PROSE, POETRY AND PLAYS
The Japanese are true story-tellers, and for centuries their folklore
has been passed down by word of mouth. The stories which Madame Ozaki,
Pasteur and others have so cleverly translated into English are a great
delight to me, many of them are so full of humour, pathos and charm.
They fall into three characteristic types:--stories of the unreal world,
legends of the great warriors of feudal days, and tales of love. Instead
of trying to describe them I will give an example of each in condensed
form.
Fairy tales play an important part in the literature of the people, and,
except possibly the Norwegian, I think none compare with those of Japan.
They have a strange and fascinating quality which specially
distinguishes them from ours--they deal with imps and goblins, with
devils, foxes and badgers, with the grotesque and supernatural, instead
of the pretty dancing fairies, the good fairies that our children know.
"The Travels of the Two Frogs," from the charming version in Mr. William
Elliot Griffis' "Fairy Tales of Old Japan," is given here in condensed
form.
* * * * *
THE TRAVELS OF TWO FROGS
Once upon a time there lived two frogs--one in a well in Kyoto,
the other in a lotus pond in Osaka, forty miles away. Now in the
Land of the Gods they have a proverb, "The frog in the well
knows not the great ocean," and the Kyoto frog had so often
heard this sneer from the maids who came to draw water with
their long bamboo-handled buckets that he resolved to travel and
see the "great ocean."
Mr. Frog informed the family of his intentions. Mrs. Frog wept a
great deal, but finally drying her eyes with her paper
handkerchief she declared that she would count the hours on her
fingers until he came back. She tied up a little lacquered box
full of boiled rice and snails for his journey, wrapped it round
with a silk napkin, and putting his extra clothes in a bundle,
swung it on his back. Tying it over his neck, he seized his
staff and was ready to go.
"_Sayonara!_" cried he, as with a tear in his eye he walked
away--for that is the Japanese for "good-bye."
"_Sayonara!_" croaked Mrs. Frog and the whole family of young
frogs in a chorus.
Mr. Frog, being now on land and out of his well, noticed that
men did not leap, but walked upright on their hind legs, and not
wishing to be eccentric he began walking the same way.
Now about the same time, an old Osaka frog had become restless
and dissatisfied with life on the edge of a lotus pond. Close by
the side of his pond was a monastery full of Buddhist monks who
every day studied their sacred rolls and droned over the books
of the sage, to learn them by heart. Now the monks often came
down to the edge of the pond to look at the pink and white lotus
flowers. One summer day, as a little frog, hardly out of his
tadpole state, with a fragment of tail still left, sat basking
on a huge round leaf, one monk said to another, "Of what does
that remind you?" "That the babies of frogs will become but
frogs!" answered one shaven-pate, laughing; "What think you?"
"The white lotus springs out of the black mud," said the other
solemnly, and they both walked away.
The old frog, sitting near-by, overheard them and began to
philosophize: "Humph! the babies of frogs will become but frogs,
hey? If the lotus springs from mud, why shouldn't a frog become
a man? If my pet son should travel abroad and see the world--go
to Kyoto, for instance--why shouldn't he be as wise as those
shining-headed men, I wonder? I shall try it, anyhow. I'll send
my son on a journey to Kyoto--I'll cast the lion's cub into the
valley!"
Now it so happened that the old frog from Kyoto and the "lion's
cub" from Osaka started each from his home at the same time.
Nothing of importance occurred to either of them until they met
on a hill near Hashimoto, which is half-way between the two
cities. Both were footsore and websore, and very, very tired.
"_Ohio!_" said the lion's cub to the old frog, by way of good
morning, as he fell on all fours and bowed his head to the
ground three times.
"_Ohio!_" replied the Kyoto frog.
"It is rather fine weather to-day," said the youngster.
"Yes, it is very fine," replied the old fellow.
"I am Gamataro, the oldest son of Lord Bullfrog, Prince of the
Lotus Ditch."
"Your lordship must be weary with your journey. I am Sir Frog of
the Well in Kyoto. I started out to see the great ocean from
Osaka, but I declare my hips are so dreadfully tired that I
believe I'll give up my plan and content myself with a look from
this hill, which I have been told is half-way between the two
cities. While I see Osaka and the sea, you can get a good look
at Kyoto."
"Happy thought!" cried the Osaka frog. Then both reared
themselves up on their hind legs, and stretching up on their
toes, body to body, and neck to neck, propped each other up,
rolled their goggles, and looked steadily, as they supposed, on
the places they each wished to see.
Now every one knows that a frog has eyes mounted in that part of
his head which is front when he is down, and back when he stands
up. Long and steadily they gazed, until at last, their toes
being tired, they fell down on all fours.
"I declare!" said the older frog, "Osaka looks just like Kyoto!
As for that great ocean those stupid maids talked about, I don't
see any at all, unless they mean that strip of river which looks
for all the world like Yedo. I don't believe there is any great
ocean!"
"For my part," said the other, "I am satisfied that it's all
folly to go further, for Kyoto is as like Osaka as one grain of
rice is like another."
Thereupon both congratulated themselves upon the happy,
labour-saving expedient by which they had spared themselves a
long journey. Then they departed, after exchanging many
compliments, and, dropping once more into a frog-hop, leaped
back in half the time ... the one to his well, the other to his
pond. And so to this day the frog in the well knows not and
believes not in the "great ocean!"
* * * * *
Excellent collections of fairy tales have been made by F. Hadland
Davis--"Myths and Legends of Japan"--and R. Gordon Smith--"Ancient Tales
and Folklore of Japan." Children love to read about Princess Blossoming
Brilliantly Like the Flowers on the Trees, and Princess Long as the
Rocks, about Prince Fire Shine, and Prince Fire Shade, and the other
delightful characters with strange names. The story of "The Magic Sword,
the Glittering Jewel and the Heavenly Mirror" is perhaps an especial
favourite.
A good example of the legendary narrative is that of Hachiro Tametomo
the Archer, told in English by Madame Ozaki in her "Warriors of Old
Japan" and given here much condensed.
* * * * *
HACHIRO TAMETOMO THE ARCHER
Hachiro was the eighth son of an illustrious family. As a child
he gave promise of being a very strong man, and as he grew older
this promise was more than fulfilled. He early showed a love of
archery, and his left arm being four inches longer than his
right, there was no one in the realm who could bend the bow
better or send the arrow farther than he could. He became the
most skilful archer in all Japan.
By nature Hachiro was a rough, wild lad who did not know what
fear meant, and he loved to challenge his brother, Yoshitomo, to
fight. As he grew older he grew wilder still, so that even his
own father found him unmanageable. One day a learned man came
from the palace of the Emperor to give the boy a lecture. In the
course of his talk he spoke of Kiyomori, an enemy of the house,
as a clever archer. At this Hachiro laughed aloud in scorn, and
told the learned man that he was both foolish and ignorant.
This rudeness was so contrary to the rules of Japanese courtesy
that it made the lecturer very angry, and when his discourse was
finished he rebuked the boy sternly for his behaviour. When the
boy's father heard what had happened he, too, was angry with his
son for daring to dispute with one who was his elder and
superior, and refused to keep him any longer beneath his roof,
sending him away to the island of Kyushu.
Now Hachiro did not mind his banishment in the least. On the
contrary, he felt like a hound let loose from the leash, and
rejoiced in his liberty. Free to do as he liked at last, his
thirst for conflict became so great that he could not restrain
himself. He challenged the men in all the neighbouring provinces
to match their strength against his, and in the twenty battles
which followed he was never defeated. He was like the silkworm
eating up the mulberry tree, for just as the worm devours one
leaf after another, so Hachiro fought and fought, one after
another, the inhabitants of all the provinces anywhere around,
till he had them all under subjection. By the time he was
eighteen the boy had thus mastered the whole western part of
Japan, and had made himself chief of a large band of outlaws
noted for their reckless bravery.
This band became so powerful that the Government decided to
interfere and put a stop to the outlawry. A regiment of soldiers
was sent against them, but without effect: Hachiro could not be
brought to surrender. As a final resort the Government, hoping
thus to bring the son to bay, arrested Hachiro's father, and
severely punished the old man for being the parent of an
incorrigible rebel.
Although Hachiro was so rude and undisciplined by nature, there
was hidden deep in his heart a sense of duty to his father, and
on this his enemies had counted. He was greatly distressed at
what had happened, and feeling that it was inexcusable to let
his father suffer for his own misdoings, he gave up, without the
least hesitation, all the western lands which had cost him such
hard fighting. Then, taking with him ten men, he went to the
capital and sent in a document signed and sealed in his own
blood, asking the pardon of the Government for all his former
offences and begging for the release of his father. When those
in authority saw his filial piety, they could not find it in
their hearts to treat him with severity, so they merely rebuked
him for his lawlessness and set the old man free.
Soon after this a civil war broke out in the land, for two
brothers of the late Emperor aspired to sit on the Imperial
throne. Hachiro and his father fought on one side, while his
elder brother, Yoshitomo, fought on the other. Hachiro was not
yet twenty years of age, but was more than seven feet in height.
His eyes were sharp and piercing, like those of a hawk, and he
carried himself with pride and noble bearing. He was consulted
about the tactics to be used in a great battle, and if his
advice had been followed, the history of Japan might have been
quite different. As it was, the enemy won the victory.
On seeing the foe approaching the gate where he was stationed,
Hachiro exclaimed, "You feeble worms, I'll surprise you!" and
taking his bow and arrow he shot a _samurai_ through the breast.
The arrow was carried in alarm to the general. It was made from
strong bamboo and the metal head was like a chisel--it looked
more like the arrow of a demon than a man, and the general
retired in fear from before the gate.
When Yoshitomo came up, however, he was not afraid, but cried
out, "What a wicked deed you commit to fight against your elder
brother!" To this Hachiro answered, "It is wrong for me to take
up arms against my brother, truly, but are you not an undutiful
son to take up arms against your father?" The elder brother had
no words to answer this, and Hachiro knew that he could kill him
as he stood there. But they were brothers, born of the same
mother, and he felt that he could not do it. Yet he could not
resist raising his bow and arrow and taking a good aim at the
helmet which Yoshitomo wore, shooting his arrow right into the
middle of the star that topped it.
In the end Yoshitomo's forces were so much greater that Hachiro
and his father were taken prisoners. The older man was put to
death, but Hachiro's courage aroused sympathy, even in the
hearts of his foes. It seemed a pity to kill so brave a man, and
so they set him free. But to prevent his using his wonderful
skill against them they cut the sinews in both his arms, and
sent him to the island of Oshima.
The simple island folk recognized in him a great man, and he led
a happy life among them. One day, while standing on the beach
thinking of his many past adventures, he was seized with a
desire for more. So, stepping into a boat, he set out on a
voyage of discovery. He came to an island which was inhabited by
people with dark red faces and shocks of bright red hair.
Landing, he went up to a large pine-tree and uprooted it with as
much ease as if it were a weed, brandishing it above his head
and calling aloud, "Come, you demons! Fight if you will! I am
Hachiro Tametomo, the archer of Japan. If you will be my
servants and look up to me as a master in all things, it is
well--otherwise, I will beat you all to little pieces!" He could
have done it, too, because his arms were as strong as ever,
notwithstanding the sinews had been cut. So the inhabitants
prostrated themselves before him, and he took possession of the
island. Later, however, he returned to Oshima.
Now the island of Oshima has always been free from smallpox, and
the reason is that Hachiro lived there. One day a little man, no
bigger than one foot five inches, came floating in on the waves,
sitting on a round straw mat.
"Who are you?" Hachiro asked.
"I am the germ of smallpox," answered the pigmy.
"And why have you come here to Oshima?"
"I come to seize hold of the inhabitants!"
"You would spread the hateful pestilence--Silence! I am
Hachiro."
At that the smallpox microbe shrank and shrank until he was the
size of a pea, and then he floated away for ever, as
mysteriously as he had come.
On hearing of this, the Minister of State decided that Hachiro
was becoming too powerful and popular a hero. When the young man
saw the soldiers approaching the island, he seized his bow and,
pulling it to the shape of a half-moon, sent an arrow that upset
the boat and pitched the soldiers into the sea. After thinking
the matter over, however, he decided that if he fought against
the Government it would bring disaster upon the islanders who
loved him, and it would be better to die at the height of his
glory. So he committed _hara-kiri_ and thus saved himself from
all dishonour and the people of Oshima from further trouble.
[Illustration: ARMOUR AND WEAPONS OF ANCIENT WARRIORS.]
* * * * *
Of a different sort altogether is the legend of the "Theft of the Golden
Scale," so charmingly rendered into English by Mr. Brownell.
* * * * *
THE THEFT OF THE GOLDEN SCALE
Daredesuka was a _ronin_ bold, and Eikibo was a beautiful
_geisha_. One day Daredesuka asked Eikibo to be his wife, a
request that _geishas_ will generally accept, for it puts them
in the highest of the four classes of society, ranking almost as
well as the nobility. But Eikibo only laughed and said, "Such
promises are like the little flies that live a day and then no
one knows what has become of them!"
Daredesuka cried, "It is not so! Give me some test, for I must
have you know I speak the truth. Shall I bring you pearls from
the deep sea, or golden scales from the dolphins on Nagoya
Castle? Only say the thing, and I will do it, for you must
believe me."
Eikibo looked at him and said merrily, "Yes, I must believe you
if you bring me a dolphin's golden scale from the ridge of the
fifth story of the tower. I know Nagoya well, for I am there
every year. Yes, I should know you spoke the truth if you
brought the scale!" And she laughed again, for to the _geisha_
the parents of a truthful man are not yet born. Then she added,
"_Sayonara!_ My call-time for the Full Moon Tea-house over the
river has arrived. I beg your honourable pardon, I must go now.
Next month I shall be at the great _matsuri_ at Nagoya, where I
am to dance. Bring me the scale, and I shall know your heart!"
Two nights later he was in Nagoya.
Now Daredesuka was a wonderful man with kites. He had made large
ones when he was with his old lord, and had once dropped a line
far over a junk that was blowing out to sea, and so saved many
lives. He decided that he would use a kite to get the scale that
Eikibo had declared would tell if he spoke true. Secretly he
went to work and made a kite so large that he was sure it would
carry the weight of his body. He found another _ronin_ to help
him in his strange plan, and on a stormy night, in wind and rain
and clouds, he went up with his kite, and secured a golden scale
from the ridge of the fifth story of the tower. But the tool he
had used in prying it off was wet and slippery, and it fell from
his hands to the ground far beneath him. The guards' attention
was attracted. At the fatal moment a rift in the clouds let the
moon shine down, and they discovered the kite. So it happened
that when Daredesuka reached the earth they caught him with the
golden scale. But because he was a _samurai_ he was allowed to
commit _hara-kiri_, and performed the act serenely before the
State officials.
Eikibo did not do the fan dance at the _matsuri_ in Nagoya, for
on the morning of the day on which she was to appear, an old
priest found her body on Daredesuka's grave.
* * * * *
At first it seemed that the opening of the country to foreigners was to
be a death-blow to the old Japanese forms of art and literature.
Translations of American and European books have become very common, and
Western ideas permeate their work. But side by side with the newer
forms, the classic writings are again coming into vogue.
Paradoxical as it may sound, much of the classical Japanese literature
is Chinese. This is especially true of the older works, but it holds
good only in less degree to-day. Chinese has always been the written
language of the students, and of the higher classes in general, while
Japanese was considered fit only for the common people, much as English
was regarded down to the time of More's "Utopia." But while written in
Chinese characters, much of this literature is distinctly national in
spirit and feeling, and belongs as much to the country as does that
written in the native tongue. Only within recent times has the common
language of the people been used for writing books and scholarly
treatises.
Previous to the introduction of the Chinese ideographs in the early
Christian centuries, the Japanese had no written language. A knowledge
of these ideographs places all Chinese literature at the service of the
Japanese scholar. There are over eighty thousand characters, and three
ways of writing as well as of pronouncing each, but one finds that most
people know only about five or six thousand.
The great classical period, corresponding perhaps to the Elizabethan
Era, covers about five hundred years, from the eighth to the twelfth
centuries. During this time history, romance, and poetry flourished. The
Japanese record of ancient happenings, dealing with early history and
mythology, dates back to 712 A. D. and is sometimes called the Bible of
Japan. The romances, many of which were written by women, described the
Court life of the tenth and eleventh centuries. Most of the verses were
written in the short _tanka_ form, but longer ones, comprising groups of
these stanzas, were common.
In later times Bakin (1767-1848) became famous for his novels. One of
these--the "Tale of Eight Dogs"--contains no less than one hundred and
six small volumes.
In spite of the fact that Kozo Ozaki was born less than fifty years ago,
he is regarded as the Father of Japanese Literature. His work may be
likened to that of making a stone palace from a prehistoric cave, for he
simplified and unified the language, which was a mixture of the
scholarly speech of the stage with the modern vulgar tongue. Ozaki was a
perfect type of the gentleman of Old Japan. He was an artist as well as
an author, and also an orator, people flocking to hear him speak. A
group of young writers was formed in his time, but he was distinctly the
leader. His stories were mostly of love. Among the seventy volumes
published before his death (at the age of thirty-seven) "The Confessions
of a Lover," "Three Wives," and "The Golden Demon" are especially well
known. Among his most noted contemporaries were Rohan Koda and Kyoka
Izumi, the latter of whom was termed the Japanese Maeterlinck.
To-day Osaki Batsume is one of the most prominent writers. He was born
in Tokyo in 1867, and is said to have taken George Meredith as his
model. One of his best known works is "Botchan," which is on the order
of "Tom Brown's School Days." Much satire, and much philosophy, are
found in his books, but he shows little sympathy with the follies of
this life. His local colour and descriptions of social life are
excellent, and he attacks the imperfections of his day with good effect.
He is considered the master writer of modern times.
Many writers and books might be mentioned, but I want to speak of Dr.
Nitobe, whose "Bushido" and "Japanese Nation" are known the world over.
His wife is a charming American woman, and he has been exchange
professor with America. I quote two of his essays that I especially
like.
* * * * *
HEART AND CONSCIENCE
In thy sweet tremulous voice whisper in my ears what thou fain
wouldst have. And the Heart confided her secret of love to
Conscience. Said he in harsh tones of rebuke, "Thou most foolish
one! Thy love is born of flesh. Thou shalt never behold the face
of thy beloved. Thou art utterly corrupt." The poor Heart wept
its bitterest; but her sobs stern Conscience heeded not; they
reached the ears of the angels only.
* * * * *
THE SOUL'S QUEST OF GOD
Oft have I asked the question, O God, who art Thou? Where art
Thou? And each time the answer comes in softest voice, Who art
thou that askest Who I am? What thou art, that I am, and what I
am art thou. And where art thou that askest where I am? Where
thou art, there am I--and where I am, there art thou.
In worshipping God we worship ourselves, and in worshipping
ourselves we worship God. The real self is within us, the
essence of the Ego is divine. We clothe it in the rags of flesh
and of fleshly desires, until the divine self is hid; and we
call that self which does not strictly belong to it.
* * * * *
Japanese poetry differs very largely from anything with which we are
familiar. It has little if any rhythm, as we understand rhythm. The
_tanka_ was for many years the only form of verse known. It has five
lines and thirty-one syllables, which are arranged 5-7-5-7-7. This is an
unusual metre to our ears, and translators are obliged to change the
verses somewhat in order to make them sound more familiar to English
readers. The following poem by the late Emperor is typical:--
THE NEW YEAR PINE
"Atarashiki
Toshi no hogigoto
Kiku niwa ni
Yorodzu yo yobo-o
Noki no matsu kaze!"
"While New Year celebration fills my mind and heart,
I seem to hear above the palace eaves apart,
Winds calling midst the pines my garden doth adorn;
The voice of countless generations yet unborn!"
BY MEIJI TENNO.
_Translated by Mrs. Douglas Adams._
Japanese classical poetry consists of poetical ideas expressed in
flowery language and packed into the regulation metre. It abounds in
word-plays and all sorts of puns, but is absolutely free from any trace
of vulgarity. In those early days philosophy, religion, and satire were
not considered fit themes for poetic treatment.
There is an even more Lilliputian form of verse than the _tanka_, called
the _hokku_, which contains only seventeen syllables, often with little
or no rhyme. An example of this form given by Lafcadio Hearn is known as
"Vagabondage," and is a good example of much in little: "Heavily falls
the rain on the hat that I stole from the scarecrow." Two others of
quite a different trend are particularly exquisite: "What I saw as a
fallen blossom returning to the branch--lo! it was a butterfly." "So
lovely in its cry--What were the cuckoo if it laughed?"
The Japanese believe that if the beauty suggested in the five lines of a
_tanka_ verse cannot be fully appreciated by the reader, there is
something hopelessly deficient in that reader. They do not believe in
"smothering the soul with many words."
Perhaps what strikes one most in connection with the classic verses is
the dates at which they were written, for many that have come down to us
were composed a thousand years ago. Indeed, Japanese poetry is older
than Japanese history, and tradition says that there were many
versifiers even in the days of the mythological Emperor, Jimmu Tenno. At
any rate, Japan had a literature of its own long before the Northmen
found America!
In the old days only nobles, Court officials and church dignitaries
wrote poetry. The lower classes were not supposed to know anything about
the art. Love and "picture" poems were popular, and it is wonderful what
perfect thumb-nail sketches were composed. It has been said that "the
predominating feature, the under-current that runs through them all, is
a touch of pathos. ... It shows out in the cherry blossoms which are
doomed to fall, the dewdrops scattered by the wind, the mournful cry of
the wild deer on the mountain, the dying crimson of the fallen maple
leaves, the weird sadness of the cuckoo singing in the moonlight, and
the loneliness of the recluse in the wilds.
"The souls of children are often pictured as playing in a celestial
garden with the same flowers and butterflies they used to play with
while on earth. It is just this subtle element of the childlike
disposition that has helped to discover the secrets of flowers and birds
and trees, has enabled them to catch their timorous fleeting shadows and
to hold them, as if by magic, in a picture, on a vase, or in a delicate
and wistful poem."
"'Do not say anything unkind, but compose a poem. Is your best-beloved
dead? Do not yield to useless grief, but try to calm your mind by making
a poem. Are you troubled because you are about to die, leaving so many
things unfinished? Be brave, and write a poem to death. Whatever
misfortune or injustice disturbs you, put aside your resentment or your
sorrow as soon as possible, and write a few lines of sober and elegant
verse for a moral exercise.'" Thus Hearn translates from an ancient
writer, and then goes on to say:
"In the olden days every form of trouble was encountered with a poem.
Bereavement, separation, disaster, called forth verses in lieu of
plaints. The lady who preferred death to loss of honour composed a poem
before piercing her throat. The _samurai_ sentenced to die by his own
hand wrote a poem before performing _hara-kiri_. Even in this less
romantic era of Meiji young people resolved upon suicide are wont to
compose some verses before quitting the world."
These three little love-poems, which have been translated into English
by William Porter, were written during the tenth century--the first one
in 961 A. D. by the Imperial Adviser, Asa-Tada.
"To fall in love with womankind
Is my unlucky fate:
If only it were otherwise,
I might appreciate
Some men, whom now I hate."
The second, by Kanemori Taira, was composed in 949 A. D.:
"Alas! the blush upon my cheek,
Conceal it as I may,
Proclaims to all that I'm in love,
Till people smile and say--
Where are thy thoughts to-day?"
The last one was written in the same year by the minister of the Kawara
district of Kyoto:
"Ah, why does love distract my thoughts,
Disordering my will!
I'm like the pattern on the cloth
Of Michinoku hill,
All in confusion still."
Japan has not been without her women poets. Lady Horikawa, who wrote
this bit of verse, lived in the twelfth century and was in attendance on
the Dowager Empress Taiken. The poem is dated 1142, and, like the
others, was translated by Mr. Porter.
"My doubt about his constancy
Is difficult to bear;
Tangled this morning are my thoughts
As is my long black hair.
I wonder--does he care?"
The Empress Jito lived in the seventh century. She was the daughter of
an Emperor and became Empress on the death of her husband, the Emperor
Tennu. During her reign _saké_ was first made. She wrote:
"The spring has gone, the summer's come,
And I can just descry
The peak of Ama-no-kagu,
Where angels of the sky
Spread their white robes to dry."
Daini-No-Sammi, who was the daughter of a poet, composed this pretty
verse:
"As fickle as the mountain gusts
That on the moor I've met,
'Twere best to think no more of thee
And let thee go. But yet
I never can forget!"
Old age seems a favourite subject. Tsure Yuki Kino was a nobleman at
Court and one of the great classical poets. He died in the middle of the
tenth century.
"The village of my youth is gone,
New faces meet my gaze;
But still the blossoms at the gate,
Whose perfume scents the ways,
Recall my childhood's days."
Jealousy is the theme of many of the verses:
"Where many a tree
Crowns Takasu Hill,
Does my wife see
My vanishing sleeve
And so take leave?"
Of the many picture poems, this is considered
one of the best:
"Out of the East,
Over the field,
The dawn is breaking breaking--
I turn to the West,
And the moon hangs low!"
Another picture poem is by the late Emperor:
"Kie nokoru
Matsu no kokage no
Shirayuki ni
Ariake no tsuki!"
"At dawn, how cold the waiting moon doth shine
On remnants of snow beneath the pine!"
BY MEIJI TENNO.
_Translated by Mrs. Douglas Adams._
That the poetry of Japan is not without its humour is shown by the
following comic song, which deals with a subject of universal interest:
"In the shadow of the mountain
What is it that shines so?
Moon is it? or star? or is it the firefly insect?
Neither is it moon,
Nor yet star....
It is the old woman's eye--it is the eye
Of my mother-in-law that shines!"
Modern poetry is read by every one, and composed by every one. Poems are
written on tablets and hung or suspended in the houses; they are
everywhere, printed on all useful and household articles. I quote a poem
called "The Beyond," which was published in a recent issue of the _Japan
Magazine_. It shows not only a change of form, but of theme as well.
"Thou standest at the brink. Behind thy back
Stretch the fair, flower-decked meadows, full of light,
And pleasant change of wooded hill and dale
With tangled scrub of thorn and bramble bush,
Which men call life. Lo! now thy travelled foot
Stands by the margin of the silent pool;
And, as thou standest, thou fearest, lest some hand
Come from behind, and push thee suddenly
Into its cold, dark depths.
"Thou needst not fear;
The hidden depths have their own fragrance too,
And he that loves the grasses of the field,
With fragrant lilies decks the still pool's face,
With weeds the dark recesses of the deep;
March boldly on, nor fear the sudden plunge,
Nor ask where ends life's meadow-land.
E'en the dark pool hath its own fragrant flowers."
The two young poets, Horoshi Yosano and his wife Akiko, are known as the
Brownings of Japan. Yosano was editing a small magazine of verse not
long ago when the poetess Akiko sent him one of her maiden efforts for
publication. A meeting followed, and in spite of poverty--for poets are
poor in Japan as elsewhere--they fell in love and were presently
married. They went to France, and were made much of by the young poets
of Paris. Yosano is something of a radical, impatient of poetic
conventions and thoroughly in harmony with the new spirit of Japan. The
power of Akiko's work is suggested in a poem of hers called "The
Priest."
"Soft is thy skin:
Thou hast never touched blood,
O teacher of ways
Higher than mortal:
How lonely thou art!"
* * * * *
The Japanese drama has not held so high a place as have the other forms
of literature, for the stage was regarded for many years as nothing more
than a rather common and even vulgar means of amusement. The classic
drama, represented by the _No_ dances, was partly religious and had more
prestige, but there have been few good dramatists. The stage is of
interest, however, because it is the only place left where one may study
the manners and customs of long ago.
[Illustration: A JAPANESE STAGE.]
To give a brief summary of this art--the Japanese drama, like the
ancient Greek, and the English also, had its origin in religion. In the
very earliest days there were crude religious dances and songs. Later,
popular tales of history and legend, mixed with poetry, were dramatized.
Minstrels often recited these to the accompaniment of the lute.
Marionette dances accompanied by songs were also popular. Since these
performances were regarded as beneath the consideration of the nobility,
the _No_ performance with a chorus came into existence for their
benefit. After the earlier form had become debased and vulgarized the
_No_ dances kept their ancient ceremonial character, and continued to be
performed before Shogun and _samurai_, and even before the Imperial
family. They developed into something very like the classic drama of
Greece. The actors were masked, the plays were held in the open air with
no scenery but with elaborate costumes, and had a religious quality
which they have retained to the present day. As the _No_ is very long,
comedy pieces were introduced, like the "interludes" of the
pre-Elizabethan stage, to offset the classical severity. The actors have
always been of a better class than the _kabuti_, or players for the
common people.
Takeda Izuma is one of the most celebrated play writers, having
dramatized the story of the Forty-Seven Ronins, as well as other
historic tales. Chikamatsu is sometimes called the Shakespeare of Japan;
his best work is a play in which the expulsion of the Dutch from Formosa
is used as a theme. He was a prolific writer of rather a sensational
order. Samba, who has taken the name of Ikku, is one of the best
dramatists of the present time, and is renowned throughout Japan.
Hitherto myths, legends--religious or secular--and folklore, as well as
passages from Japanese history, have been the material used for plays.
To-day, however, novels are dramatized as with us, and many plays are
translated. Western dramas are having a great vogue at present.
Whether the plays are original or not, the author's name frequently does
not appear at all. When Miss Scidmore, the author of "Jinrikisha Days,"
asked a great tragedian who wrote the play in which he was appearing,
the star was puzzled and said that he did not understand. A bystander
explained that it was based on newspaper accounts of various
catastrophies, made into some sort of scenario by a hack-writer, with
the stage-effects planned by the manager and the dialogue written by the
actors--each of whom composed his own lines! No wonder the tragedian was
puzzled by the question. As a rule, however, the dramatic author has
entire charge of the production--he writes the play, arranges the
scenes, and consults with the leading actor and proprietor.