts. In the first
part of the play an aged man hovering round a clump of lady-flowers
begs the priest not to pluck them. In the second part this aged man
turns into the soul of the lover. The soul of the girl also appears,
and both are saved by the priest’s prayers from that limbo (half death,
half life) where all must linger who die in the coils of _shūshin_,
“heart-attachment.”
FOOTNOTE:
[201] _Ominabeshi_ (or _ominameshi_, _ominayeshi_), “Ladies’ Meal,” but
written with Chinese characters meaning “ladies’ flower,” a kind of
patrinia.
MATSUKAZE
By KWANAMI; REVISED BY SEAMI
Lord Yukihira, brother of Narihira, was banished to the lonely shore
of Suma. While he lived there he amused himself by helping two
fisher-girls to carry salt water from the sea to the salt-kilns on the
shore. Their names were Matsukaze and Murasame.
At this time he wrote two famous poems; the first, while he was
crossing the mountains on his way to Suma:
“Through the traveller’s dress
The autumn wind blows with sudden chill.
It is the shore-wind of Suma
Blowing through the pass.”
When he had lived a little while at Suma, he sent to the Capital a poem
which said:
“If any should ask news,
Tell him that upon the shore of Suma
I drag the water-pails.”
Long afterwards Prince Genji was banished to the same place. The
chapter of the _Genji Monogatari_ called “Suma” says:
Although the sea was some way off, yet when the melancholy autumn
wind came “blowing through the pass” (the very wind of Yukihira’s
poem), the beating of the waves on the shore seemed near indeed.
It is round these two poems and the prose passage quoted above that the
play is written.
A wandering priest comes to the shore of Suma and sees a strange
pine-tree standing alone. A “person of the place” (in an interlude not
printed in the usual texts) tells him that the tree was planted in
memory of two fisher-girls, Matsukaze, and Murasame, and asks him to
pray for them. While the priest prays it grows late and he announces
that he intends to ask for shelter “in that salt-kiln.” He goes to the
“waki’s pillar” and waits there as if waiting for the master of the
kiln to return.
Meanwhile Matsukaze and Murasame come on to the stage and perform the
“water-carrying” dance which culminates in the famous passage known as
“The moon in the water-pails.”
CHORUS (_speaking for_ MURASAME).
There is a moon in my pail!
MATSUKAZE.
Why, into my pail too a moon has crept!
(_Looking up at the sky._)
One moon above ...
CHORUS.
Two imaged moons below,
So through the night each carries
A moon on her water-truck,
Drowned at the bucket’s brim.
Forgotten, in toil on this salt sea-road,
The sadness of this world where souls cling!
Their work is over and they approach their huts, i. e., the “_waki’s_
pillar,” where the priest is sitting waiting. After refusing for a long
while to admit him “because their hovel is too mean to receive him,”
they give him shelter, and after the usual questioning, reveal their
identities.
In the final ballet Matsukaze dresses in the “court-hat and hunting
cloak given her by Lord Yukihira” and dances, among other dances, the
“Broken Dance,” which also figures in Hagoromo.
The “motif” of this part of the play is another famous poem by
Yukihira, that by which he is represented in the _Hyakuninisshu_ or
“Hundred Poems by a Hundred Poets”:
“When I am gone away,
If I hear that like the pine-tree on Mount Inaba
You are waiting for me,
Even then I will come back to you.”
There is a play of words between _matsu_, “wait,” and _matsu_,
“pine-tree”; Inaba, the name of a mountain, and _inaba_, “if I go away.”
The play ends with the release of the girls’ souls from the _shūshin_,
“heart-attachment,” which holds them to the earth.
SHUNKWAN
By SEAMI
The priest Shunkwan, together with Naritsune and Yasuyori, had plotted
the overthrow of the Tairas. They were arrested and banished to Devil’s
Island on the shore of Satsuma.
Naritsune and Yasuyori were worshippers of the Gods of Kumano.
They brought this worship with them to the place of their exile,
constructing on the island an imitation of the road from Kyōto to
Kumano with its ninety-nine roadside shrines. This “holy way” they
decked with _nusa_, “paper-festoons,” and carried out, as best they
might, the Shintō ceremonies of the three shrines of Kumano.
When the play begins the two exiles are carrying out these rites.
Having no albs[202] to wear, they put on the tattered hemp-smocks which
they wore on their journey; having no rice to offer, they pour out a
libation of sand.
Shunkwan, who had been abbot of the Zen[203] temple Hosshōji, holds
aloof from these ceremonies. But when the worshippers return he comes
to meet them carrying a bucket of water, which he tells them is the
wine for their final libation. They look into the bucket and cry in
disgust: _Ya! Kore wa mizu nari!_ “Why, it is water!”
In a long lyrical dialogue which follows, Shunkwan, with the aid
of many classical allusions, justifies the identification of
chrysanthemum-water and wine.
CHORUS (_speaking for_ SHUNKWAN.)
Oh, endless days of banishment!
How long shall I languish in this place,
Where the time while a mountain dewdrop dries
Seems longer than a thousand years?
A spring has gone; summer grown to age;
An autumn closed; a winter come again,
Marked only by the changing forms
Of flowers and trees.
Oh, longed-for time of old!
Oh, recollection sweet whithersoever
The mind travels; City streets and cloisters now
Seem Edens[204] garlanded
With every flower of Spring.
Suddenly a boat appears carrying a stranger to the shore. This is
represented on the stage by an attendant carrying the conventionalized
Nō play “boat” on to the _hashi gakari_. The envoy, whose departure
from the Capital forms the opening scene of the play--I have omitted
it in my summary--has been standing by the “Waki’s pillar.” He now
steps into the boat and announces that a following wind is carrying him
swiftly over the sea. He leaves the boat, carrying a Proclamation in
his hand.
ENVOY.
I bring an Act of Amnesty from the City.
Here, read it for yourselves.
SHUNKWAN (_snatching the scroll_).
Look, Yasuyori! Look! At last!
YASUYORI (_reading the scroll_).
What is this? What is this?
“Because of the pregnancy of Her Majesty the Empress, an amnesty
is proclaimed throughout the land. All exiles are recalled from
banishment, and, of those exiled on Devil’s Island, to these two
Naritsune, Lieutenant of Tamba and Yasuyori of the Taira clan, free
pardon is granted.”
SHUNKWAN.
Why, you have forgotten to read Shunkwan’s name!
YASUYORI.
Your name, alas, is not there. Read the scroll.
SHUNKWAN (_scanning the scroll_).
This must be some scribe’s mistake.
ENVOY.
No; they told me at the Capital to bring back Yasuyori and Naritsune,
but to leave Shunkwan upon the island.
SHUNKWAN.
How can that be?
One crime, one banishment;
Yet I alone, when pardon
Like a mighty net is spread
To catch the drowning multitude, slip back
Into the vengeful deep!
When three dwelt here together,
How terrible the loneliness of these wild rocks!
Now one is left, to wither
Like a flower dropped on the shore.
Like a broken sea-weed branch
That no wave carries home.
Is not this island named
The Realm of Fiends, where I,
Damned but not dead walk the Black Road of Death?
Yet shall the foulest fiend of Hell
Now weep for me whose wrong
Must needs move heaven and earth,
Wake angels’ pity, rend
The hearts of men, turn even the hungry cries
Of the wild beasts and birds that haunt these rocks
To tender lamentation.
(_He buries his face in his hands; then after a while begins reading
the scroll again._)
CHORUS.
He took the scroll that he had read before.
He opened it and looked.
His eyes, like a shuttle, travelled
To and fro, to and fro.
Yet, though he looked and looked,
No other names he saw
But Yasuyori’s name and Naritsune’s name
Then thinking “There is a codicil, perhaps,”
Again he opens the scroll and looks.
Nowhere is the word Sōzu,[205] nowhere the word Shunkwan.
(_The_ ENVOY _then calls upon_ NARITSUNE _and_ YASUYORI _to board
the boat_. SHUNKWAN _clutches at_ YASUYORI’S _sleeve and tries to
follow him on board. The_ ENVOY _pushes him back, calling to him to
keep clear of the boat_.)
SHUNKWAN.
Wretch, have you not heard the saying:
“Be law, but not her servants, pitiless.”
Bring me at least to the mainland. Have so much charity!
ENVOY.
But the sailor[206] knew no pity;
He took his oar and struck ...
SHUNKWAN (_retreating a step_).
Nevertheless, leave me my life....
Then he stood back and caught in both his hands
The anchor-rope and dragged ...
ENVOY.
But the sailor cut the rope and pushed the boat to sea.
SHUNKWAN.
He clasped his hands. He called, besought them--
ENVOY.
But though they heard him calling, they would not carry him.
SHUNKWAN.
It was over; he struggled no more.
CHORUS.
But left upon the beach, wildly he waved his sleeves,
Stricken as she[207] who on the shore
Of Matsura waved till she froze to stone.
ENVOYS, NANITSUNE and YASUYORI (_together_).
Unhappy man, our hearts are not cold. When we reach the City, we will
plead unceasingly for your recall. In a little while you shall return.
Wait with a good heart.
(_Their voices grow fainter and fainter, as though the ship were
moving away from the shore._)
SHUNKWAN.
“Wait, wait,” they cried, “Hope, wait!”
But distance dimmed their cry,
And hope with their faint voices faded.
He checked his sobs, stood still and listened, listened--
(SHUNKWAN _puts his hand to his ear and bends forward in the
attitude of one straining to catch a distant sound_.)
THE THREE.
Shunkwan, Shunkwan, do you hear us?
SHUNKWAN.
You will plead for me?
THE THREE.
Yes, yes. And then surely you will be summoned....
SHUNKWAN.
Back to the City? Can you mean it?
THE THREE.
Why, surely!
SHUNKWAN.
I hope; yet while I hope ...
CHORUS.
“Wait, wait, wait!”
Dimmer grow the voices; dimmer the ship, the wide waves
Pile up behind it.
The voices stop. The ship, the men
Have vanished. All is gone
_There is an ancient Kōwaka dance called Iō go Shima, “Sulphur
Island,” another name for Devil’s Island. It represents the piety
of Naritsune and Yasuyori, and the amoral mysticism of the Zen
abbot Shunkwan. Part of the text is as follows_:
NARITSUNE.
This is the vow of the Holy One,
The God of Kumano:
“Whosoever of all mortal men
Shall turn his heart to me,
Though he be come to the utmost end of the desert,
To the furthest fold of the hills,
I will send a light to lead him;
I will guide him on his way.”
And we exiled on this far rock,
By daily honour to the Triple Shrine,
By supplication to Kumano’s God,
Shall compass our return.
Shunkwan, how think you?
SHUNKWAN.
Were it the Hill King of Hiyei,[208] I would not say no. But as for
this God of Kumano, I have no faith in him. (_Describing the actions
of_ NARITSUNE _and_ YASUYORI.)
Then lonely, lonely these two to worship went;
On the wide sea they gazed,
Roamed on the rugged shore;
Searching ever for a semblance
Of the Three Holy Hills.
Now, where between high rocks
A long, clear river flowed;
Now where tree-tops soar
Summit on summit upward to the sky.
And there they planned to set
The Mother-Temple, Hall of Proven Truth;
And here the Daughter-Shrine,
The Treasury of Kan.
Then far to northward aiming
To a white cliff they came, where from the clouds
Swift waters tumbled down.
Then straightway they remembered
The Hill of Nachi, where the Dragon God,
Winged water-spirit, pants with stormy breath
And fills the woods with awe.
Here reverently they their Nachi set.
The Bonze Shunkwan mounted to a high place;
His eye wandered north, south, east and west.
A thousand, thousand concepts filled his heart.
Suddenly a black cloud rose before him,
A heavy cloak of cloud;
And a great rock crashed and fell into the sea.
Then the great Bonze in his meditation remembered
An ancient song:
“The wind scattered a flower at Buddha’s feet;
A boulder fell and crushed the fish of the pool.
Neither has the wind merit, nor the boulder blame;
They know not what they do.”
“The Five Limbs are a loan,” he cried, “that must be repaid;
A mess of earth, water, air, fire.
And the heart--void, as the sky; shapeless, substanceless!
Being and non-being
Are but twin aspects of all component things.
And that which seems to be, soon is not.
But only contemplation is eternal.”
So the priest: proudly pillowed
On unrepentance and commandments broke.
FOOTNOTES:
[202] Ceremonial white vestments, _hakuye_.
[203] For “Zen” see Introduction, p. 32.
[204] Lit, Kikenjō, one of the Buddhist paradises.
[205] Priest.
[206] Acted by a _kyōgen_ or farce-character.
[207] Sayohime who, when her husband sailed to Korea, stood waving on
the cliff till she turned into stone.
[208] The headquarters of the Tendai sect of Buddhism.
AMA
(THE FISHER-GIRL)
By SEAMI
Fujiwara no Fusazaki was the child of a fisher-girl. He was taken from
her in infancy and reared at the Capital. When he grew to be a man he
went to Shido to look for her. On the shore he met with a fisher-girl
who, after speaking for some while with him, gave him a letter, and at
once vanished with the words: “I am the ghost of the fisher-girl that
was your mother.” The letter said:
Ten years and three have passed since my soul fled to the Yellow
Clod. Many days and months has the abacus told since the white sand
covered my bones. The Road of Death is dark, dark; and none has
prayed for me.
I am your mother. Lighten, oh lighten, dear son, the great darkness
that has lain round me for thirteen years!
Then Fusazaki prayed for his mother’s soul and she appeared before him
born again as a Blessed Dragon Lady of Paradise, carrying in her hand
the scroll of the _Hokkekyō_ (see Plate II), and danced the _Hayamai_,
the “swift dance,” of thirteen movements. On the Kongō stage the Dragon
Lady is dressed as a man; for women have no place in Paradise.
[Illustration: THE DRAGON LADY IN _AMA_ HOLDING ALOFT THE SCROLL OF THE
_HOKKEKYŌ_
(BEHIND HER IS SEEN THE _HASHIGAKARI_)]
TAKE NO YUKI
(SNOW ON THE BAMBOOS)
By SEAMI
PERSONS
_TONO-I._
_HIS FIRST WIFE._
_HIS SECOND WIFE._
_TSUKIWAKA (his son by the first wife)._
_TSUKIWAKA’S SISTER._
_A SERVANT._
_CHORUS._
TONO-I.
My name is Tono-i. I live in the land of Echigo. I had a wife; but for
a trifling reason I parted from her and put her to live in the House
of the Tall Pines, which is not far distant from here. We had two
children; and the girl I sent to live with her mother at the House of
the Tall Pines, but the boy, Tsukiwaka, I have here with me, to be the
heir of all my fortune.
And this being done, I brought a new wife to my home. Now it happens
that in pursuance of a binding vow I must be absent for a while on
pilgrimage to a place not far away. I will now give orders for the care
of Tsukiwaka, my son. Is my wife there?
SECOND WIFE.
What is it?
TONO-I.
I called you to tell you this: in pursuance of a vow I must be absent
on pilgrimage for two or three days. While I am away, I beg you to tend
my child Tsukiwaka with loving care. Moreover I must tell you that the
snow falls very thick in these parts, and when it piles up upon the
bamboos that grow along the four walls of the yard, it weighs them down
and breaks them to bits.
I don’t know how it will be, but I fancy there is snow in the air now.
If it should chance to fall, pray order my servants to brush it from
the leaves of the bamboos.
SECOND WIFE.
What? A pilgrimage, is it? Why then go in peace, and a blessing on your
journey. I will not forget about the snow on the bamboos. But as for
Tsukiwaka, there was no need for you to speak. Do you suppose I would
neglect him, however far away you went?
TONO-I.
No, indeed. I spoke of it, because he is so very young....
But now I must be starting on my journey. (_He goes._)
SECOND WIFE.
Listen, Tsukiwaka! Your father has gone off on a pilgrimage. Before he
went, he said something to me about you. “Tend Tsukiwaka with care,” he
said. There was no need for him to speak. You must have been telling
him tales about me, saying I was not kind to you or the like of that.
You are a bad boy. I am angry with you, very angry! (_She turns away._)
TSUKIWAKA _then runs to his mother at the House of the Tall Pines.
A lyric scene follows in which_ TSUKIWAKA _and his mother_ (_the_
CHORUS _aiding_) _bewail their lot_.
_Meanwhile the_ SECOND WIFE _misses_ TSUKIWAKA.
SECOND WIFE.
Where is Tsukiwaka? What can have become of him? (_She calls for a
servant._) Where has Tsukiwaka gone off to?
SERVANT.
I have not the least idea.
SECOND WIFE.
Why, of course! I have guessed. He took offence at what I said to him
just now and has gone off as usual to the Tall Pines to blab to his
mother. How tiresome! Go and tell him that his father has come home and
has sent for him; bring him back with you.
SERVANT.
I tremble and obey. (_He goes to the “hashigakari” and speaks to_
TSUKIWAKA _and the_ FIRST WIFE.) The master has come back and sent for
you, Master Tsukiwaka! Come back quickly!
FIRST WIFE.
What? His father has sent for him? What a pity; he comes here so
seldom. But if your father has sent for you, you must go to him. Come
soon again to give your mother comfort!
(_The_ SERVANT _takes_ TSUKIWAKA _back to the_ SECOND WIFE.)
SERVANT.
Madam, I have brought back Master Tsukiwaka.
SECOND WIFE.
What does this mean, Tsukiwaka? Have you been blabbing again at the
House of the Tall Pines? Listen! Your father told me before he went
away that if it came on to snow, I was to tell some one to brush the
snow off the bamboos round the four walls of the yard.
It is snowing very heavily now. So be quick and brush the snow off the
bamboos. Come now, take off your coat and do it in your shirt-sleeves.
(_The boy obeys. The_ CHORUS _describes the “sweeping of the
bamboos.” It grows colder and colder._)
CHORUS.
The wind stabbed him, and as the night wore on,
The snow grew hard with frost; he could not brush it away.
“I will go back,” he thought, and pushed at the barred gate.
“Open!” he cried, and hammered with his frozen hands.
None heard him; his blows made no sound.
“Oh the cold, the cold! I cannot bear it.
Help, help for Tsukiwaka!”
Never blew wind more wildly!
(TSUKIWAKA _falls dead upon the snow_.)
_The servant finds him there and goes to the House of the Tall
Pines to inform the mother. A scene of lament follows in which
mother, sister and chorus join. The father comes home and hears the
sound of weeping. When he discovers the cause, he is reconciled
with the first wife (the second wife is not mentioned again), and
owing to their pious attitude, the child returns to life._
TORI-OI
BY KONGŌ YAGORŌ
Bears a strong resemblance to _Take no Yuki_.
The date of the author is unknown.
A certain lord goes up to the city to settle a lawsuit, leaving his
steward in charge of his estate. In his absence the steward grows
overbearing in his manner towards his mistress and her little son,
Hanawaka, finally compelling them to take part in the arduous labour
of “bird-scaring,” rowing up and down the river among the rice-fields,
driving away the birds that attack the crop.
YUYA
Taira no Munemori had long detained at the Capital his mistress Yuya,
whose aged mother continually besought him to send back her daughter to
her for a little while, that she might see her before she died. In the
illustration she is shown reading a letter in which her mother begs her
to return.
Munemori insisted that Yuya should stay with him till the Spring
pageants were over; but all their feasting and flower-viewing turned to
sadness, and in the end he let Yuya go home.
[Illustration: YŪYA READING THE LETTER]
TANGO-MONOGURUI
By I-AMI
There are several plays which describe the fatal anger of a father
on discovering that his child has no aptitude for learning. One of
these, _Nakamitsu or Manjū_, has been translated by Chamberlain. The
_Tango-Monogurui_, a similar play, has usually been ascribed to Seami,
but Seami in his _Works_ says that it is by a certain I-ami. The father
comes on to the stage and, after the usual opening, announces that he
has sent a messenger to fetch his son, whom he has put to school at a
neighbouring temple. He wishes to see what progress the boy is making.
FATHER (_to his_ SERVANT).
I sent some one to bring Master Hanamatsu back from the temple. Has he
come yet?
SERVANT.
Yes, sir. He was here last night.
FATHER.
What? He came home last night, and I heard nothing about it?
SERVANT.
Last night he had drunk a little too much, so we thought it better not
to say that he was here.
FATHER.
Oho! Last night he was tipsy, was he? Send him to me.
(_The_ SERVANT _brings_ HANAMATSU.)
Well, you have grown up mightily since I saw you last.
I sent for you to find out how your studies are progressing. How far
have you got?
HANAMATSU.
I have not learnt much of the difficult subjects. Nothing worth
mentioning of the Sūtras or Shāstras or moral books. I know a little
of the graduses and Eight Collections of Poetry; but in the Hokke
Scripture I have not got to the Law-Master Chapter, and in the
Gusha-shāstra I have not got as far as the Seventh Book.
FATHER.
This is unthinkable! He says he has not learnt anything worth
mentioning. Pray, have you talents in any direction?
SERVANT (_wishing to put in a good word for the boy_).
He’s reckoned a wonderful hand at the chop-sticks and drum.[209]
FATHER (_angrily_).
Be quiet! Is it your child I was talking of?
SERVANT.
No, sir, you were speaking of Master Hanamatsu.
FATHER.
Now then, Hanamatsu. Is this true? Very well then; just listen quietly
to me. These childish tricks--writing odes, capping verses and the like
are not worth anything. They’re no more important than playing ball
or shooting toy darts. And as for the chop-sticks and drum--they are
the sort of instruments street urchins play on under the Spear[210]
at festival-time. But when I ask about your studies, you tell me that
in the Hokke you have not got to the Law-Master Chapter, and in the
Gusha-shāstra you have not reached the Seventh Book. Might not the time
you spent on the chop-sticks have been better employed in studying the
Seventh Book? Now then, don’t excuse yourself! Those who talk most do
least. But henceforth you are no son of mine. Be off with you now!
(_The boy hesitates, bewildered._)
Well, if you can’t get started by yourself I must help you.
(_Seizes him by the arm and thrusts him off the stage._)
In the next scene Hanamatsu enters accompanied by a pious ship’s
captain, who relates that he found the lad on the point of drowning
himself, but rescued him, and, taking him home, instructed him in the
most recondite branches of knowledge, for which he showed uncommon
aptitude; now he is taking him back to Tango to reconcile him with his
father.
At Tango they learn that the father, stricken with remorse, has become
demented and is wandering over the country in search of his son.
Coming to a chapel of Manjushrī, the captain persuades the lad to
read a service there, and announces to the people that an eminent
and learned divine is about to expound the scriptures. Among the
worshippers comes an eccentric character whom the captain is at first
unwilling to admit.
MADMAN.
Even madmen can school themselves for a while. I will not rave while
the service is being read.
CAPTAIN.
So be it. Then sit down here and listen quietly. (_To_ HANAMATSU.) All
the worshippers have come. You had better begin the service at once.
HANAMATSU (_describing his own actions_).
Then because the hour of worship had come
The Doctor mounted the pulpit and struck the silence-bell;
Then reverently prayed:
Let us call on the Sacred Name of Shākyamuni, once incarnate;
On the Buddhas of the Past, the Present and the Time to Come.
To thee we pray, Avalokita, Lord of the Ten Worlds;
And all Spirits of Heaven and Earth we invoke.
Praised be the name of Amida Buddha!
MADMAN (_shouting excitedly_).
Amida! Praise to Amida!
CAPTAIN.
There you go! You promised to behave properly, but now are
disturbing[211] the whole congregation by your ravings. I never heard
such senseless shouting.
(_A lyrical dialogue follows full of poetical allusions, from which
it is apparent that the_ MADMAN _is crying to Amida to save a
child’s soul_.)
CAPTAIN.
Listen, Madman! The Doctor heard you praying for a child’s soul. He
wishes you to tell him your story.
_The father and son recognize one another. The son flings
himself down from the pulpit and embraces his father. They go
home together, attributing their reunion to the intervention of
Manjushrī, the God of Wisdom._
FOOTNOTES:
[209] The _sasara_ (split bamboos rubbed together) and _yatsubachi_,
“eight-sticks,” a kind of vulgar drum.
[210] A sort of maypole set up at the Gion Festival.
[211] Literally “waking.”
IKKAKU SENNIN
(THE ONE-HORNED RISHI)
A Rishi lived in the hills near Benares. Under strange
circumstances[212] a roe bore him a son whose form was human, save
that a single horn grew on his forehead, and that he had stag’s hoofs
instead of feet. He was given the name _Ekashringa_, “One-horn.”
One day it was raining in the hills. Ekashringa slipped and hurt
himself, for his hoofs were ill-suited to his human frame. He cursed
the rain, and owing to his great merit and piety his prayer was
answered. No rain fell for many months.
The King of Benares saw that the drought would soon bring famine. He
called together his counsellors, and one of them told him the cause
of the disaster. The King published a proclamation promising half of
his kingdom to any who could break the Rishi’s spell. Then the harlot
Shāntā came to the King and said, “I will bring you this Rishi riding
him pickaback!”
She set out for the mountains, carrying fruit and wine. Having seduced
the Rishi, she persuaded him to follow her to Benares. Just outside the
town she lay down, saying that she was too tired to go a step further.
“Then I will carry you pickaback,” said the Rishi.
And so Shāntā fulfilled her promise.
* * * * *
In the Nō play (which is by Komparu Zembō Motoyasu 1453-1532) the Rishi
has overpowered the Rain-dragons, and shut them up in a cave. Shāntā,
a noble lady of Benares, is sent to tempt him. The Rishi yields to her
and loses his magic power. There comes a mighty rumbling from the cave.
CHORUS.
Down blows the mountain wind with a wild gust,
The sky grows dark,
The rock-cave quakes,
Huge boulders crash on every side;
The dragons’ forms appear.
IKKAKU.
Then the Rishi in great alarm--
CHORUS.
Then the Rishi in great alarm
Pursued them with a sharp sword.
And the Dragon King
Girt with the armour of wrath,
Waving a demon blade,
Fought with him for a little while.
But the Rishi had lost his magic.
Weaker and weaker he grew, till at last he lay upon the ground.
Then the Dragon King joyfully
Pierced the dark clouds.
Thunder and lightning filled
The pools of Heaven, and fast
The great rain fell; the wide floods were loosed.
Over the white waves flying,
The white waves that rise,
Homeward he hastens
To the Dragon City of the sea.
FOOTNOTE:
[212] “Il aperçut un cerf et une biche qui s’accouplaient. La passion
impure s’excita en lui.... La biche ... se trouva grosse.” Péri, _Les
Femmes de Çakyamouni_, p. 24.
YAMAUBA
(THE DAME OF THE MOUNTAINS)
REVISED BY KOMPARU ZENCHIKU UJINOBU FROM AN ORIGINAL BY SEAMI
Yamauba is the fairy of the mountains, which have been under her
care since the world began. She decks them with snow in winter, with
blossoms in spring; her task carrying her eternally from hill to valley
and valley to hill. She has grown very old. Wild white hair hangs down
her shoulders; her face is very thin.
There was a courtesan of the Capital who made a dance representing the
wanderings of Yamauba. It had such success that people called this
courtesan “Yamauba” though her real name was Hyakuma.
Once when Hyakuma was travelling across the hills to Shinano to visit
the Zenkō Temple, she lost her way, and took refuge in the hut of a
“mountain-girl,” who was none other than the real Yamauba.
In the second part of the play the aged fairy appears in her true form
and tells the story of her eternal wanderings--“round and round, on and
on, from hill to hill, from valley to valley.” In spring decking the
twigs with blossom, in autumn clothing the hills with moonlight, in
winter shaking snow from the heavy clouds. “On and on, round and round,
caught in the Wheel of Fate.... Striding to the hill-tops, sweeping
through the valleys....”
CHORUS.
On and on, from hill to hill.
Awhile our eyes behold her, but now
She is vanished over the hills,
Vanished we know not where.
The hill, says a commentator, is the Hill of Life, where men wander
from incarnation to incarnation, never escaping from the Wheel of Life
and Death.
[Illustration: YAMAUBA
(THE LADY OF THE MOUNTAINS)]
HOTOKE NO HARA
By SEAMI
Giō was the mistress of Kiyomori (1118-1181), the greatest of the
Tairas. One day there arrived at his camp a famous dancing-girl called
Hotoke. Kiyomori was for sending her away; but Giō, who had heard
wonderful stories of Hotoke’s beauty, was anxious to see her, and
persuaded Kiyomori to let Hotoke dance before him.
Kiyomori fell in love with the dancer, and after a while Giō was
dismissed. She became a nun, and with her mother and sister lived in a
hut in the wilds of Sagano.
Hotoke, full of remorse at her rival’s dismissal, found no pleasure
in her new honours, and saying “It was I who brought her to this,”
fled in nun’s clothing to the hut at Sagano. Here the four women lived
together, singing ceaseless prayers to Buddha.
In the play the ghost of Hotoke appears to a “travelling priest” and
tells the story, which is indeed a curious and arresting one.
MARI
(THE FOOTBALL)
A footballer died at the Capital. When the news was brought to his
wife, she became demented and performed a sort of football-mass for
his soul. “The eight players in a game of football,” she declared,
“represent the eight chapters in the Hokke Scripture. If the four
goal-posts are added the number obtained is twelve, which is the number
of the Causes and Effects which govern life. Do not think of football
as a secular game.”
The play ends with a “football ballet.”
The _Journal_ of the great twelfth century footballer, Fujiwara no
Narimichi, contains the following story: “I had brought together the
best players of the time to assist me in celebrating the completion of
my thousandth game. We set up two altars, and upon the one we placed
our footballs, while on the other we arranged all kinds of offerings.
Then, holding on to prayer-ribbons which we had tied to them, we
worshipped the footballs.
That night I was sitting at home near the lamp, grinding my ink with
the intention of recording the day’s proceedings in my journal, when
suddenly the football which I had dedicated came bouncing into the room
followed by three children of about four years old. Their faces were
human, but otherwise they looked like monkeys. “What horrid creatures,”
I thought, and asked them roughly who they were.
“We are the Football Sprites,” they said. “And if you want to know our
names--” So saying they lifted their hanging locks, and I saw that
each of them had his name written on his forehead, as follows: Spring
Willow Flower, Quiet Summer Wood, and Autumn Garden. Then they said,
“Pray remember our names and deign to become our _Mi-mori_, ‘Honourable
Guardian.’ Your success at _Mi-mari_, ‘Honourable Football,’ will then
continually increase.”
And so saying they disappeared.”
TŌRU
By KWANAMI OR SEAMI
Tōru was a prince who built a great palace at Rokujō-kawara, near
Kyōto. In its grounds was a counterfeit of the bay of Naniwa, which was
filled and emptied twice a day in imitation of the tides. Labourers
toiled up from the sea-shore, which was many miles distant, carrying
pails of salt water.
In the play a priest passing through Rokujō-kawara meets an old man
carrying salt-water pails. It is the ghost of Tōru. In the second part
he rehearses the luxury and splendour of his life at the great palace
Rokujō-kawara no In.
MAI-GURUMA[213]
(THE DANCE WAGGONS)
By MIYAMASU (DATE UNKNOWN)
A man of Kamakura went for a year to the Capital and fell in love with
a girl there. When it was time for him to return to Kamakura he took
her with him. But his parents did not like her, and one day when he was
not at home, they turned her out of the house.
Thinking that she would have gone towards the Capital, the man set out
in pursuit of her. At dusk he came to a village. He was told that if he
lodged there he must take part next day in the waggon-dancing, which
was held in the sixth month of each year in honour of the god Gion. He
told them that he was heart-sore and foot-sore, and could not dance.
Next day the villagers formed into two parties. The first party mounted
the waggon and danced the _Bijinzoroye_, a ballad about the twelve
ladies whom Narihira loved. The second party danced the ballad called
_Tsumado_, the story of which is:
Hosshō, Abbot of the Hiyeizan, was sitting late one summer night by the
Window of the Nine Perceptions, near the Couch of the Ten Vehicles, in
a room sprinkled with the holy water of Yoga, washed by the moonlight
of the Three Mysteries. Suddenly there was a sound of hammering on the
double-doors. And when he opened the doors and looked--why, there stood
the Chancellor Kwan, who had died on the twenty-fifth day of the second
month.
“Why have you come so late in the night, Chancellor Kwan?”
“When I lived in the world foul tongues slandered me. I am come to
destroy my enemies with thunder. Only the Home of Meditation[214] shall
be spared. But if you will make me one promise, I will not harm you.
Swear that you will go no more to Court!”
“I would not go, though they sent twice to fetch me. But if they sent a
third time ...”
Then Chancellor Kwan, with a strange look on his face, drew a
pomegranate from his sleeve, put it between his lips, crunched it with
his teeth, and spat it at the double-doors.
Suddenly the red pomegranate turned into fire; a great flame flickered
over the double-doors.
When the Abbot saw it, he twisted his fingers into the Gesture of
Libation; he recited the Water-Spell of the Letter Vam, and the flames
died down.
And the double-doors still stand before the Abbot’s cell, on the Hill
of Hiyei.
When the two dances were over, the master of ceremonies called for a
dance from one of those who had been watching. A girl stepped forward
and said she would dance the “Dance of Tora Parting from Sukenari.”
Then they called across to the man who had lost his wife (he was over
by the other waggon). “Come, you must dance now.” “Forgive me, I cannot
dance.” “Indeed you must dance.” “Then I will dance the ‘Dance of Tora
Parting from Sukenari.’”
“But this dance,” said the master of ceremonies, “is to be danced by a
girl on the other side. You must think of another dance.”
MAN.
I know no other dance.
MASTER OF CEREMONIES.
Here’s a pretty fix! Ha, I have it! Let’s set the waggons side by side,
and the two of them shall dance their dance together.
When they step up on to the waggons, the man finds that his partner is
the wife he was seeking for. They begin to dance the “Dance of Tora,”
but soon break off to exchange happy greetings. The plays ends with a
great ballet of rejoicing.
* * * * *
There is one whole group of plays to which I have hitherto made no
reference: those in which a mother seeks for her lost child. Mrs.
Stopes has translated _Sumidagawa_, and Mr. Sansom, _Sakuragawa_.
Another well-known play of this kind is _Miidera_, a description of
which will be found in an appendix at the end of this book (p. 267).
* * * * *
A few other plays, such as _Nishikigi_, _Motomezuka_, and _Kinuta_, I
have omitted for lack of space and because it did not seem to me that I
could in any important way improve on existing versions of them.
FOOTNOTES:
[213] Sometimes called _Bijin-zoroye_ or _Bijin-zoroi_.
[214] The cell of the Zen priest.
CHAPTER VIII
KYŌGEN
KYŌGEN
(FARCICAL INTERLUDE)
THE BIRD-CATCHER IN HELL[215]
(ESASHI JŪŌ)
PERSONS
_YAMA, KING OF HELL._
_KIYOYORI, THE BIRD-CATCHER._
_DEMONS._
_CHORUS._
YAMA.
Yama the King of Hell comes forth to stand
At the Meeting of the Ways.[216]
(_Shouting._)
Yai, yai. Where are my minions?
DEMONS.
Haa! Here we are.
YAMA.
If any sinners come along, set upon them and drive them off to Hell.
DEMONS.
We tremble and obey.
(_Enter the bird-catcher_, KIYOYORI).
KIYOYORI.
“All men are sinners.” What have I to fear
More than the rest?
My name is Kiyoyori the Bird-Catcher. I was very well known on the
Terrestrial Plane. But the span of my years came to its appointed
close; I was caught in the Wind of Impermanence; and here I am,
marching to the Sunless Land.
Without a pang
I leave the world where I was wont to dwell,
The Temporal World.
Whither, oh whither have my feet carried me?
To the Six Ways already I have come.
Why, here I am already at the meeting of the Six Ways of Existence. I
think on the whole I’ll go to Heaven.
DEMON.
Haha! That smells like a man. Why, sure enough here’s a sinner coming.
We must report him. (_To_ YAMA.) Please, sir, here’s the first sinner
arrived already!
YAMA.
Then bustle him to Hell at once.
DEMON.
“Hell is ever at hand,”[217] which is more than
Can be said of Heaven. (_Seizing_ KIYOYORI.)
Come on, now, come on! (KIYOYORI _resists_.)
Yai, yai!
Let me tell you, you’re showing a great
Deal more spirit than most sinners do.
What was your job when you were on the
Terrestrial Plane?
KIYOYORI.
I was Kiyoyori, the famous bird-catcher.
DEMON.
Bird-catcher? That’s bad. Taking life from morning to night. That’s
very serious, you know. I am afraid you will have to go to Hell.
KIYOYORI.
Really, I don’t consider I’m as bad as all that. I should be very much
obliged if you would let me go to Heaven.
DEMON.
We must ask King Yama about this. (_To_ YAMA.) Please sir--!
YAMA.
Well, what is it?
DEMON.
It’s like this. The sinner says that on the Terrestrial Plane he was a
well-known bird-catcher. Now that means taking life all the time; it’s
a serious matter, and he certainly ought to go to Hell. But when we
told him so, he said we’d entirely misjudged him.
What had we better do about it?
YAMA.
You’d better send him to me.
DEMON.
Very well. (_To_ KIYOYORI.) Come along, King Yama says he’ll see you
himself.
KIYOYORI.
I’m coming.
DEMON.
Here’s that sinner you sent for.
YAMA.
Listen to me, you sinner. I understand that when you were in the world
you spent your whole time snaring birds. You are a very bad man and
must go to Hell at once.
KIYOYORI.
That’s all very well. But the birds I caught were sold to gentlemen to
feed their falcons on; so there was really no harm in it.
YAMA.
“Falcon” is another kind of bird, isn’t it?
KIYOYORI.
Yes, that’s right.
YAMA.
Well then, I really don’t see that there _was_ much harm in it.
KIYOYORI.
I see you take my view. It was the falcons who were to blame, not I.
That being so, I should be very much obliged if you would allow me to
go straight to Heaven.
YAMA (_reciting in the Nō style._)
Then the great King of Hell--
Because, though on the Hill of Death
Many birds flew, he had not tasted one,
“Come, take your pole,” he cried, and here and now
Give us a demonstration of your art.
Then go in peace.
KIYOYORI.
Nothing could be simpler.
I will catch a few birds and present them to you.
Then he took his pole, and crying
“To the hunt, to the hunt! ...”
CHORUS.
“To the bird-hunt,” he cried,
And suddenly from the steep paths of the southern side of the
Hill of Death
Many birds came flying.
Then swifter than sight his pole
Darted among them.
“I will roast them,” he cried.
And when they were cooked,
“Please try one,” and he offered them to the King.
YAMA (_greedily_).
Let me eat it, let me eat it.
(_Eats, smacking his lips_.)
Well! I must say they taste uncommonly good!
KIYOYORI (_to the_ DEMONS).
Perhaps you would like to try some?
DEMONS.
Oh, thank you! (_They eat greedily and snatch._) I want that bit! No,
it’s mine! What a flavour!
YAMA.
I never tasted anything so nice. You have given us such a treat that
I am going to send you back to the world to go on bird-catching for
another three years.
KIYOYORI.
I am very much obliged to you, I’m sure.
CHORUS.
You shall catch many birds,
Pheasant, pigeon, heron and stork.
They shall not elude you, but fall
Fast into the fatal snare.
So he, reprieved, turned back towards the World;
But Yama, loth to see him go, bestowed
A jewelled crown, which Kiyoyori bore
Respectfully to the Terrestrial Plane,
There to begin his second span of life.
FOOTNOTES:
[215] _Kyōgen Zenshū_, p. 541. This farce is a parody of such Nō-plays
as _Ukai_.
[216] The Buddhist “Six Ways,” _Rokudō_.
[217] See _Ukai_, p. 127.
SHORT BIBLIOGRAPHY
EUROPEAN
B. H. Chamberlain: _The Classical Poetry of the Japanese_, 1880
(Rhymed paraphrases of _Sesshōseki_, _Kantan_, _Nakamitsu_ and part
of _Hagoromo_; translations of the farces _Honekawa_ and _Zazen_).
The _Chrysanthemum_, 1882, Translation of _Hachi no Ki_.
F. W. K. Müller in _Festschrift f. Adolf Bastian_, pp. 513-537,
_Ikkaku Sennin, eine mittelalterliche--Oper_, 1896.
Aston, _History of Japanese Literature_, 1899. Osman Edwards:
_Japanese Plays and Playfellows_, 1901. (Refers to performances of
_Shunkwan_, _Koi no Omoni_, _Aoi no Uye_, _Benkei in the Boat_ and
_Tsuchigumo_.)
F. Brinkley, _Japan_, III. 21-60, 1901-2. (Translates _Ataka_ and
the farce _Sannin Katawa_.)
F. Victor Dickins, _Japanese Texts_, 1906. (Text and Translation of
_Takasago_).
K. Florenz, _Geschichte d. Japanischen Literatur_, 1906.
(Translations of _Takasago_ and _Benkei in the Boat_; summaries
of _Ataka_, _Mochizuki_ and _Hanjo_. Translation of the farce
_Hagi-Daimyō_.)
N. Péri: _Etudes sur le drame lyrique japonais, in Bulletin de
l’Ecole d’Extrême-Orient_, 1909-1913. (Includes translations of
_Oimatsu_, _Atsumori_, _Ohara Gokō_, _Sotoba Komachi_ and _The
Damask Drum_.)
G. B. Sansom: Translations of _Ataka_, _Benkei in the Boat_ and
_Sakuragawa_.
H. L. Joly: Notes on masks, dances, etc., in _Transactions of Japan
Society_, 1912.
M. Stopes: _Plays of Old Japan_, 1913. (Translations of
_Motomezuka_, _Kagekiyo_ and _Sumidagawa_; summary of _Tamura_.)
E. Fenollosa and Ezra Pound: _Noh or Accomplishment_, 1916.
(Translations by E. F., adapted by E. P. Gives some account of
about twenty plays. The versions of E. F. seem to have been
fragmentary and inaccurate; but wherever Mr. Pound had adequate
material to work upon he has used it admirably.)
See also general articles on the Japanese drama, such as A. Lloyd’s
in _Trans._ of _Asiatic Society of Japan_, 1908.
Yone Noguchi: _Twelve Kyōgen_ (text and translation), 1911.
M. A. Hincks: _The Japanese Dance_, 32 pp., 1910.
JAPANESE
(_Only a few important works are selected_)
_Kwadensho_: the _Later Kwadensho_ in 8 vols., first published c.
1600. (The British Museum possesses what is apparently an early
eighteenth century reprint.)
_Nō no Shiori_: by Ōwada Tateki, 6 vols. (Description of the _modus
operandi_ of 91 plays), 1903.
_Yōkyoku Hyōshaku_: edited by Ōwada Tateki, 9 vols., 1907-8. Texts
of about 270 plays, with commentary. Referred to by me as “Ōwada.”
_Nōgaku Daijiten_: by Masada and Amaya, 2 vols. (Dictionary of Nō.)
_Seami Jūroku-bu Shū_: _Works_ of Seami, 1909.
_Yokyoku Sōsho_: edited by Y. Haga and N. Sasaki, 3 vols. (Texts of
about 500 plays with short notes. Referred to by me as “Haga.”)
_Zenchiku Shū_: _Works_ of Seami’s son-in-law, 1917.
_Kyōgen Zenshū_: Complete Collection of Farces, 1910.
_Jibyōshi Seigi_: Yamazaki Gakudō, 1915. (A study of Nō-rhythm.)
_Yōkyoku Kaisetsu_: Nō-plays explained in colloquial, by K.
Kawashima, 1913.
Magazines such as _Nōgaku Gwahō_, _Yōkyokukai_, etc.; picture
postcards and albums of photographs such as _Nōgaku Mandai Kagami_,
1916.
_Ryōjin Hisshō_: Folk-songs collected in 12th century and
rediscovered in 1911.
APPENDIX I
MODERN NŌ LETTERS FROM JAPAN
The fact that Nō did not disappear with the overthrow of the Shogun
in 1863 was almost solely due to the efforts of Umewaka Minoru
(1828-1909), whose ancestors had for generations played _tsure_ parts
in the Kwanze theatre. When the Mikado was restored in 1868 Kiyotaka,
head of the Kwanze line, was convinced that an art so intimately
connected with the Shōgunate must perish with it, and fled to Shizuoka
where the fallen Shōgun was living in retreat.
Minoru alone remained behind, built himself a theatre[218] (1869-70)
and “manned his lonely rampart.” When confidence was re-established
the other “troupes” soon returned, so that henceforward five theatres
existed, the four of earlier days and that of Umewaka as a fifth.
Minoru was succeeded by his brilliant sons, Mansaburō and Rokurō, who
in 1919 opened a new Umewaka theatre. As a compliment to the Umewaka
family and a tribute to its services, actors of the three other
“schools” took part in the opening ceremony, but the Kwanzes refused
to do so. The dispute turns on the right to grant certificates of
efficiency (_menjō_) which, according to the Kwanzes’ claim, belongs
only to Motoshige, the head of their school. Such certificates have, in
fact, been issued successively by Minoru, his sons and the “renegade”
Kwanze Tetsunojō, who sides with the Umewaka. The validity of Minoru’s
certificates was, I believe, never disputed during his lifetime.
To complete this note on modern Nō I include the following extracts
from letters written in 1916 by Mr. Oswald Sickert to Mr. Charles
Ricketts. The sender and recipient of the letters both authorized me
to use them, and for this permission I am deeply grateful. But I wish
that Mr. Sickert, whose memories of Nō must already be a little dimmed,
had had the leisure to write a book of his own on the two dramatic arts
that so deeply interested him in Japan, the Nō and the Kabuki.
“It’s odd if people describe the Nō performance as a thing that
is simple or unsophisticated or unelaborated. The poem, to begin
with, is not simple, but it has a lyrical slenderness which
wouldn’t one would say, lead anybody to think of going such lengths
as to distribute its recitation among a chorus and actors, thus
requiring perhaps eleven men to say the words, with two or three
drums and a flute added, and masks and costumes fit for a museum
and angelic properties, and special stages, and attendants to wipe,
in this hot weather, the sweat from immovable hands and from under
chins. The volume of what goes to a performance is large, but it’s
all cut down outwardly and bent inwards. As for the recitation, the
first necessity is to eliminate direct expressiveness in the saying
of the words. This seems obvious in the saying of any good poetry.
The chorus chants (it’s rather like a Gregorian chant), the actors
intone. Both may come to singing, only not with any tune that might
carry you off by itself. Yet, within the limitations of intoning,
with some turns, the actor taking the women’s parts will achieve a
pitch of pathetic intensity beyond the reach of one who sings words
to an air that has an existence of its own, or who recites with
meaning. The Nō actor is not directly expressive, it’s always the
poem he is doing and throwing you back on.
“I suppose the mask may have originated in a priest’s needing
to impersonate an angel or a beautiful girl, or an evil spirit;
but its justification, as against make-up, is absolute for the
Nō purpose. I saw in the same week _Funa Benkei_, adapted for
the theatre, at the Imperial and on a Nō stage. At the theatre,
the part of Shizuka, the mistress whom Yoshitsune the pursued
young lord is persuaded to send away, was taken by Baikō. It was
one of his nights, and all the evening, as three different women
and a ghost, he was so that I shall not again ever so much care
about a beautiful woman taken by a beautiful woman. But in the
theatre version of _Funa Benkei_, Shizuka wore no mask, and when
she pleaded, Baikō, of course, acted; it was charming; but Heaven
knows what _words_ he was saying--certainly he was not turning the
mind of his audience in upon any masterpiece of words, rhythm and
poetical fancy. He was acting the situation. The Nō performer, on
the other hand, is intensifying the poet’s fancy. From sight of the
masks hung up alone, I had not imagined how well their mixture of
vacancy and realism would do the trick. The masks are not wayward,
not extravagant (even the devil’s masks are realistic); but they
are undoubtedly masks tied on with a band, and they effect the
purpose of achieving an impassive countenance of a cast suited to
the character--impassive save that, with a good actor and a mask of
a beautiful woman that just hits off the balance between too much
and too little physiognomy, I’d swear that at the right moments
the mask is affected, its expression intensifies, it lives.
“The costumes are tremendous, elaborate, often priceless heirlooms;
but again they are not extravagant, ‘on their own,’ being all
distinctly hieratic (as indeed is the whole performance, a feature
historically deriving, maybe, from its original source among
priests, but just what one would desiderate if one were creating
a Nō performance out of the blue), because the hieratic helps to
create and maintain a host of restrictions and conventions which
good taste alone, even in Japan, could scarcely have preserved
against the fatal erosion of reason.
“The masked actors of beautiful women are stuffed out and by some
device increase the appearance of height, though all go in socks
and apparently with bent knees. The great masked figure, gliding
without lifting the heels, but with all the more appearance of
swiftness, to the front of the stage, is the most ecstatic thing
to sit under, and the most that a man can do to act what people
mean by ‘poetical,’ something removed from reality but not remote,
fascinating so that you fall in love with it, but more than you
would care to trifle with. This movement occurs in the dances
which come in some plays--I think always as dances by characters
invited to dance--and which are the best moments for the stranger,
since then alone does the rhythm of the drums become regular
enough for him to recognize it. For that is really, I am sure,
the bottom essential of the Nō representation--the rhythm marked
by two drums. For quite long intervals nothing else occurs. No
actor is on the stage, no word is uttered, but the sharp rap
sounds with the thimbled finger as on a box and the stumpy little
thud of the bare hands follows, or coincides, from the second
drum and both players give a crooning whoop. In some way, which
I can’t catch, that rhythm surely plays into the measure of the
recitation when it comes and into the movements of the actors
when they come. You know how people everywhere will persist in
justifying the admirable in an art on the ground of the beautiful
ideas it presents. So my friends tell me the drum beats suggest
the travelling of the pilgrim who is often the hinge of the
episode. I feel like a Japanese who wants to know whether a sonnet
has any particular number of lines, and any order for its rhymes
and repeats, and gets disquisitions on Shakespeare’s fancy which
might also apply to a speech in blank verse. Anyway, it is ever
so evident that the musicians do something extremely difficult
and tricky. The same musicians don’t seem to play on through the
three pieces which make a programme. As they have no book (and
don’t even look at each other), they must know the performance by
heart, and the stranger’s attention is often called by a friend
to one or the other who is specially famous for his skill. Some
one tried to explain the relation between the musicians and the
actors by saying that a perpetual sort of contest went on between
them. Certainly there seems to be in a Nō performance some common
goal which has to be strained for every time, immensely practised
though the performers are. During the dance this drum rhythm speeds
up to a felt time, and at moments of great stress, as when an
avenging ghost swims on with a spear, a third drum, played with
sticks, comes in with rapid regular beats, louder and softer.
Sometimes when the beats are not so followable, but anyway quicker
in succession, I seem to make out that they must be involving
themselves in some business of syncopation, or the catching up and
outstripping of a slow beat by a quicker one. But the ordinary
beats are too far apart for me to feel any rhythm yet.
“The best single moment I have seen was the dance of thanks to the
fisherman who returns to the divine lady the Hagoromo, the robe
without which even an angel cannot fly. It seemed to me an example
of the excellent rule in art that, if a right thing is perhaps
rather dull or monotonous lasting five minutes, you will not cure
the defect by cutting the performance to two and a half minutes;
rather give it ten minutes. If it’s still perhaps rather dull, try
twenty minutes or an hour. This presupposes that your limitations
are right and that you _are_ exploiting them. The thing may seem
dull at first because at first it is the limitations the spectator
feels; but the more these are exploited the less they are felt to
be limitations, and the more they become a medium. The divine lady
returned on her steps at great length and fully six times after
I had thought I could not bear it another moment. She went on for
twenty minutes, perhaps, or an hour or a night; I lost count of
time; but I shall not recover from the longing she left when at
last she floated backwards and under the fatal uplifted curtain.
The movements, even in the dance, are very restricted if one tries
to describe or relate them, but it may be true, as they say, that
the Nō actor works at an intense and concentrated pitch of all his
thoughts and energies, and this tells through his impassive face
or mask and all his clothes and his slow movements. Certainly the
longer I looked at the divine lady, the more she seemed to me to
be in action, though sometimes the action, if indeed there, was
so slight that it could be that she had worked us up to the fine
edge of noticing her breathing. There was only one memorable quick
motion in the dance, the throwing of the stiff deep gauze sleeve
over the head, over the crown with its lotus and bell tassels. My
wife has no inclination to deceive herself with the fascination
of what she can’t explain, and she agreed that this was the most
beautiful thing that had ever been seen.
“You will see the two drum players in many of the cards. With them
sits the player on the fue, a transverse flute, who joins in at
moments with what often is, if you take it down, the same phrase,
though it sounds varied as the player is not often exactly on any
note that you _can_ take down. The dropping of the flute’s note at
the end of the phrase, which before always went up, is the nearest
approach to the ‘curtain’ of the theatre. It is very touching. The
poem has come to an end. The figures turn and walk off....
“I have been to more Nō performances, always with increasing
recognition of the importance attaching to the beat, a subject on
which I have got some assurance from an expert kindly directed to
me by a friend. From beginning to end, all the words of every Nō
play fit into an 8-beat measure, and a performer who sat in the
dark, tapping the measure while skilfully weaving in the words,
would give a Nō audience the essential ground of its pleasure. If
they are not actually being followed on books, in which they are
printed as ticks alongside the text, the beats are going on inside
(often to the finger tips of) all the people whom I notice to be
regular attendants at Nō performances. I saw a play (not a good
one) at the Kabukiza in which a Nō master refuses a pupil a secret
in his art. For some reason the pupil attaches importance to being
shown the way in this difficult point. The master’s daughter takes
poison and, in fulfilment of her dying request, the master consents
to show the pupil. It was no subtlety of gesture, no matter of
voice or mask, that brought things to such straits. The master
knelt at his desk, and, beating with his fan, began reciting a
passage, showing how the words were distributed in the beat.
“It is very seldom that every beat in the eight is marked by a
drum. I don’t think this happens save in those plays where the
taiko (the real drum played with sticks) takes part, generally
in an important or agitated dance. In the ordinary course, only
certain of the eight beats are marked by the two players on the
tsuzumi (one held on the knee, the other over the shoulder). The
Japanese get much more out of subtleties of rhythm (or, rather, out
of playing hide-and-seek with one simple rhythm) than we do and
are correspondingly lax about the interval between one note and
another. I don’t believe a European would have thought of dividing
the drum beats between two instruments. It must be horribly tricky
to do. This division gives variety, for the big tsuzumi yields a
clack and the small yields something between a whop and a thud.
“As for masks, one would have to see very many performances, I
fancy, and think a lot, before one got on to any philosophy of
their fascination and effectiveness. I am always impressed by the
realism, the naturalness of the Nō mask. It is not fanciful in
any obvious sense. After a few performances, I found I knew when
a mask was a particularly good one. My preferences turned out to
be precious heirlooms two hundred years old. In one instance when,
for a reason I don’t yet understand, Rokurō changed his mask after
death for another of the same cast, I could not say why the first
was better than the second--certainly not for a pleasanter surface,
for it was shining like lacquer; I noticed the features were more
pronounced. We were allowed the thrill of being let into the room
of the mirror, immediately behind the curtain, and saw Rokurō
have his mask fitted and make his entry after a last touch by his
brother Mansaburō. These brothers are Umewaka, belong to the Kwanze
School, and have a stage of their own. I am told that my preference
for them is natural to a beginner and that later one likes as
much, or better, the more masculine style of the Hōshō. At present
Nagashi (Matsumoto), the chief performer of this school (which has
a lovely stage and a very aristocratic clientèle), seems to me
like an upright gentleman who has learned his lesson, while Rokurō
and Mansaburō are actors. Both brothers have beautiful voices. The
Hōshō people speak with a thickness in the throat. But I know it is
absurd for me to feel critical about anything. Moreover, Rokurō and
Nagashi would not take the same parts.
“MIIDERA. A mother, crazed by the straying away of her little boy,
is advised by a neighbour any way to go to Ōtsu, for there stands
the temple of Mii which she had seen in a dream.
“The priests of Miidera, with the little boy among them, are out in
the temple yard viewing the full autumn moon. The attendant tolls
the great bell, whose lovely note wavers long over the lake below.
The mad mother appears on the scene, and, drawn to the bell, makes
to toll it. The head priest forbids her. There follows an argument
full of bell lore, and its effect on troubled hearts. She tolls the
bell, and mother and son recognize each other.
“One of the cards I sent shows the mother tolling the bell. She
comes on first in a red flowered robe, is advised by the neighbour
and goes off. The priests come on. The sounding of the bell is
the hinge of everything, a thing of great sentiment. As it is, in
reality, one of the most touching things in the world, it seemed
to me clever that there was no attempt to represent it. On the
contrary, the action centred in the toller, a cheery old gossiper
used to the job, who more or less spat on his hands and said Heave
ho as he swung the imaginary horizontal beam. Only when he had
done so, he continued his Heave ho in a kind of long echoing hum.
Then he danced. The mad mother came on in another dress, very
strange, light mauve gauze over white, no pattern, and the bough
in her hand. Why, when the old man had already tolled, for one’s
imagination, a non-existent bell in the real way with a heavy
beam, the mother should actually pull a coloured ribbon tied to an
elaborate toy, it is hard to say. But it is right.
“I saw this taken by Mansaburō, who, like his brother Rokurō, has
a beautiful voice. The singing is so unlike ours, that at first
one feels nothing about it. But after three or four performances
one notices, and I recognized the beauty of both these brothers’
voices before I knew they were brothers, or, indeed, that they were
noted in any way. In fact I was still in the state when I had not
yet realized that one might come to discussing the merits of these
players hidden in robes and masks as hotly as one discusses the
qualities of the favourites on the ordinary theatre.
“I don’t know if you know about the curtain. Every subsidiary
detail of the performance possesses, I don’t know how to say, but
a solidity. It’s there. God knows how it came there; but there it
is, and it’s not a contrivance, not an ‘idea.’ The entry to the
stage, as you know, is by a narrow gallery, beside which three
little pine-trees rise like mile-stones. This gallery ends with a
single heavy curtain, which does not rise as ours do, or draw aside
or fall as in the Japanese theatre. It sweeps back, only bellying a
little. It is, in fact, as I saw when I was allowed behind, lifted
by poles fixed to the bottom corners.
“The poles are raised rapidly by two men kneeling a good way
behind. Suddenly the curtain blows back as by a wind, and the
expected figure, whom you know must be coming or something, i. e.
suspense is prepared by what has already happened, is framed in the
opening, and there pauses an instant. I am speaking, not of the
first entry, but of the second one, when the person who aroused the
pilgrim-visitor’s curiosity as a temple-sweeper or a water-carrier,
and vanished, reappears as the great General or princely Prime
Minister he once was. The stage-wait necessitated by the change of
costume and mask is filled in by an interminable sayer of short
lines, with the same number of feet, each line detached from the
next as if the speaker were going from one afterthought to another.
He is a bystander--perhaps a shepherd in one play and a fisherman
in another--who knows something, and dilates on it to fill in time.
The musicians lay aside their drums. Everybody just waits. Up
sweeps the curtain, and with the re-entry of the revealed personage
comes the intenser and quicker second part for which the slow first
part was a preparation.”
FOOTNOTE:
[218] Or, according to Fenollosa, bought a stage belonging to an
ex-daimyō.
APPENDIX II
Some of the facts brought to light by the discovery of Seami’s
_Works_:--
(1) It had long been suspected that the current _Kwadensho_ was not
the work of Seami. The discovery of the real _Kwadensho_ has made
this certain.
(2) Traditional dates of Kwanami and Seami corrected.
(3) It was supposed that only the music of the plays was written by
their nominal authors. The words were vaguely attributed to “Zen
Priests.” We now know that in most cases Kwanami and Seami played
the triple part of author,[219] musical composer and actor.
(4) It was doubted whether in the fourteenth century Sarugaku had
already become a serious dramatic performance. We now know that it
then differed little (and in respect of seriousness not at all)
from Nō as it exists to-day.
(5) It was supposed that the Chorus existed from the beginning. We
now learn from Seami that it was a novelty in 1430. Its absence
must have been the chief feature which distinguished the Sarugaku
of the fourteenth century from the Nō of to-day.
(6) Numerous passages prove that Nō at its zenith was not an
exclusively aristocratic art. The audiences were very varied.
(7) Seami gives details about the musical side of the plays
as performed in the fourteenth century. These passages, as is
confessed even by the great Nō-scholar, Suzuki Chōkō, could be
discussed only by one trained in Nō-music.
FOOTNOTE:
[219] Or rather “arranger,” for in many instances he adapted already
existing Dengaku or Kōwaka.
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Note
The play “Haku Rakuten” has an Act II, but no Act I.
Illustrations have been moved next to the text which they illustrate.
and may not match the locations in the List of Illustrations.
All instances of “i.e.” have been regularised to “i. e.”.
p. 2 “_New York Herald_” changed to “_New York Herald_.”
p. 14 “_kyōgen’s seat_.” changed to “_kyōgen’s_ seat.”
p. 19 “translated on p. 134” changed to “translated on p. 100”
p. 22 (note) “p. 268” changed to “p. 32”
p. 24 “may mimed” changed to “may be mimed”
p. 32 “Myōhō” changed to ““Myōhō”
p. 32 “p. 227” changed to “p. 229”
p. 35 “p. 224” changed to “p. 226”
p. 37 “p. 224” changed to “p. 226”
p. 37 “p. 225” changed to “p. 227”
p. 38 The lines “REAPER. / And music of many instruments ...” were
printed in reverse order.
p. 74 The lines “from Heaven. And here you are shedding tears over it!
What is the / matter?” were printed in reverse order.
p. 79 “assauit” changed to “assault”
p. 79 The lines “Roll, The Blade Drop, The Gnashing Lion, The
Maple-Leaf Double, / The Flower Double.” were printed in reverse order.
p. 83 “p. 142” changed to “p. 142)”
p. 91 “loking” changed to “looking”
p. 97 “chiefly!” changed to “chiefly!””
p. 106 (note) “p. 246” changed to “p. 148)”
p. 110 “warriers” changed to “warriors”
p. 119 ““without” changed to ““without””
p. 127 “comorant-fisher” changed to “cormorant-fisher”
p. 145 “Rukujō” changed to “Rokujō”
p. 163 “Pillow of Kantan.” changed to “Pillow of Kantan.””
p. 167 “intent.” changed to “intent.””
p. 190 “City” changed to “City.”
p. 197 “_Enter the_ ACOLYTE” changed to “_Enter the_ ACOLYTE.”
p. 201 “speak-” changed to “speaking”
p. 220 “work” changed to “word”
p. 230 “it is my” changed to “it in my”
p. 237 "HIS SECOND WIFE." changed to "_HIS SECOND WIFE._"
p. 240 “litttle” changed to “little”
p. 248 “footbball ballet” changed to “football ballet”
p. 249 “disappeared.” changed to “disappeared.””
p. 251 “Mr Sansom” changed to “Mr. Sansom”
p. 251 “(p. 265)” changed to “(p. 267)”
p. 256 (note) “p. 169” changed to “p. 127”
p. 260 “History of _Japanese Literature_” changed to “_History of
Japanese Literature_”
p. 268 “The poles” changed to ““The poles”
The following possible errors have not been changed:
p. 137 upon him
p. 137 turned,
p. 161 chrysanthem-dew
The following are used inconsistently in the text:
Bijinzoroye and Bijin-zoroye
bowstring and bow-string
framework and frame-work
Isé and Ise
Kántán and Kantan
reborn and re-born
seagulls and sea-gulls
seaweed and sea-weed
springtime and spring-time
Yūya and Yuya