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[2]

THE NŌ PLAYS OF JAPAN

At all booksellers’ or from the Publisher

ALFRED A. KNOPF, New York

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BY
ARTHUR WALEY

NEW YORK
ALFRED · A · KNOPF
1922

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COPYRIGHT, 1922
BY ARTHUR WALEY

Published March, 1922

Set up and printed by the Vail-Ballou Co., Binghamton, N. Y.
Paper furnished by W. F. Etherington & Co., New York, N. Y.
Bound by the Plimpton Press, Norwood, Mass.

MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

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TO
DŌAMI

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The theatre of the West is the last stronghold of realism. No one treats painting or music as mere transcripts of life. But even pioneers of stage-reform in France and Germany appear to regard the theatre as belonging to life and not to art. The play is an organized piece of human experience which the audience must as far as possible be allowed to share with the actors.

A few people in America and Europe want to go in the opposite direction. They would like to see a theatre that aimed boldly at stylization and simplification, discarding entirely the pretentious lumber of 19th century stageland. That such a theatre exists and has long existed in Japan has been well-known here for some time. But hitherto very few plays have been translated in such a way as to give the Western reader an idea of their literary value. It is only through accurate scholarship that the “soul of Nō” can be known to the West. Given a truthful rendering of the texts the American reader will supply for himself their numerous connotations, a fact which Japanese writers do not always sufficiently realize. The Japanese method of expanding a five-line poem into a long treatise in order to make it intelligible to us is one which obliterates the structure of the original design. Where explanations are necessary they have been given in footnotes. I have not thought it necessary to point out (as a Japanese critic suggested that I ought to have done) that, for example, the “mood” of Komachi is different from the “mood” of Kumasaka. Such differences will be fully apparent to the American reader, who would not be the better off for knowing the technical name of each kurai or class of Nō. Surely the Japanese student of Shakespeare does not need to be told that the kurai of “Hamlet” is different from that of “Measure for Measure”?

It would be possible to burden a book of this kind with as great a mass of unnecessary technicality as irritates us in a smart sale-catalogue of Japanese Prints. I have avoided such terms to a considerable extent, treating the plays as literature, not as some kind of Delphic mystery.

[18]

In this short introduction I shall not have space to give a complete description of modern Nō, nor a full history of its origins. But the reader of the translations will find that he needs some information on these points. I have tried to supply it as concisely as possible, sometimes in a schematic rather than a literary form.

These are some of the points about which an American reader may wish to know more:

Something of its modern form may be seen from Plate II and from the plans on pp. 10-13. The actual stage (A) is about 18 feet square. On the boards of the back wall is painted a pine-tree; the other sides are open. A gallery (called hashigakari) leads to the green-room, from which it is separated by a curtain which is raised to admit the actor when he makes his entry. The audience sit either on two or three sides of the stage. The chorus, generally in two rows, sit (or rather squat) in the recess (O). The musicians sit in the recess (J) at the back of the stage, the stick-drum nearest the “gallery,” then the two hand-drums and the flute. A railing runs round the musician’s recess, as also along the gallery. To the latter railing are attached three real pine-branches, marked S in the plan. They will be seen in Plate II. The stage is covered by a roof of its own, imitating in form the roof of a Shintō temple.

The first actor who comes on to the stage (approaching from the gallery) is the waki or assistant. His primary business is to explain the circumstances under which the principal actor (called shite or “doer”) came to dance the central dance of the play. Each of these main actors (waki and shite) has “adjuncts” or “companions.”

Some plays need only the two main actors. Others use as many as ten or even twelve. The female rôles are of course taken by men. The waki is always a male rôle.

This consists of from eight to twelve persons in ordinary native dress seated in two rows at the side of the stage. Their sole function is to sing an actor’s words for him when his dance-movements pre[19]vent him from singing comfortably. They enter by a side-door before the play begins and remain seated till it is over.

Nearest to the gallery sits the “big-drum,” whose instrument rests on the ground and is played with a stick. This stick-drum is not used in all plays.

Next comes a hand-drummer who plays with thimbled finger; next a second who plays with the bare hand.

Finally, the flute. It intervenes only at stated intervals, particularly at the beginning, climax and end of plays.

Though almost wholly banishing other extrinsic aids, the Nō relies enormously for its effects on gorgeous and elaborate costume. Some references to this will be found in Oswald Sickert’s letters at the end of my book.

Masks are worn only by the shite (principal actor) and his subordinates. The shite always wears a mask if playing the part of a woman or very old man. Young men, particularly warriors, are usually unmasked. In child-parts (played by boy-actors) masks are not worn. The reproduction of a female mask will be found on Plate I. The masks are of wood. Many of those still in use are of great antiquity and rank as important specimens of Japanese sculpture.

The properties of the Nō stage are of a highly conventionalized kind. An open frame-work represents a boat; another differing little from it denotes a chariot. Palace, house, cottage, hovel are all represented by four posts covered with a roof. The fan which the actor usually carries often does duty as a knife, brush or the like. Weapons are more realistically represented. The short-sword, belt-sword, pike, spear and Chinese broad-sword are carried; also bows and arrows.

Every Nō play (with, I think, the sole exception of Hachi no Ki, translated on p. 100) includes a mai or dance, consisting usually of[20] slow steps and solemn gestures, often bearing little resemblance to what is in America associated with the word “dance.” When the shite dances, his dance consists of five “movements” or parts; a “subordinate’s” dance consists of three. Both in the actors’ miming and in the dancing an important element is the stamping of beats with the shoeless foot.

The plays are written partly in prose, partly in verse. The prose portions serve much the same purpose as the iambics in a Greek play. They are in the Court or upper-class colloquial of the 14th century, a language not wholly dead to-day, as it is still the language in which people write formal letters.

The chanting of these portions is far removed from singing; yet they are not “spoken.” The voice falls at the end of each sentence in a monotonous cadence.

A prose passage often gradually heightens into verse. The chanting, which has hitherto resembled the intoning of a Roman Catholic priest, takes on more of the character of “recitativo” in opera, occasionally attaining to actual song. The verse of these portions is sometimes irregular, but on the whole tends to an alternation of lines of five and seven syllables.

The verse of the lyric portions is marked by frequent use of pivot-words[1] and puns, particularly puns on place-names. The 14th century Nō-writer, Seami, insists that pivot-words should be used sparingly and with discretion. Many Nō-writers did not follow this advice; but the use of pivot-words is not in itself a decoration more artificial than rhyme, and I cannot agree with those European writers to whom this device appears puerile and degraded. Each language must use such embellishments as suit its genius.

Another characteristic of the texts is the use of earlier literary material. Many of the plays were adapted from dance-ballads already existing and even new plays made use of such poems as were associated in the minds of the audience with the places or persons named in the play. Often a play is written round a poem or series of poems, as will be seen in the course of this book.

[21]

This use of existing material exceeds the practice of Western dramatists; but it must be remembered that if we were to read Webster, for example, in editions annotated as minutely as the Nō-plays, we should discover that he was far more addicted to borrowing than we had been aware. It seems to me that in the finest plays this use of existing material is made with magnificent effect and fully justifies itself.

The reference which I have just made to dance-ballads brings us to another question. What did the Nō-plays grow out of?

Nō as we have it to-day dates from about the middle of the 14th century. It was a combination of many elements.

These were:

Nō owes its present form to the genius of two men. Kwanami Kiyotsugu (1333-1384 A. D.) and his son Seami Motokiyo (1363-1444 A. D.).[2]

Kwanami was a priest of the Kasuga Temple near Nara. About 1375 the Shōgun Yoshimitsu saw him performing in a Sarugaku no Nō at the New Temple (one of the three great temples of Kumano) and immediately took him under his protection.

This Yoshimitsu had become ruler of Japan in 1367 at the age of ten. His family had seized the Shōgunate in 1338 and wielded absolute power at Kyōto, while two rival Mikados, one in the north and one in the south, held impotent and dwindling courts.

The young Shōgun distinguished himself by patronage of art and letters; and by his devotion to the religion of the Zen Sect.[3] It is probable that when he first saw Kwanami he also became acquainted with the son Seami, then a boy of twelve.

A diary of the period has the following entry for the 7th day of the 6th month, 1368:

[22]

From this friendship sprang the art of Nō as it exists to-day. Of Seami we know far more than of his father Kwanami. For Seami left behind him a considerable number of treatises and autobiographical fragments.[4] These were not published till 1908 and have not yet been properly edited. They establish, among other things, the fact that Seami wrote both words and music for most of the plays in which he performed. It had before been supposed that the texts were supplied by the Zen[5] priests. For other information brought to light by the discovery of Seami’s Works see Appendix II.

It is obvious that Seami was deeply imbued with the teachings of Zen, in which cult his patron Yoshimitsu may have been his master. The difficult term yūgen which occurs constantly in the Works is derived from Zen literature. It means “what lies beneath the surface”; the subtle as opposed to the obvious; the hint, as opposed to the statement. It is applied to the natural grace of a boy’s movements, to the restraint of a nobleman’s speech and bearing. “When notes fall sweetly and flutter delicately to the ear,” that is the yūgen of music. The symbol of yūgen is “a white bird with a flower in its beak.” “To watch the sun sink behind a flower-clad hill, to wander on and on in a huge forest with no thought of return, to stand upon the shore and gaze after a boat that goes hid by far-off islands, to ponder on the journey of wild-geese seen and lost among the clouds”—such are the gates to yūgen.

I will give a few specimens of Seami’s advice to his pupils:

The actor should not stare straight into the faces of the audience, but look between them. When he looks in the direction of the Daimyōs he must not let his eyes meet theirs, but must slightly avert his gaze.

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At Palace-performances or when acting at a banquet, he must not let his eyes meet those of the Shōgun or stare straight into the Honourable Face. When playing in a large enclosure he must take care to keep as close as possible to the side where the Nobles are sitting; if in a small enclosure, as far off as possible. But particularly in Palace-performances and the like he must take the greatest pains to keep as far away as he possibly can from the August Presence.

Again, when the recitations are given at the Palace it is equally essential to begin at the right moment. It is bad to begin too soon and fatal to delay too long.

It sometimes happens that the “noble gentlemen” do not arrive at the theatre until the play has already reached its Development and Climax. In such cases the play is at its climax, but the noble gentlemen’s hearts are ripe only for Introduction. If they, ready only for Introduction, are forced to witness a Climax, they are not likely to get pleasure from it. Finally even the spectators who were there before, awed by the entry of the “exalted ones,” become so quiet that you would not know they were there, so that the whole audience ends by returning to the Introductory mood. At such a moment the Nō cannot possibly be a success. In such circumstances it is best to take Development-Nō and give it a slightly “introductory” turn. Then, if it is played gently, it may win the August Attention.

It also happens that one is suddenly sent for to perform at a Shōgunal feast or the like. The audience is already in a “climax-mood”; but “introductory” Nō must be played. This is a great difficulty. In such circumstances the best plan is to tinge the introduction with a nuance of “development.” But this must be done without “stickiness,” with the lightest possible touch, and the transition to the real Development and Climax must be made as quickly as possible.

In old times there were masters who perfected themselves in Nō without study. But nowadays the nobles and gentlemen have become so critical that they will only look with approbation on what is good and will not give attention to anything bad.

Their honourable eyes have become so keen that they notice the least defect, so that even a masterpiece that is as pearls many times polished or flowers choicely culled will not win the applause of our gentlemen to-day.

At the same time, good actors are becoming few and the Art is[24] gradually sinking towards its decline. For this reason, if very strenuous study is not made, it is bound to disappear altogether.

When summoned to play before the noble gentlemen, we are expected to give the regular “words of good-wish” and to divide our performance into the three parts, Introduction, Development and Climax, so that the pre-arranged order cannot be varied.... But on less formal occasions, when, for example, one is playing not at a Shōgunal banquet but on a common, everyday (yo no tsune) stage, it is obviously unnecessary to limit oneself to the set forms of “happy wish.”

One’s style should be easy and full of graceful yūgen, and the piece[6] selected should be suitable to the audience. A ballad (ko-utai) or dance-song (kuse-mai) of the day will be best. One should have in one’s repertory a stock of such pieces and be ready to vary them according to the character of one’s audience.

In the words and gestures (of a farce, kyōgen) there should be nothing low. The jokes and repartee should be such as suit the august ears of the nobles and gentry. On no account must vulgar words or gestures be introduced, however funny they may be. This advice must be carefully observed.

Introduction, Development and Climax must also be strictly adhered to when dancing at the Palace. If the chanting proceeds from an “introductory-mood,” the dancing must belong to the same mood.... When one is suddenly summoned to perform at a riotous banquet, one must take into consideration the state of the noble gentlemen’s spirits.

In imitation there should be a tinge of the “unlike.” For if imitation be pressed too far it impinges on reality and ceases to give an impression of likeness. If one aims only at the beautiful, the “flower” is sure to appear. For example, in acting the part of an old man, the master actor tries to reproduce in his dance only the refinement and venerability of an old gentleman.[7] If the actor is old himself,[25] he need not think about producing an impression of old age....

The appearance of old age will often be best given by making all movements a little late, so that they come just after the musical beat. If the actor bears this in mind, he may be as lively and energetic as he pleases. For in old age the limbs are heavy and the ears slow; there is the will to move but not the corresponding capacity.

It is in such methods as this that true imitation lies.... Youthful movements made by an old person are, indeed, delightful; they are like flowers blossoming on an old tree.

If, because the actor has noticed that old men walk with bent knees and back and have shrunken frames, he simply imitates these characteristics, he may achieve an appearance of decrepitude, but it will be at the expense of the “flower.” And if the “flower” be lacking there will be no beauty in his impersonation.

Women should be impersonated by a young actor.... It is very difficult to play the part of a Princess or lady-in-waiting, for little opportunity presents itself of studying their august behaviour and appearance. Great pains must be taken to see that robes and cloaks are worn in the correct way. These things do not depend on the actor’s fancy but must be carefully ascertained.

The appearance of ordinary ladies such as one is used to see about one is easy to imitate.... In acting the part of a dancing-girl, mad-woman or the like, whether he carry the fan or some fancy thing (a flowering branch, for instance) the actor must carry it loosely; his skirts must trail low so as to hide his feet; his knees and back must not be bent, his body must be poised gracefully. As regards the way he holds himself—if he bends back, it looks bad when he faces the audience; if he stoops, it looks bad from behind. But he will not look like a woman if he holds his head too stiffly. His sleeves should be as long as possible, so that he never shows his fingers.

Here the outward form is that of a ghost; but within is the heart of a man.

Such plays are generally in two parts. The beginning, in two or three sections, should be as short as possible. In the second half the shite (who has hitherto appeared to be a man) becomes definitely the ghost of a dead person.

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Since no one has ever seen a real ghost[8] from the Nether Regions, the actor may use his fancy, aiming only at the beautiful. To represent real life is far more difficult.

If ghosts are terrifying, they cease to be beautiful. For the terrifying and the beautiful are as far apart as black and white.

In plays where a lost child is found by its parents, the writer should not introduce a scene where they clutch and cling to one another, sobbing and weeping....

Plays in which child-characters occur, even if well done, are always apt to make the audience exclaim in disgust, “Don’t harrow our feelings in this way!”

In representing anger the actor should yet retain some gentleness in his mood, else he will portray not anger but violence.

In representing the mysterious (yūgen) he must not forget the principle of energy.

When the body is in violent action, the hands and feet must move as though by stealth. When the feet are in lively motion, the body must be held in quietness. Such things cannot be explained in writing but must be shown to the actor by actual demonstration.

It is above all in “architecture,” in the relation of parts to the whole, that these poems are supreme.[9] The early writers created a “form” or general pattern which the weakest writing cannot wholly rob of its beauty. The plays are like those carved lamp-bearing angels in the churches at Seville; a type of such beauty was created by a sculptor of the sixteenth century that even the most degraded modern descendant of these masterpieces retains a certain distinction of form.

First comes the jidai or opening-couplet, enigmatic, abrupt. Then in contrast to this vague shadow come the hard outlines of the waki’s exposition, the formal naming of himself, his origin and destination.[27] Then, shadowy again, the “song of travel,” in which picture after picture dissolves almost before it is seen.

But all this has been mere introduction—the imagination has been quickened, the attention grasped in preparation for one thing only—the hero’s entry. In the “first chant,” in the dialogue which follows, in the successive dances and climax, this absolute mastery of construction is what has most struck me in reading the plays.

Again, Nō does not make a frontal attack on the emotions. It creeps at the subject warily. For the action, in the commonest class of play, does not take place before our eyes, but is lived through again in mimic and recital by the ghost of one of the participants in it. Thus we get no possibility of crude realities; a vision of life indeed, but painted with the colours of memory, longing or regret.

In a paper read before the Japan Society in 1919 I tried to illustrate this point by showing, perhaps in too fragmentary and disjointed a manner, how the theme of Webster’s “Duchess of Malfi” would have been treated by a Nō writer. I said then (and the Society kindly allows me to repeat those remarks):

The plot of the play is thus summarized by Rupert Brooke in his “John Webster and the Elizabethan Drama”: “The Duchess of Malfi is a young widow forbidden by her brothers, Ferdinand and the Cardinal, to marry again. They put a creature of theirs, Bosola, into her service as a spy. The Duchess loves and marries Antonio, her steward, and has three children. Bosola ultimately discovers and reports this. Antonio and the Duchess have to fly. The Duchess is captured, imprisoned and mentally tortured and put to death. Ferdinand goes mad. In the last Act he, the Cardinal, Antonio and Bosola are all killed with various confusions and in various horror.”

Just as Webster took his themes from previous works (in this case from Painter’s “Palace of Pleasure”), so the Nō plays took theirs from the Romances or “Monogatari.” Let us reconstruct the “Duchess” as a Nō play, using Webster’s text as our “Monogatari.”

Great simplification is necessary, for the Nō play corresponds in length to one act of our five-act plays, and has no space for divagations. The comic is altogether excluded, being reserved for the kyōgen or farces which are played as interludes between the Nō.

The persons need not be more than two—the Pilgrim, who will act the part of waki, and the Duchess, who will be shite or Protagonist. The chorus takes no part in the action, but speaks for the shite while she is miming the more engrossing parts of her rôle.

[28]

The Pilgrim comes on to the stage and first pronounces in his Jidai or preliminary couplet, some Buddhist aphorism appropriate to the subject of the play. He then names himself to the audience thus (in prose):

“I am a pilgrim from Rome. I have visited all the other shrines of Italy, but have never been to Loretto. I will journey once to the shrine of Loretto.”

Then follows (in verse) the “Song of Travel” in which the Pilgrim describes the scenes through which he passes on his way to the shrine. While he is kneeling at the shrine, Shite (the Protagonist) comes on to the stage. She is a young woman dressed, “contrary to the Italian fashion,” in a loose-bodied gown. She carries in her hand an unripe apricot. She calls to the Pilgrim and engages him in conversation. He asks her if it were not at this shrine that the Duchess of Malfi took refuge. The young woman answers with a kind of eager exaltation, her words gradually rising from prose to poetry. She tells the story of the Duchess’s flight, adding certain intimate touches which force the priest to ask abruptly, “Who is it that is speaking to me?”

And the girl shuddering (for it is hateful to a ghost to name itself) answers: “Hazukashi ya! I am the soul of the Duke Ferdinand’s sister, she that was once called Duchess of Malfi. Love still ties my soul to the earth. Toburai tabi-tamaye! Pray for me, oh, pray for my release!”

Here closes the first part of the play. In the second the young ghost, her memory quickened by the Pilgrim’s prayers (and this is part of the medicine of salvation), endures again the memory of her final hours. She mimes the action of kissing the hand (vide Act IV, Scene 1), finds it very cold:

And each successive scene of the torture is so vividly mimed that though it exists only in the Protagonist’s brain, it is as real to the audience as if the figure of dead Antonio lay propped upon the stage, or as if the madmen were actually leaping and screaming before them.

Finally she acts the scene of her own execution:

The chorus, taking up the word “quiet,” chant a phrase from the Hokkekyō: Sangai Mu-an, “In the Three Worlds there is no quietness or rest.”

But the Pilgrim’s prayers have been answered. Her soul has broken its bonds: is free to depart. The ghost recedes, grows dimmer and dimmer, till at last

it vanishes from sight.

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[31]

The Buddhism of the Nō plays is of the kind called the “Greater Vehicle,” which prevails in China, Japan and Tibet. Primitive Buddhism (the “Lesser Vehicle”), which survives in Ceylon and Burma, centres round the person of Shākyamuni, the historical Buddha, and uses Pāli as its sacred language. The “Greater Vehicle,” which came into being about the same time as Christianity and sprang from the same religious impulses, to a large extent replaces Shākyamuni by a timeless, ideal Buddha named Amida, “Lord of Boundless Light,” perhaps originally a sun-god, like Ormuzd of the Zoroastrians. Primitive Buddhism had taught that the souls of the faithful are absorbed into Nirvāna, in other words into Buddha. The “Greater Vehicle” promised to its adherents an after-life in Amida’s Western Paradise. It produced scriptures in the Sanskrit language, in which Shākyamuni himself describes this Western Land and recommends the worship of Amida; it inculcated too the worship of the Bodhisattvas, half-Buddhas, intermediaries between Buddha and man. These Bodhisattvas are beings who, though fit to receive Buddhahood, have of their own free will renounced it, that they may better alleviate the miseries of mankind.

Chief among them is Kwannon, called in India Avalokiteshvara, who appears in the world both in male and female form, but it is chiefly thought of as a woman in China and Japan; Goddess of Mercy, to whom men pray in war, storm, sickness or travail.

The doctrine of Karma and of the transmigration of souls was common both to the earlier and later forms of Buddhism. Man is born to an endless chain of re-incarnations, each one of which is, as it were, the fruit of seed sown in that which precedes.

The only escape from this “Wheel of Life and Death” lies in satori, “Enlightenment,” the realization that material phenomena are thoughts, not facts.

Each of the four chief sects which existed in medieval Japan had its own method of achieving this Enlightenment.

(1) The Amidists sought to gain satori by the study of the Hokke Kyō, called in Sanskrit Saddharma Pundarika Sūtra or “Scripture of[32] the Lotus of the True Law,” or even by the mere repetition of its complete title “Myōhō Renge Hokke Kyō.” Others of them maintained that the repetition of the formula “Praise to Amida Buddha” (Namu Amida Butsu) was in itself a sufficient means of salvation.

(2) Once when Shākyamuni was preaching before a great multitude, he picked up a flower and twisted it in his fingers. The rest of his hearers saw no significance in the act and made no response; but the disciple Kāshyapa smiled.

In this brief moment a perception of transcendental truth had flashed from Buddha’s mind to the mind of his disciple. Thus Kāshyapa became the patriarch of the Zen Buddhists, who believe that Truth cannot be communicated by speech or writing, but that it lies hidden in the heart of each one of us and can be discovered by “Zen” or contemplative introspection.

At first sight there would not appear to be any possibility of reconciling the religion of the Zen Buddhists with that of the Amidists. Yet many Zen masters strove to combine the two faiths, teaching that Amida and his Western Paradise exist, not in time or space, but mystically enshrined in men’s hearts.

Zen denied the existence of Good and Evil, and was sometimes regarded as a dangerous sophistry by pious Buddhists of other sects, as, for example, in the story of Shunkwan (see p. 229) and in The Hōka Priests (see p. 165), where the murderer’s interest in Zen doctrines is, I think, definitely regarded as a discreditable weakness and is represented as the cause of his undoing.

The only other play, among those I have here translated, which deals much with Zen tenets, is Sotoba Komachi. Here the priests represent the Shingon Shū or Mystic Sect, while Komachi, as becomes a poetess, defends the doctrines of Zen. For Zen was the religion of artists; it had inspired the painters and poets of the Sung dynasty in China; it was the religion of the great art-patrons who ruled Japan in the fifteenth century.[10]

It was in the language of Zen that poetry and painting were discussed; and it was in a style tinged with Zen that Seami wrote of his own art. But the religion of the Nō plays is predominantly Amidist; it is the common, average Buddhism of medieval Japan.

(3) I have said that the priests in Sotoba Komachi represent the Mystic Sect. The followers of this sect sought salvation by means of charms and spells, corruptions of Sanskrit formulae. Their principal[33] Buddha was Dainichi, “The Great Sun.” To this sect belonged the Yamabushi, mountain ascetics referred to in Tanikō and other plays.

(4) Mention must be made of the fusion between Buddhism and Shintō. The Tendai Sect which had its headquarters on Mount Hiyei preached an eclectic doctrine which aimed at becoming the universal religion of Japan. It combined the cults of native gods with a Buddhism tolerant in dogma, but magnificent in outward pomp, with a leaning towards the magical practices of Shingon.

The Little Saint of Yokawa in the play Aoi no Uye is an example of the Tendai ascetic, with his use of magical incantations.

Hatsuyuki appeared in “Poetry,” Chicago, and is here reprinted with the editor’s kind permission.

[34]

[35]

In the eleventh century two powerful clans, the Taira and the Minamoto, contended for mastery. In 1181 Kiyomori the chief of the Tairas died, and from that time their fortunes declined. In 1183 they were forced to flee from Kyōto, carrying with them the infant Emperor. After many hardships and wanderings they camped on the shores of Suma, where they were protected by their fleet.

Early in 1184 the Minamotos attacked and utterly routed them at the Battle of Ichi-no-Tani, near the woods of Ikuta. At this battle fell Atsumori, the nephew of Kiyomori, and his brother Tsunemasa.

When Kumagai, who had slain Atsumori, bent over him to examine the body, he found lying beside him a bamboo-flute wrapped in brocade. He took the flute and gave it to his son.

The bay of Suma is associated in the mind of a Japanese reader not only with this battle but also with the stories of Prince Genji and Prince Yukihira.

(See p. 226.)

[36]

By SEAMI

PERSONS

PRIEST.

I am Kumagai no Naozane, a man of the country of Musashi. I have left my home and call myself the priest Rensei; this I have done because of my grief at the death of Atsumori, who fell in battle by my hand. Hence it comes that I am dressed in priestly guise.

And now I am going down to Ichi-no-Tani to pray for the salvation of Atsumori’s soul.

I have come so fast that here I am already at Ichi-no-Tani, in the country of Tsu.

Truly the past returns to my mind as though it were a thing of to-day.

But listen! I hear the sound of a flute coming from a knoll of rising ground. I will wait here till the flute-player passes, and ask him to tell me the story of this place.

REAPERS (together).

YOUNG REAPER.

REAPERS (together).

PRIEST.

Hey, you reapers! I have a question to ask you.

YOUNG REAPER.

Is it to us you are speaking? What do you wish to know?

PRIEST.

Was it one of you who was playing on the flute just now?

YOUNG REAPER.

Yes, it was we who were playing.

PRIEST.

It was a pleasant sound, and all the pleasanter because one does not look for such music from men of your condition.

YOUNG REAPER.

PRIEST.

REAPER.

Flute-playing of reapers ...

PRIEST.

Songs of wood-fellers ...

REAPERS.

Guide us on our passage through this sad world.

PRIEST.

Song ...

REAPER.

And dance ...

PRIEST.

And the flute ...

REAPER.

And music of many instruments ...

CHORUS.

PRIEST.

How strange it is! The other reapers have all gone home, but you alone stay loitering here. How is that?

REAPER.

How is it, you ask? I am seeking for a prayer in the voice of the evening waves. Perhaps you will pray the Ten Prayers for me?

PRIEST.

I can easily pray the Ten Prayers for you, if you will tell me who you are.

REAPER.

To tell you the truth—I am one of the family of Lord Atsumori.

PRIEST.

NAMU AMIDABU.

Praise to Amida Buddha!

CHORUS.

So he spoke. Then vanished and was seen no more.

PRIEST.

Since this is so, I will perform all night the rites of prayer for the dead, and calling upon Amida’s name will pray again for the salvation of Atsumori.

ATSUMORI.

PRIEST.

How strange! All this while I have never stopped beating my gong and performing the rites of the Law. I cannot for a moment have dozed, yet I thought that Atsumori was standing before me. Surely it was a dream.

ATSUMORI.

Why need it be a dream? It is to clear the karma of my waking life that I am come here in visible form before you.

PRIEST.

Is it not written that one prayer will wipe away ten thousand sins? Ceaselessly I have performed the ritual of the Holy Name that clears all sin away. After such prayers, what evil can be left? Though you should be sunk in sin as deep ...

ATSUMORI.

PRIEST.

And that my prayers should save you ...

ATSUMORI.

PRIEST.

Once enemies ...

ATSUMORI.

But now ...

PRIEST.

In truth may we be named ...

ATSUMORI.

Friends in Buddha’s Law.

CHORUS.

There is a saying, “Put away from you a wicked friend; summon to your side a virtuous enemy.” For you it was said, and you have proven it true.

And now come tell with us the tale of your confession, while the night is still dark.

CHORUS.

ATSUMORI.

CHORUS.

ATSUMORI.

[43]

ATSUMORI.

PRIEST.

ATSUMORI.

The bamboo-flute! I wore it when I died.

PRIEST.

We heard the singing ...

ATSUMORI.

Songs and ballads ...

PRIEST.

Many voices

ATSUMORI.

Singing to one measure.

First comes the Royal Boat.

CHORUS.

ATSUMORI.

CHORUS.

[45]

By ZEMBŌ MOTOYASU (1453-1532)

PERSONS

PRIEST.

I am one that serves Hōnen Shōnin of Kurodani; and as for this child here,—once when Hōnen was on a visit to the Temple of Kamo he saw a box lying under a trailing fir-tree; and when he raised the lid, what should he find inside but a lovely man-child one year old! It did not seem to be more than a common foundling, but my master in his compassion took the infant home with him. Ever since then he has had it in his care, doing all that was needful for it; and now the boy is over ten years old.

But it is a hard thing to have no father or mother, so one day after his preaching the Shōnin told the child’s story. And sure enough a young woman stepped out from among the hearers and said it was her child. And when he took her aside and questioned her, he found that the child’s father was Taira no Atsumori, who had fallen in battle at Ichi-no-Tani years ago. When the boy was told of this, he longed earnestly to see his father’s face, were it but in a dream, and the Shōnin bade him go and pray at the shrine of Kamo. He was to go every day for a week, and this is the last day.

BOY.

How strange! While I was praying I fell half-asleep and had a wonderful dream.

PRIEST.

Tell me your wonderful dream.

BOY.

A strange voice spoke to me from within the Treasure Hall, saying, “If you are wanting, though it were but in a dream, to see your father’s face, go down from here to the woods of Ikuta in the country of Settsu.” That is the marvellous dream I had.

PRIEST.

It is indeed a wonderful message that the God has sent you. And why should I go back at once to Kurodani? I had best take you straight to the forest of Ikuta. Let us be going.

PRIEST (describing the journey).

We have gone so fast that here we are already at the woods of Ikuta in the country of Settsu. I have heard tell in the Capital of the beauty of these woods and the river that runs through them. But what I see now surpasses all that I have heard.

Look! Those meadows must be the Downs of Ikuta. Let us go nearer and admire them.

But while we have been going about looking at one view and another, the day has dusked.

I think I see a light over there. There must be a house. Let us go to it and ask for lodging.

ATSUMORI (speaking from inside a hut).

Oh! I am lonely. I am lonely!

PRIEST.

How strange! Inside that grass-hut I see a young soldier dressed in helmet and breastplate. What can he be doing there?

ATSUMORI.

Oh foolish men, was it not to meet me that you came to this place? I am—oh! I am ashamed to say it,—I am the ghost of what once was ... Atsumori.

BOY.

Atsumori? My father ...

CHORUS.

ATSUMORI.

CHORUS.

ATSUMORI.

CHORUS.

ATSUMORI.

Who is that?

Can it be Yama’s messenger? He comes to tell me that I have out-stayed my time. The Lord of Hell is angry: he asks why I am late?

CHORUS.

ATSUMORI.

CHORUS.

ATSUMORI.

CHORUS.

[51]

By SEAMI

PERSONS

GYŌKEI.

I am Gyōkei, priest of the imperial temple Ninnaji. You must know that there was a certain prince of the House of Taira named Tsunemasa, Lord of Tajima, who since his boyhood has enjoyed beyond all precedent the favour of our master the Emperor. But now he has been killed at the Battle of the Western Seas.

It was to this Tsunemasa in his lifetime that the Emperor had given the lute called Green Hill. And now my master bids me take it and dedicate it to Buddha, performing a liturgy of flutes and strings for the salvation of Tsunemasa’s soul. And that was my purpose in gathering these musicians together.

Truly it is said that strangers who shelter under the same tree or draw water from the same pool will be friends in another life. How much the more must intercourse of many years, kindness and favour so deep ...[25]

CHORUS.

TSUNEMASA (speaking off the stage).

GYŌKEI.

How strange! Within the flame of our candle that is burning low because the night is far spent, suddenly I seemed to see a man’s shadow dimly appearing. Who can be here?

TSUNEMASA (his shadow disappearing).

I am the ghost of Tsunemasa. The sound of your prayers has brought me in visible shape before you.

GYŌKEI.

“I am the ghost of Tsunemasa,” he said, but when I looked to where the voice had sounded nothing was there, neither substance nor shadow!

TSUNEMASA.

Only a voice,

GYŌKEI.

TSUNEMASA.

It had vanished—

[53]

GYŌKEI.

This flickering form ...

TSUNEMASA.

Like haze over the fields.

CHORUS.

GYŌKEI.

How strange! When the form of Tsunemasa had vanished, his voice lingered and spoke to me! Am I dreaming or waking? I cannot tell. But this I know,—that by the power of my incantations I have had converse with the dead. Oh! marvellous potency of the Law!

TSUNEMASA.

It was long ago that I came to the Palace. I was but a boy then, but all the world knew me; for I was marked with the love of our Lord, with the favour of an Emperor. And, among many gifts, he gave to me once while I was in the World this lute which you have dedicated. My fingers were ever on its strings.

CHORUS.

GYŌKEI.

For the dead man’s sake we play upon this lute Green Hill that he loved when he was in the World. We follow the lute-music with a concord of many instruments.

(Music.)

TSUNEMASA.

And while they played the dead man stole up behind them. Though he could not be seen by the light of the candle, they felt him pluck the lute-strings....

GYŌKEI.

It is midnight. He is playing Yabanraku, the dance of midnight-revel. And now that we have shaken sleep from our eyes ...

TSUNEMASA.

The sky is clear, yet there is a sound as of sudden rain....

GYŌKEI.

Rain beating carelessly on trees and grasses. What season’s music[29] ought we to play?

[55]

TSUNEMASA.

No. It is not rain. Look! At the cloud’s fringe

CHORUS.

TSUNEMASA.

“One note of the phœnix-flute[33]

CHORUS.

(Dance.)

[56]

TSUNEMASA.

Oh terrible anguish!

For a little while I was back in the World and my heart set on its music, on revels of midnight. But now the hate is rising in me....[35]

GYŌKEI.

TSUNEMASA.

CHORUS.

[57]

[58]

[59]

These three plays deal with the boyhood of the hero Yoshitsune, whose child-name was Ushiwaka.

Eboshi-ori is a genzai-mono, that is to say a play which describes events actually in progress. In Kumasaka these same events are rehearsed by the ghost of one who participated in them. There are two other well-known Yoshitsune plays, Funa-Benkei and Ataka. In the former the phantoms of the dead Taira warriors attack the boat in which Yoshitsune and Benkei are riding; in the latter occurs the famous scene called the Kwanjinchō, in which Benkei pretends to read out from a scroll a long document which he is in reality improvising on the spot. (See Mr. Sansom’s translations of these two plays in the Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan, 1911.) The Kwanjinchō was borrowed by the popular stage, and became one of the favourite “turns” of the great Danjūrō (1660-1703) and his successors.

[60]

By ZENCHIKU UJINOBU (1414-1499?)

PERSONS

PRIEST.

I am a priest from the Capital. I have never seen the East country, and now I am minded to go there on pilgrimage.

KUMASAKA.

Hey, you priest, I have something to say to you!

PRIEST.

What is it you would say to me?

[61]

KUMASAKA.

To-day is some one’s birthday. I beg of you to pray for the salvation of his soul.

PRIEST.

I have left the World, and it is my business now to say such prayers; but of whom am I to think when I pray?

KUMASAKA.

There is no need to know his name. He is buried in that tomb over there, among the rushes to this side of the pine-tree. It is because he cannot get free[37] that he needs your prayers.

PRIEST.

No, no; it will not do. I cannot pray for him unless I know his name.

KUMASAKA.

Pray, none the less. For it is written, “All the creatures of the world shall be profited.

There shall be no distinction.”

PRIEST.

From dying and being born.

KUMASAKA.

Deliver him, oh deliver him!

CHORUS.

KUMASAKA.

Then come back to my cottage with me and pass the night there.

[62]

PRIEST.

I will come.

Listen! I thought you were taking me to where there would be a chapel, so that I could begin my prayers. But here I can see no painted picture nor carven image that I could put up. There is nothing on the wall but a great pike,—no handstaff, but only an iron crowbar; and other weapons of war are nailed up. What is the reason of this?

KUMASAKA.

You must know that when I first took the vows of priesthood I went round from village to village here, to Tarui, Auhaka and Akasaka—there is no end to them, but I know all the roads,—through the tall grass at Aono and the thick woods of Koyasu, night or day, rain or fine. For I was a hill-bandit in those days, a thief of the night, tilting baggage from mules’ backs; even stripping servant-girls of their clothes, as they went from farm to farm, and leaving them sobbing.

Then it was that I used to take with me that pike there and waving it in their faces, “Stand and deliver!” I would cry.

But at last a time came when it was not so.[38] And after that time I was glad enough to find shelter even in such a place as this. I yielded my will and was content. For at last I had indeed resolved to leave the hateful World.

Oh petty prowess of those days!

CHORUS.

[63]

KUMASAKA.

CHORUS.

(Speaking for Kumasaka.)

“But I must have done, or dawn will find me talking still. Go to your rest, Sir; and I too will doze awhile.” So he spoke, and seemed to go into the bedroom. But suddenly the cottage vanished: nothing was left but the tall grass. It was under the shadow of a pine-tree that he[43] had rested!

PRIEST.

I have seen strange things. I cannot sleep, no, not even for a while as little as the space between the antlers of a young stag. Under this autumn-winded pine-tree lying, all night long I will perform a service of chanted prayer.[44]

KUMASAKA.

[64]

The wind is rising in the south-east. The clouds of the north-west are shifting; it is a dark night. A wild wind is sweeping the woods under the hill.

CHORUS.

See how the branches are heaving.

KUMASAKA.

The moon does not rise till dawn to-night; and even when she rises she will be covered.

Send along the order for an assault!

The whole heart divided between bow-hand and rein-hand,—oh the sin of it! For ever seizing another’s treasure! Look, look on my misery, how my heart clings to the World!

PRIEST.

If you are Kumasaka himself, tell me the story of those days.

KUMASAKA.

There was a merchant, a trafficker in gold, called Kichiji of the Third Ward. Each year he brought together a great store, and loading it in bales carried it up-country. And thinking to waylay him I summoned divers trusty men....

PRIEST.

Tell me the names of those that were chosen by you and the countries they came from.

KUMASAKA.

There was Kakujō of Kawachi, and the brothers Surihari that had no rivals in fencing.

PRIEST.

Well, and from within the City itself among many there were—

KUMASAKA.

There was Emon of the Third Ward and Kozaru of Mibu.

[65]

PRIEST.

Skilful torch-throwers; in broken-attack

KUMASAKA.

Their like will never be seen.

PRIEST.

And from the North country, from Echizen

KUMASAKA.

There was Matsuwaka of Asau and Kurō of Mikuni.

PRIEST.

And from the country of Kaga, from Kumasaka

KUMASAKA.

There was this Chōhan, the first of them, a great hand at deeds of villainy; and with him seventy men of the band.

PRIEST.

On all the roads where Kichiji might be passing, up hill and down dale on every halting-place they spied, till at last

KUMASAKA.

Here at the Inn of Akasaka we found him,—a fine place, with many roads leading from it. We set watch upon the place. The merchants had sent for women. From nightfall they feasted. They roystered the hours away—

PRIEST.

KUMASAKA.

[66]

PRIEST.

He did not sleep a wink.

KUMASAKA.

Ushiwaka! We did not know he was there.

PRIEST.

Then the robbers, whose luck was run out,

KUMASAKA.

Thinking that the hour of fortune was come,

PRIEST.

Waited impatiently.

CHORUS.

Oh how long it seemed till at last the order came.

KUMASAKA.

Dash in!

CHORUS.

[67]

KUMASAKA.

I was thinking.

CHORUS.

KUMASAKA.

I was wounded again and again.

CHORUS.

He was wounded many times, till the fierce strength of his spirit weakened and weakened. Like dew upon the moss that grows.

KUMASAKA.

Round the foot of this pine-tree

CHORUS.

[69]

By MIYAMASU (sixteenth century?)

PERSONS

KICHIJI.

I am Sanjō no Kichiji. I have now amassed a great store of treasure and with my brother Kichiroku am going to take it down to the East. Ho! Kichiroku, let us get together our bundles and start now.

KICHIROKU.

I am ready. Let us start at once.

USHIWAKA.

Hie, you travellers! If you are going up-country, please take me with you.

KICHIJI.

That is a small thing to ask. Certainly we would take you with us ..., but by the look of you, I fancy you must be an apprentice playing truant from your master. If that is so, I cannot take you.

USHIWAKA.

I have neither father nor mother, and my master has turned me adrift. Please let me go with you.

[70]

KICHIJI.

If that is so, I cannot any longer refuse to take you with me. (Describing his own action.)

Then he offered the boy a broad-brimmed hat.

USHIWAKA.

CHORUS (describing the journey and speaking for USHIWAKA).

KICHIJI.

We have travelled so fast that we have already reached the Mirror Inn. Let us rest here for a little while.

MESSENGER.

I am a servant in the Palace of Rokuhara. I have been sent to fetch back young Ushiwaka, Lord Yoshitomo’s son, who has escaped from the Temple of Kurama. It is thought that he has taken service with the merchant Kichiji and has gone up-country with him; so they sent me to bring him back. Why, I believe that is he! But perhaps he is not alone. I cannot be sure. I had better go home and fetch help, for if I were one against many, how could I hope to take him?

USHIWAKA.

I think it is about me that this messenger is speaking. I must not[71] let him know me. I will cut my hair and wear an eboshi[49], so that people may think I am an Eastern boy.

May I come in? (The curtain is raised.)

HATMAKER.

Who is it?

USHIWAKA.

I have come to order an eboshi.

HATMAKER.

An eboshi at this time of night? I will make you one to-morrow, if you like.

USHIWAKA.

Please make it now. I am travelling in a hurry and cannot wait.

HATMAKER.

Very well then; I will make it now. What size do you take?

USHIWAKA.

Please give me an eboshi of the third size, folded to the left.

HATMAKER.

I am afraid I cannot do that. They were worn folded to the left in the time of the Minamotos. But now that the Tairas rule the whole land it would not be possible to wear one folded so.

USHIWAKA.

In spite of that I beg of you to make me one. There is a good reason for my asking.

HATMAKER.

Well, as you are so young there cannot be much harm in your wearing it. I will make you one.

(He begins to make the hat.)

[72]

There is a fine story about these left-folded eboshi and the luck they bring. Shall I tell it you?

USHIWAKA.

Yes, pray tell me the story.

HATMAKER.

CHORUS.

HATMAKER.

And while they prayed

CHORUS.

HATMAKER.

There is not an eboshi in the land that fits so well.

USHIWAKA.

You are right; please take this sword in payment for it.

HATMAKER.

No, no! I could not take it in return for such a trifle.

USHIWAKA.

I beg you to accept it.

HATMAKER.

Well, I cannot any longer refuse. How glad my wife will be! (Calling.) Are you there?

WIFE.

What is it? (They go aside.)

HATMAKER.

This young lad asked me to make him an eboshi, and when it was made he gave me this sword as a present. Is it not a noble payment?[74] Here, look at it. (The wife takes the sword and when she has examined it bursts into tears.) Why, I thought you would treasure it like a gift from Heaven. And here you are shedding tears over it! What is the matter?

WIFE.

Oh! I am ashamed. When I try to speak, tears come first and choke the words. I am going to tell you something I have never told you before. I am the sister of Kamada Masakiyo who fell at the Battle of Utsumi in the country of Noma. At the time when Tokiwa bore Ushiwaka, her third son, the lord her husband sent her this weapon as a charm-sword, and I was the messenger whom he charged to carry it. Oh were he in the world again;[53] then would our eyes no longer behold such misery. Oh sorrow, sorrow!

HATMAKER.

You say that you are the sister of Kamada Masakiyo?

WIFE.

I am.

HATMAKER.

How strange, how strange! I have lived with you all these years and months, and never knew till now. But are you sure that you recognize this weapon?

WIFE.

Yes; this was the sword they called Konnentō.

HATMAKER.

Ah! I have heard that name. Then this must be the young Lord Ushiwaka from Kurama Temple. Come with me. We must go after him and give him back the sword at once. Why, he is still there! (To USHIWAKA.) Sir, this woman tells me she knows the sword; I beg of you to take it back.

USHIWAKA.

[75]

HATMAKER and WIFE.

My Lord, forgive us! We did not know you; but now we see in you Lord Ushiwaka, the nursling of Kurama Temple.

USHIWAKA.

I am no other. (To the WIFE.) And you, perhaps, are some kinswoman of Masakiyo?[54]

WIFE.

You have guessed wisely, sir; I am the Kamada’s sister.

USHIWAKA.

Lady Akoya?

WIFE.

I am.

USHIWAKA.

Truly I have reason to know.... And I

CHORUS.

HATMAKER and WIFE.

Oh! it breaks my heart to see him! A boy of noble name walking barefoot with merchants, and nothing on his journey but cloth of Shikama to clothe him. Oh! piteous sight!

USHIWAKA.

Change rules the world for ever, and Man but for a little while. What are fine clothes to me, what life itself while foemen flaunt?

HATMAKER.

As a journey-present to speed you on the Eastern road ...

[76]

CHORUS.

So he spoke and pressed the sword into the young lord’s hands. And the boy could not any longer refuse, but taking it said, “If ever I come into the World[55] again, I will not forget.” And so saying he turned and went on his way in company with the merchants his masters. On they went till at last, weary with travel, they came to the Inn of Akasaka in the country of Mino.

KICHIJI (the merchant).

We have come so fast that here we are at the Inn of Akasaka.

(To his BROTHER.)

Listen, Kichiroku, you had better take lodging for us here.

KICHIROKU.

I obey. (Goes towards the hashigakari or actors’ entrance-passage.) May I come in?

INNKEEPER.

Who are you? Ah! it is Master Kichiroku. I am glad to see you back again so soon.

(To KICHIJI.)

Be on your guard, gentleman. For a desperate gang has got wind of your coming and has sworn to set upon you to-night.

KICHIJI.

What are we to do?

KICHIROKU.

I cannot tell.

USHIWAKA (comes forward).

What are you speaking of?

KICHIJI.

We have heard that robbers may be coming to-night. We were wondering what we should do....

USHIWAKA.

Let them come in what force they will; yet if one stout soldier go[77] to meet them, they will not stand their ground, though they be fifty mounted men.

KICHIJI.

These are trusty words that you have spoken to us. One and all we look to you....

USHIWAKA.

Then arm yourselves and wait. I will go out to meet them.

CHORUS.

And while he spoke, evening passed to darkness. “Now is the time,” he cried, “to show the world those arts of war that for many months and years upon the Mountain of Kurama I have rehearsed.”

Then he opened the double-doors and waited there for the slow in-coming of the white waves.[56]

BRIGANDS.

Loud the noise of assault. The lashing of white waves against the rocks, even such is the din of our battle-cry.

KUMASAKA.

Ho, my man! Who is there?

BRIGAND.

I stand before you.

KUMASAKA.

How fared those skirmishers I sent to make a sudden breach? Blew wind briskly within?

BRIGAND.

Briskly indeed; for some are slain and many grievously wounded.

KUMASAKA.

How can that be? I thought that none were within but the merchants, Kichiji and his brother. Who else is there?

[78]

BRIGAND.

By the light of a rocket[57] I saw a lad of twelve or thirteen years slashing about him with a short-sword; and he was nimble as a butterfly or bird.

KUMASAKA.

And the brothers Surihari?

BRIGAND.

Stood foster-fathers[57] to the fire-throwers and were the first to enter.

But soon there meets them this child I tell of and with a blow at each whisks off their heads from their necks.

KUMASAKA.

Ei! Ei! Those two, and the horsemen that were near a hundred strong,—all smitten! The fellow has bewitched them!

BRIGAND.

When Takase saw this, thinking perhaps no good would come of this night-attack, he took some seventy horsemen and galloped away with them.

KUMASAKA.

Ha! It is not the first time that lout has played me false.

How fared the torch-diviners?[57]

BRIGAND.

The first torch was slashed in pieces; the second was trampled on till it went out; the third they caught and threw back at us, but it too went out. There are none left.

KUMASAKA.

Then is all lost. For of these torch-diviners they sing that the first torch is the soul of an army, the second torch is the wheel of Fate, and the third torch—Life itself. All three are out, and there is no hope left for this night’s brigandage.

BRIGAND.

It is as you say. Though we were gods, we could not redeem our plight. Deign to give the word of retreat.

[79]

KUMASAKA.

Why, even brigands must be spared from slaughter. Come, withdraw my men.

BRIGAND.

I obey.

KUMASAKA.

Stay! Shall Kumasaka Chōhan be worsted in to-night’s affray? Never! Where could he then hide his shame? Come, robbers, to the attack!

CHORUS.

So with mighty voice he called them to him, and they, raising their war-cry, leapt to the assault.

(Speaking for USHIWAKA.)

“Hoho! What a to-do! Himself has come, undaunted by the fate of those he sent before him. Now, Hachiman,[58] look down upon me, for no other help is here.” So he prayed, and stood waiting at the gap.

(Speaking for KUMASAKA.)

“Sixty-three years has Kumasaka lived, and to-day shall make his last night-assault.”[59] So he spoke and kicking off his iron-shoes in a twinkling he levelled his great battle-sword that measured five foot three, and as he leapt forward like a great bird pouncing on his prey, no god or demon had dared encounter him.

(Speaking for USHIWAKA.)

“Ha, bandit! Be not so confident! These slinking night-assaults displease me”; and leaving him no leisure, the boy dashed in to the attack.

Then, Kumasaka, deeply versed in use of the battle-sword, lunged with his left foot and in succession he executed The Ten-Side Cut, The Eight-Side Sweep, The Body Wheel, The Hanyū Turn, The Wind Roll, The Blade Drop, The Gnashing Lion, The Maple-Leaf Double, The Flower Double.

At last even the great battle-sword has spent its art. Parried by the little belt-sword of Zōshi,[60] it has become no more than a guard-sword.

(Speaking for KUMASAKA.)

“This sword-play brings me no advantage; I will close with him and try my strength!”

Then he threw down his battle-sword and spreading out his great hands rushed wildly forward. But Ushiwaka dodged him, and as he passed mowed round at his legs.

[81]

By HIYOSHI SA-AMI YASUKIYO

(Date unknown, probably first half of the fifteenth century.)

PERSONS

BENKEI.

I am one who lives near the Western Pagoda. My name is Musashi-bō Benkei. In fulfillment of a certain vow I have been going lately by night at the hour of the Ox[61] to worship at the Gojō Temple. To-night is the last time; I ought soon to be starting.

Hie! Is any one there?

FOLLOWER.

Here I am.

BENKEI.

I sent for you to tell you that I shall be going to the Gojō Temple to-night.

FOLLOWER.

I tremble and listen. But there is a matter that I must bring to your notice. I hear that yesterday there was a boy of twelve or thirteen guarding the Gojō Bridge. They say he was slashing round with his short sword as nimble as a bird or butterfly. I beg that you will not make your pilgrimage to-night. Do not court this peril.

BENKEI.

That’s a strange thing to ask! Why, were he demon or hobgoblin, he could not stand alone against many. We will surround him and you shall soon see him on his knees.

[82]

FOLLOWER.

They have tried surrounding him, but he always escapes as though by magic, and none is able to lay hands on him.

BENKEI.

When he seems within their grasp

FOLLOWER.

From before their eyes

BENKEI.

Suddenly he vanishes.

CHORUS.

BENKEI.

If this is as you say, I will not go to-night; and yet ... No. It is not to be thought of that such a one as Benkei should be affrighted by a tale. To-night when it is dark I will go to the bridge and humble this arrogant elf.

CHORUS.

USHIWAKA.

I am Ushiwaka. I must do as my mother told me; “Go up to the Temple[62] at daybreak,” she said. But it is still night. I will go to[83] Gojō Bridge and wait there till suddenly

CHORUS (speaking for USHIWAKA).

BENKEI.

USHIWAKA.

BENKEI.

USHIWAKA.

BENKEI.

USHIWAKA.

BENKEI (cries out in surprise).

Ah! fool, I will teach you a lesson!

CHORUS.

CHORUS.

Who are you that, so young and frail, possess such daring? Tell us your name and state.

USHIWAKA.

Why should I conceal it from you? I am Minamoto Ushiwaka.

CHORUS.

Yoshitomo’s son?

USHIWAKA.

I am. And your name ...?

CHORUS (speaking for BENKEI).

[87]

[88]

[89]

By SEAMI

PERSONS

GIRL and ATTENDANT.

GIRL.

I am Hitomaru. I live in the valley of Kamegaye. My father Kagekiyo the Passionate fought for the House of Hei[67] and for this was hated by the Genji.[68] I am told they have banished him to Miyazaki in the country of Hyūga, and there in changed estate he passes the months and years. I must not be downcast at the toil of the journey;[69] for hardship is the lot of all that travel on unfamiliar roads, and I must bear it for my father’s sake.

GIRL and ATTENDANT.

ATTENDANT.

We have journeyed so fast that I think we must already have come to Miyazaki in the country of Hyūga. It is here you should ask for your father.

KAGEKIYO.

CHORUS (speaking for KAGEKIYO).

GIRL.

How strange! That hut is so old, I cannot think that any one can live there. Yet I heard a voice speaking within. Perhaps some beggar lodges there; I will not go nearer. (She steps back.)

KAGEKIYO.

[91]

GIRL.

KAGEKIYO.

ATTENDANT (going up to KAGEKIYO’S hut).

I have come to your cottage to ask you something.

KAGEKIYO.

What is it you want?

ATTENDANT.

Can you tell me where the exile lives?

KAGEKIYO.

The exile? What exile do you mean? Tell me his name.

ATTENDANT.

We are looking for Kagekiyo the Passionate who fought for the Taira.

KAGEKIYO.

I have heard of him indeed. But I am blind, and have not seen him. I have heard such sad tales of his plight that I needs must pity him. Go further; ask elsewhere.

ATTENDANT (to GIRL, who has been waiting).

It does not seem that we shall find him here. Let us go further and ask again. (They pass on.)

[92]

KAGEKIYO.

Who can it be that is asking for me? What if it should be the child of this blind man? For long ago when I was at Atsuta in Owari I courted a woman and had a child by her. But since the child was a girl, I thought I would get no good of her and left her with the head-man of the valley of Kamegaye. But she was not content to stay with her foster-parents and has come all this way to meet her true father.

CHORUS.

ATTENDANT (calling into the side-bridge).

Hie! Is there any villager about?

VILLAGER (raising the curtain that divides the side-bridge from the stage).

What do you want with me?

ATTENDANT.

Do you know where the exile lives?

VILLAGER.

The exile? What exile is it you are asking for?

ATTENDANT.

One called Kagekiyo the Passionate who fought for the Taira.

VILLAGER.

Did you not see some one in a thatched hut under the hillside as you came along?

ATTENDANT.

Why, we saw a blind beggar in a thatched hut.

[93]

VILLAGER.

That blind beggar is your man. He is Kagekiyo.

But why does your lady tremble when I tell you that he is Kagekiyo? What is amiss with her?

ATTENDANT.

No wonder that you ask. I will tell you at once; this lady is Kagekiyo’s daughter. She has borne the toil of this journey because she longed to meet her father face to face. Please take her to him.

VILLAGER.

She is Kagekiyo’s daughter? How strange, how strange! But, lady, calm yourself and listen.

Kagekiyo went blind in both his eyes, and finding himself helpless, shaved his head and called himself the beggar of Hyūga. He begs a little from travellers; and we villagers are sorry for him and see to it that he does not starve. Perhaps he would not tell you his name because he was ashamed of what he has become. But if you will come with me I will shout “Kagekiyo” at him. He will surely answer to his own name. Then you shall go to him and talk of what you will, old times or now. Please come this way.

Hie, Kagekiyo, Kagekiyo! Are you there, Kagekiyo the Passionate?

KAGEKIYO (stopping his ears with his hands, irritably).

Noise, noise!

Silence! I was vexed already. For a while ago there came travellers from my home! Do you think I let them stay? No, no. I could not show them my loathsomeness.... It was hard to let them go,—not tell them my name!

[94]

CHORUS.

KAGEKIYO (suddenly lowering his voice, gently).

But while I dwell here

CHORUS.

KAGEKIYO.

For though my eyes be darkened

CHORUS.

“I was one of them, of those Tairas. If you will listen, I will tell the tale....”

KAGEKIYO (to the VILLAGER).

There was a weight on my mind when I spoke to you so harshly. Pray forgive me.

VILLAGER.

No, no! you are always so! I do not heed you. But tell me, did not some one come before, asking for Kagekiyo?

KAGEKIYO.

No,—you are the only one who has asked.

VILLAGER.

It is not true. Some one came here saying that she was Kagekiyo’s daughter. Why did you not tell her? I was sorry for her and have brought her back with me.

(To the GIRL.) Come now, speak with your father.

GIRL (going to KAGEKIYO’S side and touching his sleeve).

KAGEKIYO.

CHORUS.

VILLAGER (seeing the GIRL standing sadly apart).

Poor child, come back again.

(She comes back to her father’s side.)

Listen, Kagekiyo, there is something your daughter wants of you.

KAGEKIYO.

What is it she wants?

[97]

VILLAGER.

She tells me that she longs to hear the story of your high deeds at Yashima. Could you not tell us the tale?

KAGEKIYO.

That is a strange thing for a girl to ask. Yet since kind love brought her this long, long way to visit me, I cannot but tell her the tale. Promise me that when it is finished you will send her back again to her home.

VILLAGER.

I will. So soon as your tale is finished, I will send her home.

KAGEKIYO.

[98]

CHORUS.

KAGEKIYO (breaking in excitedly).

Cowards, cowards all of you!

CHORUS.

[99]

CHORUS.

[100]

By SEAMI

PERSONS

PRIEST.

I am a holy man of no fixed abode. I have been travelling through the land of Shinano; but the snow lies thick. I had best go up to Kamakura now and wait there. When Spring comes I will set out upon my pilgrimage.

I have travelled so fast that I am come to the Ford of Sano in the country of Kōzuke. Ara! It is snowing again. I must seek shelter here. (Goes to the wing and knocks.) Is there anyone in this house?

TSUNEYO’S WIFE (raising the curtain that divides the hashigakari from the stage).

Who is there?

[101]

PRIEST.

I am a pilgrim; pray lodge me here to-night.

WIFE.

That is a small thing to ask. But since the master is away, you cannot lodge in this house.

PRIEST.

Then I will wait here till he comes back.

WIFE.

That must be as you please. I will go to the corner and watch for him. When he comes I will tell him you are here.

(Enter TSUNEYO from the wing, making the gesture of one who shakes snow from his clothes.)

TSUNEYO.

Ah! How the snow falls! Long ago when I was in the World[76] I loved to see it:

(He sees his WIFE standing waiting.)

What is this! How comes it that you are waiting here in this great storm of snow?

WIFE.

A pilgrim came this way and begged for a night’s lodging. And when I told him you were not in the house, he asked if he might wait till you returned. That is why I am here.

[102]

TSUNEYO.

Where is this pilgrim now?

WIFE.

There he stands!

PRIEST.

I am he. Though the day is not far spent, how can I find my way in this great storm of snow? Pray give me shelter for the night.

TSUNEYO.

That is a small thing to ask; but I have no lodging fit for you; I cannot receive you.

PRIEST.

No, no. I do not care how poor the lodging may be. Pray let me stay here for one night.

TSUNEYO.

I would gladly ask you to stay, but there is scarce space for us two, that are husband and wife. How can we give you lodging? At the village of Yamamoto yonder, ten furlongs further, you will find a good inn. You had best be on your way before the daylight goes.

PRIEST.

So you are resolved to turn me away?

TSUNEYO.

I am sorry for it, but I cannot give you lodging.

PRIEST (turning away).

Much good I got by waiting for such a fellow! I will go my way. (He goes.)

WIFE.

Alas, it is because in a former life we neglected the ordinances[79] that we are now come to ruin. And surely it will bring us ill-fortune in our next life, if we give no welcome to such a one as this! If it is by any means possible for him to shelter here, please let him stay.

[103]

TSUNEYO.

If you are of that mind, why did you not speak before? (Looking after the PRIEST.) No, he cannot have gone far in this great snowstorm. I will go after him and stop him. Hie, traveller, hie! We will give you lodging. Hie! The snow is falling so thick that he cannot hear me. What a sad plight he is in. Old-fallen snow covers the way he came and snow new-fallen hides the path where he should go. Look, look! He is standing still. He is shaking the snow from his clothes; shaking, shaking. It is like that old song:

CHORUS.

(The PRIEST goes with them into the hut.)

TSUNEYO (to his WIFE).

Listen. We have given him lodging, but have not laid the least thing before him. Is there nothing we can give?

WIFE.

It happens that we have a little boiled millet;[80] we can give him that if he will take it.

TSUNEYO.

I will tell him. (To the PRIEST.) I have given you lodging, but I have not yet laid anything before you. It happens that we have a little boiled millet. It is coarse food, but pray eat it if you can.

PRIEST.

Why, that’s a famous dish! Please give it me.

[104]

TSUNEYO (to WIFE).

He says he will take some; make haste and give it to him.

WIFE.

I will do so.

TSUNEYO.

Long ago when I was in the World I knew nothing of this stuff called millet but what I read of it in poems and songs. But now it is the prop of my life.

CHORUS.

TSUNEYO.

How cold it is! And as the night passes, each hour the frost grows keener. If I had but fuel to light a fire with, that you might sit by it and warm yourself! Ah! I have thought of something. I have some dwarf trees. I will cut them down and make a fire of them.

PRIEST.

Have you indeed dwarf trees?

TSUNEYO.

Yes, when I was in the World I had a fine show of them; but when my trouble came I had no more heart for tree-fancying, and gave them away. But three of them, I kept,—plum, cherry and pine. Look, there they are, covered with snow. They are precious to me; yet for this night’s entertainment I will gladly set light to them.

PRIEST.

No, no, that must not be. I thank you for your kindness, but it[105] is likely that one day you will go back to the World again and need them for your pleasure. Indeed it is not to be thought of.

TSUNEYO.

WIFE.

TSUNEYO.

Think them the faggots of our Master’s servitude.[81]

WIFE.

For snow falls now upon them, as it fell

TSUNEYO.

WIFE.

So let it be.

CHORUS.

(He cuts down the plum-tree.)

TSUNEYO.

PRIEST.

Now we have a good fire and can forget the cold.

TSUNEYO.

It is because you lodged with us that we too have a fire to sit by.

PRIEST.

There is something I must ask you: I would gladly know to what clan my host belongs.

TSUNEYO.

I am not of such birth; I have no clan-name.

PRIEST.

Say what you will, I cannot think you a commoner. The times may change; what harm will you get by telling me your clan?

[107]

TSUNEYO.

Indeed I have no reason to conceal it. Know then that Tsuneyo Genzayemon, Lord of Sano, is sunk to this!

PRIEST.

How came it, sir, that you fell to such misery?

TSUNEYO.

Thus it was: kinsmen usurped my lands, and so I became what I am.

PRIEST.

Why do you not go up to the Capital and lay your case before the Shikken’s court?

TSUNEYO.

By further mischance it happens that Lord Saimyōji[84] himself is absent upon pilgrimage. And yet not all is lost; for on the wall a tall spear still hangs, and armour with it; while in the stall a steed is tied. And if at any time there came from the City news of peril to our master—

PRIEST.

Take courage; you shall not end so. If I live, I will come to you again. Now I go.

TSUNEYO and WIFE.

We cannot let you go. At first we were ashamed that you should[108] see the misery of our dwelling; but now we ask you to stay with us awhile.

PRIEST.

Were I to follow my desire, think you I would soon go forth into the snow?

TSUNEYO and WIFE.

After a day of snow even the clear sky is cold, and to-night—

PRIEST.

Where shall I lodge?

WIFE.

Stay with us this one day.

PRIEST.

Though my longing bides with you—

TSUNEYO and WIFE.

You leave us?

PRIEST.

Farewell, Tsuneyo!

BOTH.

Come back to us again.

CHORUS (speaking for PRIEST).

“And should you one day come up to the City, seek for me there. A humble priest can give you no public furtherance, yet can he find ways to bring you into the presence of Authority. Do not give up your suit.” He said no more. He went his way,—he sad to leave them and they to lose him from their sight.

(Interval of Six Months.)

TSUNEYO (standing outside his hut and seeming to watch travellers on the road).

Hie, you travellers! Is it true that the levies are marching to[109] Kamakura? They are marching in great force, you say? So it is true. Barons and knights from the Eight Counties of the East all riding to Kamakura! A fine sight it will be. Tasselled breastplates of beaten silver; swords and daggers fretted with gold. On horses fat with fodder they ride; even the grooms of the relay-horses are magnificently apparelled. And along with them (miming the action of leading a horse) goes Tsuneyo, with horse, armour and sword that scarce seem worthy of such names. They may laugh, yet I am not, I think, a worse man than they; and had I but a steed to match my heart, then valiantly—(making the gesture of cracking a whip) you laggard!

CHORUS.

The horse is old, palsied as a willow-bough; it cannot hasten. It is lean and twisted. Not whip or spur can move it. It sticks like a coach in a bog. He follows far behind the rest.

PRIEST (again ruler[85] of Japan, seated on a throne).

Are you there?

ATTENDANT.

I stand before you.

PRIEST.

Have the levies of all the lands arrived?

ATTENDANT.

They are all come.

PRIEST.

Among them should be a knight in broken armour, carrying a rusty sword, and leading his own lean horse. Find him, and bring him to me.

ATTENDANT.

I tremble and obey. (Going to TSUNEYO.) I must speak with you.

[110]

TSUNEYO.

What is it?

ATTENDANT.

You are to appear immediately before my lord.

TSUNEYO.

Is it I whom you are bidding appear before his lordship?