Japan: Its History, Arts, and Literature/Volume 3/Chapter 1
JAPAN
ITS HISTORY ARTS AND
LITERATURE
Chapter I
REFINEMENTS AND PASTIMES OF THE MILITARY EPOCH (Continued).
ANOTHER aristocratic amusement of the Military epoch was the "comparing of incenses" (Kô-awase). This particular product of Japanese civilisation has hitherto evoked only ridicule from the few foreign writers who have made any reference to it.[1] Apparently it presented itself to them under no guise except that of a frivolous game, designed to test the delicacy of men's sense of smell by requiring them to distinguish between the aromas of various kinds of incense. Even when thus interpreted, the pastime is not more childish than many of the diversions that hold the attention of grown persons at social réunions in Europe and America. But the Kô-awase was not merely a question of smelling incense: it was a literary pursuit, designed in great part for testing the players' knowledge of classical poetry and their ability to apply the knowledge. Burning incense had been fashionable in Japan long before the Military epoch. As early as the seventh century, the names of twenty-four varieties of fragrant wood were known and used, the prince of them all being ranjatai, a quantity of which was imported by the Emperor Shomu (724—748) and placed in the temple Todai-ji. After the establishment of the military administration at Kamakura, it became the custom that each Shōgun, on receipt of his patent from the Throne, should repair to the temple, and cut off a small portion of the incense for his own use. The celebrated Ashikaga chief, Takauji, performed this ceremony with much state, and even the bluff soldier Oda Nobunaga did not neglect it. Not yet, however, had the pastime of "listening to incense"—a devotee never spoke of "smelling" or "sniffing" but always of "listening"—been elaborated into the form afterwards so fashionable. Shino Soshin, who flourished at the beginning of the sixteenth century, is regarded as the "father" of the pursuit, but it had undoubtedly received a great impulse from that king of dilettante, Ashikaga Yoshimasa, and his protégés Shukō and Soami, the founders of the tea cult. Now, for the first time, compound incenses began to be manufactured, so that the disciples of the Shino school recognised sixty-six distinct kinds, all distinguished by names derived from literary allusions. A great authority of later times alleged that the use of compound incenses was confined to the Court aristocracy, military men always preferring a simple kind; but that rule seems to have received only limited recognition. Briefly stated, the outlines of the pastime were these. Three varieties of incense were taken and divided into three parcels each. A fourth kind was then added, making ten packets. This method of division was so invariable that the game came to be designated by the term Jisshu-ko or "ten varieties of incense." The units of each subdivided group were numbered from one to three, and each group was indicated by one of the names "plum," "pine," "bamboo," "cherry, "snow," or "moon," but the supplementary, or undivided, incense received invariably the title of "guest." The players having been formed into parties, a stick from each of the subdivided groups of incense was placed in a censer and passed round to be "listened to" by way of trial, the name being declared, but the "guest incense" was never tried. Thereafter portions were taken from each group indiscriminately, and the players had to identify the names by the aroma only, writing down the result of their identification. The most accurate identifications constituted a partial title to victory, but to each incense a literary name had to be given in addition to its identification, and by the erudition and ideality displayed in choosing names the contest was ultimately decided. For example, each side having made a correct identification, one was found to have chosen the name "moonlight on a couch; "the other that of "water from the hill," the former being derived from the couplet
When autumn's wind breathes
Chill and lone my chamber through,
And night grows aged,
Dark shadows of the moonlight.
Cast athwart my couch,
Sink deep into my being;
while the second was taken from the verse,
Stream with scented breast
From flower-robed hills that flowest,
Here thy burden lay.
Thy freight of perfumed dew-drops
Sipped from sweet chrysanthemum.
Between these two names the judgment was that, concerning the second, it was comparatively commonplace, the scent of flowers being an every-day simile in praising incense; whereas the first, while its derivation had no material allusion to anything suggestive of incense-burning, conveyed a rarely forcible idea of the profoundly penetrating influence of a fine aroma. Victory, then, went to the first. Sometimes the names were not necessarily taken from classical literature but were invented by the players. Thus, at a contest in Yoshimasa's Silver Pavilion, one side chose the name "flowers of the Law," the other "sanderling;" and the judgment was that though the flight of the sanderling across the chill skies of winter and its plaintive voice induce reflections on the uncertainty of life, the expression "flowers of the Law" at once inclines the heart towards the all-merciful Buddha and fills the soul with pure yearning. The verdict, then, was in favour of the latter. One more illustration may be given. At another contest the names selected were "myriad-fenced" and "Miyoshi moor," the former having the signification "primal verse," since the earliest couplet on record in Japan contained the word "myriad- fenced," and the latter being an indirect allusion to the cherry-blossom for which Miyoshi is famous. The judgment was that an ancient couplet could not be supposed to retain its perfume, whereas the cherries of Yoshino were even then scenting the sunbeams.
Even this brief notice shows that the pastime signified a great deal more than the mere smelling of different kinds of incense. It may be regarded as supplementary to the couplet-composing compositions (uta-awase) mentioned in a previous chapter, the one being intended to test original literary ability, the other to determine literary knowledge. Every social usage that has grown to maturity in Japan shows traces of elaborate care bestowed on it by generation after generation of refined practice. The incense pastime illustrates that fact almost as strikingly as the tea cult. It may be said to have a literature of its own. Volumes have been compiled setting forth the exact principles that should be observed in the competition and explaining the numerous modifications that the game underwent from time to time. The various incenses were divided into groups according to the seasons. Thus for spring there were the "white plum incense," the "aged plum," the "blossom and snow," etc.; for summer, the flower petal," the "green plum," the "iris," the "orange," etc.; for autumn, the "waning moon," the "maple leaf," the "Weaver" (Vega), the "double chrysanthemum," etc.; and for winter, the "evening rain," the "early plum," the "first snow," the "frosty night," and so on. Then there were incenses suggesting love—the "arm pillow," the "waking from sleep," the "sweet face," the "dishevelled hair," etc.; there were miscellaneous incenses,—the "smoke of Fuji," the beautiful "Yokihi," the "myriad fences,"—and there were many incenses called after famous places. The pastime itself took various forms, each of them deriving its name from some recondite motive. For example: the anchorite Kisen, who lived on Mount Mimaro beside the Uji River, composed a thousand poems and threw nine hundred and ninety-nine of them into the stream, finding one alone worthy of preservation. This idea of infinite eclecticism suggested the name Uji-yama (Mount Uji) for a special kind of incense competition. Again, it had been from time immemorial an aristocratic amusement that ladies should go in search of flowers peeping through the snow on the plains of Kasuga and Sagano. Hence the identification of certain incenses having the names of early wild flowers written on their envelopes, was called "little flower incense." Another quaint variety was the "small birds incense," in which, instead of identifying incenses by numbers, they were indicated by duplicated syllables in a bird's name. Thus, if the second and third specimens in a group had been detected by the "listener," he wrote hototogisu (nightingale), because the same syllable, to, occurs in the second and third numbers of the word. If the specimens detected were the third and fourth, he wrote ishitataki (wagtail), the duplication of ta giving the indication, and so on. There were also two variants of the game, called the Gem-pei (Minamoto and Taira) and the "horse race" incenses, each of which proceeded exactly after the manner of the Western "race game," a successful identification being marked by the advance of a flag or a puppet through a certain number of squares towards the goal. Many others might be described, but it will be enough to add that there was a minute code of etiquette to be observed in conducting the pastime; that even here the ubiquitous "Book of Changes" made its appearance, the order of the male and female principles being strictly observed, and that the implements used in preparing and burning incense were of the most exquisite workmanship and costliest material. There are no finer specimens of lacquer to be found than the boxes in which were kept the censers, miniature chopping-blocks, mallets and knives; tiny tongs and spatula of gold or silver; elaborately chiselled silver stands for the instruments; marking-board of silver, gold, and vermilion lacquer, or of finely carved mother-of-pearl, and envelopes of illuminated paper. Incredible sums were paid for a choice set of implements in a rare box. The censer, above all, attracted attention. It might be of gold, or of iron inlaid with gold or silver, or of porcelain. The most highly prized of all kinds was céladon of the peculiar tint known as the greenish blue seen between the clouds after rain in summer—the u-kwo-tien-tsing of the Chinese Jo-yao. One of these tiny vessels, named the "sanderling censer," because its delicate colour recalled the plaintive note of that bird flying across winter moonlight, was in the possession of the Taiko and enjoyed the credit of protecting him against all danger. On another censer of the same ware Tokugawa Iyeyasu borrowed a sum of ten thousand pieces of gold to meet a sudden need.
The Kô-awasa had its frivolous aspects, of course; it would not otherwise have been a game. But some credit may be claimed for a society which occupied itself with such refined pastimes rather than with roulette, faro, or poker.
Another remarkable outcome of the Military epoch was the art of flower arrangement. The name applied to it, ike-bana, or "living flower," explains at once the fundamental principle of the art; namely, that the flowers must be so arranged as to suggest the idea of actual life,—must look as though they were growing, not as though they had been cut from their stems. In the Occident flowers, whether grouped in bouquets or placed in vases, are disposed with a unique view to colour effect. They are crushed together in glowing masses, delighting the barbaric sense of colour but preserving no semblance of the conditions of their living existence. From a decorative point of view the Western method has much to recommend it. But its scope is narrow, and when compared with the art as practised in Japan, the great advantages of the latter are necessarily recognised. The Japanese considers that the beauty of a plant or a tree is not derived from its blossoms more than from the manner of their growth. The curve of a bough, the bend of a stalk, has for him a charm equal to that presented by the shape of the petal and the tint of the blossoms. Hence in arranging flowers he seeks to retain all the graces that they possess in their natural condition. His grouping of them is a composition wherein linear effects are as much studied as colour harmonies. It is not necessary, indeed, that colour should enter into the scheme at all, except in so far as it enters into every natural picture. A tree's foliage may be regarded as its flowers, and not the least beautiful productions of the ike-bana deal solely with branches and leaves. This art is essentially Japanese. A Buddhist origin has been attributed to it by some, on the ground that the idea of preserving the living aspect of a flower is derived from the Buddhist veto against taking life. Such an explanation seems fanciful and far-fetched. It is true that vases containing sprays of lotus formed an essential element in the altar furniture of Buddhist temples, and that such decorative objects, having been entirely absent from Shintō paraphernalia may have been introduced to the Japanese for the first time by the propagandists of Buddhism. That hypothesis is confirmed by examination of the floral compositions attributed to Prince Shotoku and the religious teachers of the seventh and eighth centuries. They show all the essentially non-Japanese features of the art, being, in short, sprays and boughs symmetrically disposed on either side of a central standard. The floral compositions of Indian, Persian, and Grecian decorative art obey the same rule, symmetry by equipoise; whereas the fundamental principle of Japanese decorative art, as well as of Japanese floral arrangement, is symmetry by suggestion. What the Buddhists imported from India was a method based on equality of distribution. What the Japanese themselves conceived was a method based on balance of inequalities. There can be little doubt that the conception was derived from close observation of nature's fashions, and that the wide vogue its practice attained was due primarily to the bonsai cult, which, as already described, grew out of the great æsthetic movement of the fifteenth century. It is, indeed, to the celebrated painter Soami, whose name is so closely connected with that movement, that the Japanese attribute the new departure, and it was at the Silver Pavilion, where the cults, of the Cha-no-Yu and the Kô-awase may be said to have been evolved, that the art of ike-bana received its first great development. But though the theory and something of the practice were due to Soami, his pupil, a priest named Ikenobo, is justly credited with having elaborated the principles and canons of the art into something like an exact science. Thereafter many men of taste made contributions to the cult, until finally it came to possess a code of its own, accurate and consistent, but not without disfigurement of excessive detail. Here, too, as in the case of landscape gardening, the philosophy of the yang and the ying, the male and the female principles, obtruded itself; not with any transcendental significance, however, but merely for the purpose of extending even to flower arrangement the application of the law that nature delights in balance, and that she contrives it primarily by the association of correlated pairs. If the study of Japanese ike-bana be approached with a constant recollection of its basic rule, namely, that a state of vigorous vitality and actual growth must always be simulated, the elaborations of the art became easy to comprehend. Evidently the first requirement of such a rule is that the floral or leafy sprays should spring naturally and strongly from the vase containing them, and out of that necessity there grew various forms of “holder,” as well as a series of directions for adapting each arrangement of flowers or branches to the shape of the vase and to its position in a room. Following the indications of nature, the next point was to determine what combinations of plants or flowers were permissible, and also to fix those appropriate for each reason. Here, however, the influence of tradition and even of superstition made itself felt, lucky or unlucky attributes being assigned to certain flowers and trees, partly in consequence of historical or mythological associations, and partly because of poisonous properties supposed to belong to them. Every one having even a passing acquaintance with Japanese decorative art is familiar with the trio, pine, bamboo, and plum, so often found in combination and so perennially beautiful and harmonious; but without special study of the ike-bana cult it could not be inferred that there is an exact list of proper combinations and improper combinations, and that the flowers appropriate for occasions of congratulation in each month of the year as well as for all ceremonials, social, religious, sad, or joyful, are exactly catalogued. Another consideration governing combinations was that "strong" sprays (trees) must not be placed on either side of "weak" (plants), or vice versâ, because, in the first place, such compositions would show mathematical symmetry, and, in the second, they would violate the true principles of natural balance. A still more important law was that of lineal distribution. It has been well said that "the floral decorations of Japan are synthetic designs in line, in which every individual stem, flower, and leaf stands out distinctly silhouetted.[2] Appreciation of lineal grace seems, indeed, to be a specially developed faculty among the Japanese. Evidences of it are displayed in every branch of their art, and it found expression from the first in the ike-bana science. Three-lined, five-lined, and seven-lined compositions were designed, forming what may be called the skeletons of all arrangements. The directions and interrelations of their curves were carefully mapped out; their relative lengths were approximately determined so as to secure harmonious balance, and explicit vetoes were formulated against faults of interference, confusion, entanglement, or parallelism. As for receptacles, they were in themselves a science. Mr. Conder describes and depicts no less than forty-six varieties of bamboo vases alone, each of which has a distinct appellation and a definitely approved shape. Then there were bronze vases, porcelain vases, pottery vases, basket vases, boat vases, bell-vases, wooden vases, bucket vases, chariot vases, suspended vases, standing vases, umbrella vases, margin vases, hooked vases, flower horses, and flower cabinets, each having its appropriate varieties of floral arrangement. The scope of the art is well illustrated in the case of the boat vase, which, according to the description of the sprays placed in it, was made to represent a homeward-bound ship, an outward-bound ship, a ship-in-port, a swiftly-sailing ship, or a branch-laden ship. It will readily be supposed that attention had to be paid to environment in designing a floral composition. Every article and every part of a Japanese chamber is regarded as a co-operative element in a general scheme of decoration, and each must enhance the value of the rest. Hence a vase of floral or leaf sprays standing or hanging in an alcove is required to harmonise with the picture hanging beside it, and even to be in accord with the landscape presented by the nearest portion of the garden outside. There is also a philosophy of the art. It is supposed to educate certain moral qualities in those that practise it sincerely; to wean them from earthly thoughts; to lighten the burdens of life; to impart gentleness and courtesy to the demeanour, and to purge the heart of selfishness. It has its rival schools, and some of them have sought to win credit by imparting esoteric elements into their methods. But such things are mere unessential mannerisms, entirely distinct from the cult itself.
To these refinements of life specially developed in the Military epoch may be added those bequeathed from previous ages,—flower-viewing at all seasons, even in winter, when, by a pretty fancy, the snow was regarded as the bloom of the time and the "silvered world" became a landscape garden; moonlight picnics in autumn; pulling young pines at the New Year; fishing with hand-nets; mushroom-picking parties; maple gathering; go; chess; couplet composing; foot-ball, and so forth. Foot-ball merits special notice, for it attained extraordinary vogue. It had the honour of being classed with poetry-writing as one of the "two ways," and noblemen took as much pride in excelling in it as ever Anglo-Saxon youths did in gaining fame at cricket or base-ball. Great families, families which enjoyed an hereditary title to such offices as councillor of State and minister of justice, constituted themselves professional instructors of the art, and the enclosure of the office of Public Roads was assigned by the Imperial Court as a foot-ball ground. It will readily be inferred from what has been already written about the cults of the Cha-no-Yu, the Kô-awase and the Ike-bana, that the pastime of kicking a ball came to have its exact rules and even its esoteric mysteries, the latter extravagances being inventions of rival schools which sought to win popularity by appealing to the superstitions of the time. The ordinary foot-ball ground of orthodox kickers took the form of a square, its side either twelve, sixteen, or twenty-four yards, and at its four corners a pine-tree, a bamboo, a maple, and a willow were planted. If these dimensions were exceeded, six pine-trees replaced the varieties just mentioned. Two noble families, however, special repositories of the arcana of the game, enjoyed the estimable privilege of setting up a pine-tree and a post at each corner, and of enclosing the ground with a fence of crossed bamboos. A code of minute regulations governed the apparel of the players,—robes, head-gear, sandals, stockings, and fans,—and another code indicated the proper postures of the body,—the movements of the hands, the paces of the feet, the expression of the face; the pose of the hips; the spread of the step; the recover; the side kick; the fore kick; the separate kick; the extra-tree kick; the numerical kick, and the indefinite kick—all were clearly prescribed. In short, foot-ball became a cult, and even the physical strength that it demanded was decorously and elegantly exercised.
Gambling, which in the Nara and Heian epochs had been regarded as a somewhat vulgar pastime, prevailed extensively under the Military regimen. From the General officer to the transport coolie, almost every one was addicted to this vice. Usually dice were employed, but sometimes shells took their place, the hazard depending upon the faces exposed by the shells when thrown. Money was wagered also upon the game of go, and it is recorded that the ranks of the vagabond and burglar classes received large accessions, owing to the ruin which constantly overtook devotees of these various games. An attempt made by the Kamakura rulers at the zenith of their power, in the middle of the thirteenth century, failed to check the abuse, and at a later period the samurai fell into the habit of staking their arms, armour, and horse-trappings on a cast of the dice, so that men would go into battle with helmets and no cuirasses, or in partial panoply without swords. Finally (in the middle of the fourteenth century), the vice prevailed so extensively that a fully equipped soldier, from the medium grade downward, was rarely seen in the fight. One effect of the abuse was that men began to think robbery more respectable and less dangerous than going into battle with deficient arms or armour. They took what they wanted wherever they could find it, and presently the right of property received so little respect that articles not in their possession were staked by gamblers, the loser pledging himself to steal them. Even the storehouses of temples and shrines were not safe against raids by unsuccessful gamesters, though not infrequently the winner of a sum of money sought to make reparation for previous acts of lawlessness by employing his gains to build or furnish a store for the sometime victim of his burglary. It has to be noted in partial extenuation of this disorderly conduct, that it was due, in some degree, to the contempt entertained by the military class for the other orders of the people, and that the priests, by their violence and extortion during the Heian epoch, had conferred on the men of the Military age a kind of right of retaliation. A samurai never thought of helping himself to the belongings of a comrade. He obeyed the theory that all sections of the nation were bound to contribute to the support of the military man, and that the highest codes of honour and integrity had binding force in the intercourse of military men only.
Singing and dancing were as much loved by the soldier in the provinces as they had ever been by the courtier in the capital. But there came into vogue now a new application of the former art; a kind of musical recitative, which never thereafter ceased to be popular. A Buddhist priest of the Tendai sect—Shinano Zenji Yukinaga—composed a prose epic based on the fortunes of the great Taira family, and taught it to one Shobutsu, a Biwa bonze (Biwa-bozu, priest from Biwa), as blind players of the four-stringed Chinese lute were called; not that they were really bonzes, but merely because they shaved their heads after the manner of Buddhist priests. Yukinaga naturally instructed the lutist to adopt the manner of intonation practised by the priests of the Tendai sect in reading the Sutras or repeating litanies, and there resulted a recitative to which the name Heike-bushi (tune of the House of Hei) was given. The soldier class took keen pleasure in listening to this entertainment, and gradually the repertoire of the blind lute-player was extended so as to include stirring episodes of military history in every age. The Biwa-bozu exhibited great skill alike in the modulation of his voice, the excellence of his elocution, and the reality of his simulated passion. He could hold an audience in rapt attention and move it to tears as well as to laughter.
Closely resembling the performance of the Biwa-bozu so far as method was concerned, but differing from it in the nature of the subject of the recitative as well as in the instrument employed, was the Jōruri. This is said to have been originated by Ono no O-tsū, a lady in the household of either Oda Nobunaga or the Taikō, who recited the story of Yoshitsune's light of love, Jōruri, accompanying herself with the samisen. Thus while the lutist took his subject from warlike annals, the Jōruri performer chose events from every-day life, singing some parts and reciting others, the recitation being, of course, without music. The Jōruri won the nation's heart at once, and soon had numerous professors, both male and female, of whom the most celebrated devised new styles and gave distinguishing names to them. The Biwa-bozu always recited from memory, and the stirring passages of the subject were delivered in a manner bearing much resemblance to the "patter" songs of modern Europe and America, the lute's rapid shower of notes being poured out so as to punctuate the passage of the recitative rather than to accompany them. This was pre-eminently the martial music of Japan, and continues to be so, partly because deeds of bravery and devotion have always been the theme of the song, partly because a strain of rattle and dash infuses the whole performance. The Jōruri appeals rather to plaintive and pitiful moods. Many of its passages are tearful, and the singer is expected to simulate emotions not permitted to the Biwa-bozu. A score containing a species of musical notation as well as the words of the Jōruri is placed before the performer on a lectern, and the samisen is tuned in a low minor key. It may be noted that both the Biwa-bozu and the Jōruri performer often sing from the chest, instead of limiting themselves to the head-voice usually characteristic of Japanese singing. The lutist is frequently blind, but a blind Jōruri performer would be out of character.
An important fact connected with the Military epoch is that it saw the beginnings of the histrionic art in Japan. There is some obscurity about this point, but the most accurate researches go to show that the embryo of the Japanese drama is to be found in the Den-gaku, or "bucolic mime," reference to which has already been made. The Den-gaku suggested spectacular effects, and the dramatic idea was derived from the various kinds of song and dance described above,—the spirited epics of the Biwa-bozu; the tragic recitative of the Jōruri performer; the genre sonnets (ima-yo) and semi-poetical chaunts (mono-gatari) of the "white measure-markers;" and the Buddhist "life-lengthening dance" (yennen-mai), in which a fan-bearing acolyte postured while friars beat hand-drums.
It seems impossible to trace the exact processes by which a true drama was evolved from these elements, but there is little room to doubt that Buddhist priests first conceived the project of combining the spectacular effects of the Den-gaku with the emotional appeals of the various musical and recitative performances in vogue from the thirteenth century downward. Unfortunately there does not survive even one clearly identified example of a Den-gaku performance thus modified. The Den-gaku, as tradition describes it and as the national memory recalls it, was simply a display of acrobatic feats. Popular patois, more retentive than history, applies the name Den-gaku to a rectangular slice of bean-curd having a skewer thrust through it from end to end, because a cake thus transfixed is supposed to resemble a Den-gaku gymnast mounted on a single stilt. By the Hōjō rulers in Kamakura, however, the Den-gaku, even before it had emerged from its acrobatic stage, was generously patronised. The Taiheiki, a celebrated work, part history, part romance, compiled in the fourteenth century, contains a unique but brief account of the Den-gaku as performed at Kamakura before the Buddhist priests had interfered to change it from a musical and spectacular display of gymnastic exercises to an artistic and dramatic representation:—
The pure tones of the music ringing in the ears of the audience, the drums beating blithely and the flute sounding the cadence, there emerge from the eastern orchestra-room eight beautifully apparelled youths, wearing tunics of gold brocade. Simultaneously eight tonsured youths, robed in pure white tunics decorated with designs of flowers and birds lightly traced in gold, and wearing voluminous ankle-gathered trousers with a variegated pattern in silver, flash into sight from the Western room, beating out the measure and swaying their broad hats in unison. Then, led respectively by Ako of the Honza and Hikoyasha of the Shinza, they play with daggers and balls, showing such divine skill that eyes and ears alike of the audience are astounded. This display ended, a boy of eight or nine, wearing a monkey mask and holding a sacred wand (gohei) on high, crosses the steeply arched bridge diagonally from the orchestra-room of the Shinza, and springing upon the high railing, spins round to the right, spins round to the left, leaps down and leaps up again, with such grace and agility as to seem more than mortal.
This is merely a refined exhibition of dancing and acrobatics, distinguished, however, from any previous performances by the fact that a regular stage was provided. Exactly how the Buddhist priests proceeded to introduce the innovations attributed to them, history and tradition alike are silent. But it was natural that after the union of Shintō and Buddhism, the representatives of the latter should pay some attention to dancing, for an essential part of Shintō worship had always been the Kagura, a dance derived, as already stated, from the mythical performance of the Celestial Deities before the cave of the Sun Goddess; and it was equally natural that while their shrewd eclecticism enabled the Buddhist monks to detect the dramatic and spectacular possibilities of the chaunts and recitative of the "white measure-marker," the Biwa-bozu and the Jōruriexperts, their literary ability should have helped them to work up these materials into a histrionic form. Perhaps the simplest explanation is that, seeing the passionate fondness of the Japanese people for dance and song, the Buddhist monks conceived the idea of enlisting those agents in the cause of religious propagandism. The following is an example of the words they put into the mouth of the musician who accompanied the dance:—
A hundred years hence who can hope to remain?
Empty and vain are all things around us;
Where to find permanence who can pretend?
Life is as foam that flaketh the water,
Shred by the wild wind and scattered at will;
Man's soul like a caged bird the opening awaiteth
To wing to the skies its foredestined flight
That which is gone can ne'er be recallèd,
He that departs will come not again;
Followeth death after birth in a moment,
Bloom in an instant by blight is replaced;
And for him that in fame and in fortune rejoices,
Riseth already the smoke of the grave-pyre.
What travail from hell's doom can purchase evasion?
Mammon or moil, can they save from the grave?
Gathereth who by what labour so ceaseless,
Shall not his sins outnumber his gains?
Recall with closed eyes the days that have faded,
All the old friendships, have they not gone?
Count with bent fingers the men that were once here,
Dear ones and distant, hidden are all.
Times change and things pass, who shall set limits?
One stays and one goes, nothing is safe.
As flame-shrivelled tinder vanish the three worlds;[3]
Angel or anchorite, death's pangs for each.
Whence then reprieve for common or low-born?
Light not their trespass, heavy their pains;
Sins they have sowed bear ripe crop of sorrow,
The tale of their deeds is reckoned in full.
Brayed in the mortar of hell without pity;
Hewed into myriads of blood-streaming parts;
Dying ten thousand deaths daily, yet living;
Clutching sharp blades and treading on spears;
Shattered and crushed by the rock-piling torture;
Writhing in flames that fuse marrow and bone;
Choked by the breath of fierce-burning fires;
Clasped in the bergs of the frozen blood-sea;
Famished, and feeding on fragments of iron;
Slaking parched thirst with drafts of lead molten—
Countless the tortures hell holds for the wicked.
Shall they be spared that have wittingly sinned?
Shall not the demon that dwells in their bosom
Give them shrewd earnest of sufferings to come?
And like frail clouds that float through the moonlight,
In the after-world life they shall wander distraught.
In the absence of any rational connection between religious chaunts like the above and acrobatic performances of the nature of the Den-gaku, it seems reasonable to assume that the relation between the two did not extend beyond the borrowing of the Den-gaku stage and accessories for the purposes of the Buddhist dance. At the same time, the credit of originating a stage does not belong to the Den-gaku performers. Stages for the Kagura dance had long existed at many of the principal Shintōshrines—three in the province of Ise for the Daijin-gu services; three in Omi for the Hyoshi services; one in Tamba, one in Kawachi and one in Settsu for the Sumiyoshi services, and four in Nara for the Kasuga services. The Den-gaku stage was only a modified form of that used for the Kagura, one of the modifications being the addition of a bridge with a steeply arched roadway on which the acrobats commenced their feats as they emerged from the orchestra-room. Danced upon this stage the Buddhist versions of the Den-gaku assumed a stateliness and a splendour not previously imagined. But they did not obtain more than temporary patronage at the Imperial Court. Perhaps the favour with which they were viewed by the military rulers in Kamakura tended to discredit them in Kyōtō, but concerning that conjecture alone is possible. At all events, the Den-gaku was put aside in the Imperial capital, and the Saru-gaku (monkey mime) was adopted in its place.
The traditional origin of this curiously named dance has already been described, and the various theories about the derivation of the name have been noted. Whatever be truth as to those points, it is certain that up to the time now under consideration, namely, the middle of the fourteenth century, the Saru-gaku was simply a comic dance, and that its character then underwent a complete change. The Buddhist monks took it up, just as they had taken up the Den-gaku, and not only converted it into an instrument for propagating religious truths, but also employed it as a means of obtaining funds for charitable purposes. It is to be observed that at this time the Buddhist priesthood had virtually a monopoly of literary ability, and that such of the Kyōtō aristocrats as might have disputed that title were not less profoundly imbued with Buddhist doctrine than the friars themselves. Thus the task of compiling new odes or recitative for dances devolved of necessity on the priests, who, to use the words of an eminent Japanese author, "saw in the blossoms of summer and the red leaves of autumn only types of heaven's beauties; heard in the sigh of the wind and the plash of the water only echoes of Shaka's voice; recognised in a mother's love for her child only a reflection of Kwannon's infinite mercy, and regarded the death of a warrior on the battlefield as only a link in the great chain of destiny." The inevitable tendency of such authors was strengthened by the circumstances amid which they lived, the endless fightings, bloodshed, and commotions. They thought that a grave and softening tone should be imparted even to the frivolities of life, and they did thoroughly for the Saru-gaku what they had already done tentatively for the Den-gaku,—transformed it into a religious performance, inculcating the instability of life and the vanity of all things human. The change in each case was radical,—from the spectacular acrobatics of the original Den-gaku to the religious recitative of the later Kamakura performance; and from the broad jests and suggestive antics of the "monkey mime" to the stately measure, solemn demeanour, and moral teaching of the new drama.
For the Saru-gaku thus modified became, in effect, a drama. Its performers ceased to be mere dancers and were converted into actors. Even the name Saru-gaku passed out of use, being replaced by Nô[4] (accomplishment), which term continues in vogue until to-day. The stage for the performance of the new drama was in the open air, a platform eighteen feet square, having on either side a species of gallery for the audience, and in front a more elevated seat for any high official or court dignitary that might attend. Behind the platform and connected with it by an open passage or bridge, stood the "green room," and when a performer emerged from the green room, he passed first through an antechamber where a large round mirror stood, and then made his debut upon the bridge, commencing his role from that moment just as the acrobats of the Den-gaku did. A stage-manager had his place in the dressing-room, and at the back of the stage were seated a row of musicians, numbering from ten to twenty, who acted the part of a chorus, accompanying the dance with flute and drum, and from time to time intoning the words of the drama. The costumes were magnificent; the music was weird and slow; masks modelled with admirable skill were worn, and the spectacular effects often reached a high level of art. It is, indeed, more than doubtful whether any other people ever developed such an expressive vocabulary of motion, such impressive eloquence of gesture. These masked dancers of the Nô, deprived of the important assistance of facial expression, and limited to a narrow range of cadence, nevertheless succeeded in investing their performance with a character of noble dignity and profound intensity of sentiment. Very soon the Nô obtained extraordinary vogue. With the sole exception of the Emperor himself, every great personage took part in the performance; a stage was erected within the precincts of the Palace; costumes of the costliest and most beautiful materials were provided, and a collection of such garments as well as of masks and other accessories for the Nô, was counted an essential part of every aristocratic mansion's furniture. By degrees the practice of the art became a profession, but princes, nobles, and high officials did not cease to study it assiduously, and were prepared at any moment to organise performances or to take part in them. It need scarcely be said that various schools came into existence. At first, although Buddhist priests had taken such a large share in developing the Nô, Shintō shrines continued to be the principal scenes of its performance, the dance being then a ceremony of worship. But from the days of the Ashikaga Shōgun Yoshimitsu (1368–1394) it underwent popularisation, and without losing its moral character, received an extension of motive, becoming an adjunct of congratulatory or commemorative occasions and even a pure diversion. With this change is associated a skilled performer (Yusaki) upon whom Yoshimitsu conferred the name Kwanami. This man, as well as his son Seami,[5] compiled several dramas based upon historical incidents of the Kamakura epoch, though the two writers carefully refrained from seeking materials in the events of their own time. Buddhist priests also continued to contribute to the literature of the art, and before the end of the fifteenth century some twenty dramas were regarded as the classics of the Nô. That prince of dilettante, Yoshimasa, who has already been seen extending lavish patronage to the tea cult, the incense cult, the landscape-garden cult and art in every form, gave a new impetus to the Nô by officially declaring it a ceremonious accomplishment of military men. He organised the renowned dancers into four orders, and enacted that a representative of each must repair to Kyōtō and give a performance there once during his career. Naturally that performance became the culmination of each great expert's triumph, and the "once-in-a-life Nô" were conducted on a conspicuously magnificent scale. The Taikō loved the Nô. Several of the best dramas were written at his suggestion, a new school was started by one of his protégés, and despite his personal disadvantages he took a place enthusiastically on the platform. When he attained the post of Regent, the highest office within reach of a subject, he repaired to the Court and himself performed a Nô dance in the presence of the Emperor.
The Nô as here described was solemn and stately, the postures and paces as well as the drama itself being purged of every comic element, and thus completely differentiated from the mimes out of which it had grown. But art demanded that the sombreness of such representations should be relieved by some lighter scenes, and to satisfy that requirement farces were compiled for independent acting between the Nô. These farces (Kyōgen) were essentially of a histrionic character, the dance being omitted altogether, or entirely subordinated to the action of the piece and the dialogue. Many of them showed not only humour but wit, and the skill of the actors was excellent. The chief and the first-assistant performers in the Nô and the Kyōgen alike received the title of taiyu, which conferred upon them the right to have the curtain of the green-room held up by two men for their exits or entries, and also rendered them eligible for admission to any society. The Kyōgen may be regarded as a revival of the Saru-gaku from which the Nô was originally evolved. History is silent as to the author or circumstances of the revival, but since several Kyōgen composed in the Ashikaga era are still extant, it may fairly be concluded that the laughter-loving element of Japanese character did not long consent to the abolition of the comic Saru-gaku.
The similarity between the Nô performances and the ancient Greek drama has often attracted attention. The chorus, the masked actors, the religious tone pervading the piece, the stage in the open air,—all these features were common to the two dramas. But a closer analogy can be found without going so far afield. The embryo of the Indian drama was a combination of song and dance at sacred festivals, just as the Kagura was the foundation of the Japanese Nô, and the development of the art in India was by narrative recitation and subsequently by dialogue, first sung, then spoken, just as the stages of progress in Japan were the recitative of the "tonsured lutist" and the "white measure-marker," followed by the sung and spoken dialogue of the Nô. A further point of resemblance is seen in the fact that, while the Japanese Kagura was founded on a mythical dance performed by the divinities before the cave of the Sun Goddess, so the Indian nâtya is supposed to have been a dance accompanied by gesticulation and speech, which was performed by the spirits and nymphs of Indra's heaven before the gods. Again, in the Indian drama the connection of the narrative was often preserved by interpreters, whose function closely resembled that 
Interior of the Imperial Palace, Kyoto.
Considering the close relations that existed between the civilisations and literatures of Japan and China, the student naturally expects to find an easily traced connection between the histrionic arts of the two countries. But comparison reveals differences rather than affinities. When it has been said that both arose from the union of dance and song, their points of resemblance have been virtually exhausted. The singing actor, the principal figure of the Chinese drama, found no counterpart in Japan; the religious element in the former country's art is often mere buffoonery, whereas in the latter's it is always reverent; there was no chorus in China nor any open-air stage, and the Chinese never made between tragedy and comedy the sharp distinction which the Japanese drew. Perhaps these comparisons possess little value. It may be urged, for example, that whatever similarities seem to exist between the dramatic art of India and that of Japan, they are at once conclusively differentiated by the fact that, whereas the latter dealt mainly with the tragic aspects of life and appealed principally to the sentiments of pathos and pity, all fatal or tearful conclusions were prohibited in the former. Nevertheless the analogies certainly possess passing interest.
Some of the most celebrated of these semi-metrical dramas, the Nō, have been skilfully translated into English of purity and grace. But the learned sinologues, their translators, by substituting the smoothly moving, majestic Iambic metre for the short, crisp pulsations of the Japanese line, and by obeying exigencies of rhyme whereas the original demands rhythm only, have obtained elegance at the partial expense of fidelity. An example less elaborated is given here:
THE ATAKA NŌ
WRITTEN BY KWANZE NOBUMITSU
circ. 1485
Translator's Note.—One of the saddest episodes of Japanese history is the fate of the brilliant and chivalrous general, Yoshitsune. Yoritomo, the Minamoto Chieftain, when (1185) he raised the white flag of his clan against the rival house of Taira, and succeeded in overwhelming his enemies and establishing a military government in Kamakura, owed his successes in the field mainly to the military genius of his younger brother, Yoshitsune. But Yoritomo's jealous temperament becoming inflamed against his brother, he readily listened to slanderous charges against Yoshitsune's loyalty, and having failed to compass the latter's death secretly, issued orders for his arrest. Yoshitsune, beloved by all that had served under him, favoured by the Imperial Court in Kyōtō, and capable of raising an army which his strategic genius must have rendered formidable if not invincible, would have obeyed the precedents of his era had he drawn the sword against his brother. But his noble nature forbade such a course. Taking with him only eleven men, who had followed his fortunes with unswerving fidelity and were without exception soldiers of proved prowess, he disguised himself as a pilgrim friar and escaped northward to Hidehira, chieftain of Ōshu, his uncle, who had sheltered him in his early days. There he ultimately died by his own hand, when the last of his comrades had fallen under the swords of Yoritomo's emissaries. The drama here translated is based on a celebrated episode of the flight to Ōshu. Yoritomo established barrier-guards on all the roads leading northward, giving them orders to forbid the passage of any pilgrim band that answered to the description of the fugitives, and, if possible, to apprehend them. One of these guard-houses, at Ataka, is the scene of the drama. The giant halberdier, Benkei, almost as celebrated in Japanese history as Yoshitsune himself, devises a plan to pass the barrier. He disguises Yoshitsune as the baggage-bearer of the party, and, at a critical moment, disarms suspicion by beating him as though he were a common coolie. To the barrier-guards it seems incredible that the brilliant young nobleman, with whose exploits the whole empire is ringing, should be submitted to such a terrible indignity, and they allow the pilgrims to pass. The profound pathos of the notion that Benkei, who had again and again risked his life in Yoshitsune's cause, should have been obliged to raise his hand against the man he loved, and the shockingly sacrilegious nature of such conduct on the part of a vassal towards his lord, appeal with intense force to the mind of every Japanese; force not to be estimated unless it is remembered that to have thrown himself upon the barrier-guards and fallen fighting, would have been an incomparably less painful and more orthodox alternative to the loyal halberdier than the course he adopted. It was necessary, however, to furnish to the captain of the guard some pretext for granting passage to the party, and Benkei chose a method for which he afterwards offered to apologise by suicide. A particularly dramatic incident of the scene at the barrier is Benkei's pretence of reading from a sacred record, which, had the party been veritable pilgrim- priests, they must have possessed. The captain of the barrier calls for the record, and the big soldier, producing an itinerary scroll, reads some extemporised passages from it in a thunderous voice, his coolness and presence of mind carrying him through an ordeal where the smallest hesitation or confusion would have involved death.
Scene.—The barrier guard-house at Ataka.
Togashi (Iyenawo, whose title is Togashi-no-suke). I am Togashi. Yoritomo and Yoshitsune, having become foes, and Yoritomo having learned that Lord Hangwan (Yoshitsune, commonly called Hangwan) and his eleven followers, adopting the guise of pilgrim-priests, are making their way to Mutsu, has caused barriers to be set up in all the provinces, and has ordered that all pilgrim-priests shall be rigorously examined. I am thus charged with the duty of arresting the passage of pilgrims at this place, and I have to give strict injunctions in that sense. Ho there!
Man-at-arms. At your service, Sir.
Togashi. If any pilgrim-priests seek to pass to-day, report to me.
Man-at-arms. It shall be done. Sir.
(Enter a party of pilgrim-priests.)
| Chorus. | From traveller's vestment Pendent bells ring notes Of pilgrim's foot-falls; And from road-stained sleeves Pendent dew-drops presage Tears of last meetings. |
| Chorus. | Hankai[6] with tattered shield Of stole and surplice, From Miyako wends His many-mornèd way, To northern limits. Oh weary distance! Even thought grows tired. |
Pilgrims. Ise no Samuro, Suruga no Jiro, Kataoka, Masuwo, Hitachibô.
Benkei. Benkei, the pilgrim pioneer.[7]
| Pilgrims. | We twelve our lord leads. Robed in unwonted Vestment of travel; Pilgrim-bells dangling. Facing the far north, Through dew and hoar-frost Fare we, if haply There, mid the white snows. Some ray of spring's sun We may find shining. |
| Chorus. | The second month's midnights Are counted by ten when They wend from Myako. Coming or going. Each alike parting. Witting or ignorant. Equally reaching[8] The hills of Osaka, Shrouded in spring's haze. Fairest at farewell. To Kaizu-no-ura Their wave-way the boats wend. Softly the dawning day Glints on the newly greened Reeds of Arachi. Now Kehi's sacred pines, Ringing the red fane On Konome's summit. Rise from the lake's breast. And yet more distant, Mount Itatori Trodden by woodmen.[9] Shallow-streamed Asasuzu;[10] Mikuni's haven; And Shinowara, where Lapping the reeds' feet, Salt wavelets ripple. Till at Ataka Spring's early blossoms Lower meek heads to Their foe, the wind's onset.[11] |
Yoshitsune.[12] Benkei!
Benkei. At your service, my lord.
Yoshitsune. Did you hear what those travellers said just now ?
Benkei. No, my lord, I did not hear anything.
Yoshitsune. They said that a new barrier-guard has been set at Ataka, and that pilgrims attempting to pass are subjected to rigorous examination.
Benkei. What incredible ill-fortune! They must have set a guard because they heard of your lordship's journey. This is of the gravest import. Let us take counsel here.
The other Pilgrims. It does not seem to us that the case is so serious. We have only to cut a way for our lord's passage.
Benkei. A moment! It is true, as you say, that we might easily force this one barrier. But we have to consider our lord's subsequent movements. Every effort must be made, in my opinion, to avoid disturbance.
Yoshitsune. I trust the matter to your management, Benkei.
Benkei. I accept the trust, my lord. An idea occurs to me. We others have all the semblance of poor pilgrims, but unless you are further disguised, we cannot hope to escape notice. With your pardon I would suggest that you doff your pilgrim's robe, take that baggage-bearer's pack on your back, pull your hat far over your face, and follow us at a little distance, simulating extreme weariness. You will scarcely be recognised if you take these precautions.
Yoshitsune. It is wisely said. Remove this robe then.
Benkei. At your service, my lord. Here, baggage-bearer!
Baggage-bearer. At your service. Sir.
Benkei. Bring your pack here.
Baggage-bearer. It is here, Sir.
Benkei. A sacrilege, in truth, that your pack should be placed on my lord's shoulders. Now go forward, and see how things fare at the barrier. Bring a true report whether they are really subjecting pilgrims to close scrutiny.
Baggage-bearer. I obey.
Benkei. My lord, we may now go forward. Aye! It is well said that the purple flower, wherever it be planted, cannot be hidden.
| Chorus. | Surely his robe changed For coarsest of raiment, His lordly gait altered To lowly churl's slouching, No heed will be paid to This humble-miened toiler. |
Benkei. Aye, and the baggage-pack—
Yoshitsune. Yoshitsune has shouldered.
| Chorus. | Shelter to give to The borne not the bearer, A common churl's rain-cape! |
| Yoshitsune. | His face he conceals with A hat of wreathed rushes; |
| Chorus. | Leans on an iron staff; |
| Yoshitsune. | Wears drudge's pattens; |
| Chorus. | And with a halting gait Tramps slowly onward, A spectacle pitiful. |
Benkei. Follow in our rear, my lord. Now, are all ready?
Pilgrims. We are ready.
Man-at-arms (at the barrier). Sir, a number of pilgrims seek passage.
Togashi. What say you? Pilgrims seeking passage? Aye, so it is. Pilgrims, this is a barrier.
Benkei. Sir, we are pilgrims who have been sent to travel through the country seeking aid for the re-building of Tôdaiji[13] in Nara. We are instructed to visit the northern circuit, and have thus reached this place. We pray your contribution.
Togashi. You do well. I will contribute. But this barrier all save pilgrims may pass.
Benkei. Sir, the reason?
Togashi. The reason! Yoritomo and Yoshitsune have become enemies, and it has been reported to my lord Yoritomo that Lord Hangwan (Yoshitsune), with eleven followers disguised as pilgrims, is on his way northward to seek the assistance of Hidehira of Mutsu. Orders have therefore been issued that barriers shall be set up in all the provinces and pilgrim-friars rigorously scrutinised. This barrier is in my charge: pilgrims cannot pass. Above all, a band so numerous as yours. Not one of you can have passage.
Benkei. I have heard, Sir. But your instructions are to stop pretended pilgrims. You surely do not mean that you will stop genuine pilgrims?
Man-at-arms. In sooth! Seeing that already three pilgrims were put to the sword here yesterday.
Benkei. Say you so! And were those slaughtered pilgrims Yoshitsune and his followers?
Togashi. Poh! arguments! I will have no controversy. Not one shall pass. I have said it.
Benkei. It is then your purpose to slay us also here?
Togashi. Undoubtedly.
Benkei. Incredible! We have come indeed to an ill-fated place! There is no help. We must then perform our last rites and submit quietly to our fate. Approach all and prepare. I begin our last rite.
Benkei. Servant of the great anchorite Yen is the friar-pilgrim.
Pilgrims. Fashioned after the sacred shape of the divine Fudo.
Benkei. His coif is the crown of the five talents.
Pilgrims. Its plaits are the twelve lusts of the flesh.
Benkei. His bells the nine rites that make perfection.
Pilgrims. His hose the emblem of dark chaos.
Benkei. His eight-looped sandals.
Pilgrims. The eight-petalled lotus-flower under his feet.
Benkei. Each breath he breathes forms the quintessential sounds.[14]
Pilgrims. The body of the Buddha, the pilgrim-friar's!
Benkei. Here to be struck down and laid low.
Pilgrims. How shall the divine Fudo be appeased?
Benkei. Kumano Gongen will mete out punishment,
Pilgrims. Here without interval.
Benkei. Be it not doubted. (All together rapidly rubbing their rosaries. Om mani padme hum!)
Togashi. It is well done ! I gather then that you exhort men to contribute to the re-building of Tôdaiji in Nara. Presumably you carry with you the prospectus of the temple. I desire to hear it read.
Benkei. Is it your wish to hear the prospectus read?
Togashi. Assuredly.
Benkei. I obey. Naturally we have the prospectus. (He takes from the valise a scroll in which correspondence is inscribed, and pretending it to be the prospectus, reads in a stentorian voice:) "After the autumnal moon of the Great Teacher (Shaka) set in the clouds of Nirvana, there remained no man capable of rousing the living and the dead from the long dream in which they were sunk. Then, in mid antiquity, the Mikado, whose name was reverentially called the Emperor Shomu, being separated from his best beloved and powerless to subdue his yearnings, the round tears, welling, fell like strings of pearls from his eyes, and turning into the three paths, he erected a statue of Birushana. Now Shunjôbô Chôgen, grieving that the image should not have a fane, travelled throughout the land seeking alms, and promising that if any gave even a single sheet of paper or so much as half a coin, he should enjoy limitless happiness here, and sit hereafter upon the thousand petalled lotus." (As Benkei concludes his reading in a voice that rises reverberating to the sky, the guards at the barrier all bow their heads in awe.)
Togashi. Pass speedily.
Benkei. We obey. (They pass the barrier.)
Man-at-arms. Sir, Sir, Lord Hangwan is passing.
Togashi. How? Halt there, baggage-bearer!
Pilgrims. How now! They suspect our lord. The crisis! The crisis! (They all turn back.)
Benkei. Hold! Hold! Let not haste misdirect you. Why is our baggage-bearer seized?
Togashi. I propose to detain him.
Benkei. For what reason?
Togashi. He is said to resemble a certain man. Stop him there!
Benkei. A man resemble a man! What then? That is not strange. Whom does he resemble?
Togashi. He is said to resemble Yoshitsune. I shall detain him for examination.
Benkei. Incredible! Wretched coolie with your likeness to Yoshitsune! A life-time's not long enough to be angry with you. We have to reach Noto before sunset, and you with your light load lag behind exciting people's suspicions! You rascal! I'll teach you a lesson. (Raises his pilgrim s iron staff and beats Yoshitsune unmercifully.) No one would trouble himself whether such a fellow passed or did not pass had you not sneaked along like a thief.
Chorus. Why lay thy hand to sword and sabre for the sake of a common baggage-bearer? Whence this perturbation? Is it terror? As the eleven pilgrims, their trenchant blades half-drawn, stride for-ward like one man, their aspect might affright even a demon!
Togashi. It was a mistake. Pass then; pass. (Yoshitsune passes rapidly.)
Benkei. Now that we have left that barrier behind, let us halt here a moment. Draw near all of you. What am I to say? In this extremity I have been guilty of a monstrous act. When my lord's fortune is at this low ebb that Benkei should have struck him—the thought overwhelms me with shame!
Yoshitsune. You imagine that I resent it, Benkei! I tell you it was an inspiration. It was not the act of an ordinary mortal. I am persuaded that Heaven is protecting me. When I fell under the suspicion of the guards, when my last day was in sight, that you paused not a moment to ask questions, but beat me soundly as though I were a veritable servant—that, that was not of Benkei's devising: it was Hachiman's.[15]
Chorus. Thinking it an inspiration, he is filled with gratitude!
Chorus. Though the ages drew to their close, though sun and moon should fall from the sky, what excuse could be found for him that raised his hand against his lord? How should he escape the punishment of Heaven?[16]
| Chorus. | Known now the suffering Fate, in past months and years, Stored for this sad spring. Still in their hour of pain Marvel they most that chance Led them in safety through Danger so desperate. Thus the twelve fugitives, Waking as from a dream. See in each other's eyes Tears of glad gratitude. |
| Chorus. | Born a child of bow and steed, His life Yoshitsune willing gave To Yoritomo. 'Neath the crests Of Western ocean glad to sink His loyal corpse. On storm-swept moor Or mountain, or by far sea-shore. Mailed arm for pillow, night by night, A warrior keeping watch. Anon To will of wind and wave resigned; Anon in snow-storm on the height Where fast flakes hide the bridle hand; Or o'er Akashi's dunes where rings The boom of evening billow—there In three brief years a mighty foe Broken and crushed. Of these leal deeds What guerdon now? Oh! Fate, what sins Of previous life are punished thus! The tide of fortune at its height Bears fullest freight of broken hopes. Such is the world's sad lesson! But To know makes not to be resigned. The soldier's spirit, straight and fair, As stringless bow of Azusa, Spurns the foul thought that calumny Its crooked way should win unchecked;[17] As mists born in the far-off south Make snow clouds in the northern sky. And in the drifts brave men are choked. Are there no gods to whom we pray? Oh! World of misery and spite! Oh! World of misery and spite! |
(The scene here returns to the barrier guard-house.)
Togashi. Ho, there!
Man-at-arms. At your service. Sir.
Togashi. The rough usage those pilgrim-friars received at our hands irks me. I would follow them and exchange a cup of regret. Go you ahead, and bid them wait.
Man-at-arms. I obey, Sir. (To the pilgrims whom he has followed.) Ho, Sirs! I am ordered to express regret for the rude treatment you received at the barrier, and to say that the Captain of the Guard is coming to offer you a cup of sake.
Benkei. Are we then to meet his honour again?
Man-at-arms. 'Tis so, Sir.
Benkei. Truly, truly! (aside.) I understand. This cup of kindness is to wash away our caution! Let it but increase our vigilance!
| Chorus. | Show no surprise! By Benkei warned, Under the shadow of the hill In watchful round each pilgrim sits, To drink the cup of compliment. |
Benkei. Joy! In the mountain stream.[18]
| Chorus. |
Benkei. I have well drunk. Let me fill your cup.
Togashi. Then I will pledge you. Pray you, dance a measure.
Benkei. At your service.
Chorus. "Song of the water-fall"—
Benkei (singing and dancing). "Song of the water-fall"—
| Chorus. | "Song of the water-fall; Plash plash and babble! Gurgle and drip drop!" Slip not the bow-string Lose not your caution! |
(The barrier guards take their leave; the baggage-bearer hoists his burden on his shoulders.)
The tail of a tiger,
As men who have fingered
The fangs of a viper,
They pass on their journey
To Mutsu, land of snows.
The tone of pessimism that pervades this drama is characteristic of all the Nô composed during the Military epoch, and has been interpreted as proving their priestly authorship. Some learned critics go so far as to assert that the laymen generally credited with having written the Nô were really responsible, not for the text, but only for the music, the dances, and the staging, the text being furnished by Buddhist priests, who employed it as a vehicle for inculcating the instability of life, metempsychosis, the circle of fate, the chain of existences, and other religious doctrines. Certainly the dramas offer internal evidence of the truth of that theory.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 1.
Note 1.—Mr. B. A. Chamberlain, in "Things Japanese," calls it "an innocent, not to say insipid, little jeu de société, such as might suggest itself to a party of school girls." He can find no explanation of the vogue it enjoyed except that Japan was "in her childhood,—her second childhood."
- ↑ See Appendix, note 2.
Note 2.—Vide "The Flowers of Japan and the Art of Floral Arrangement" by Mr. J. Conder, an exhaustive and sympathetic work which clearly sets forth the principles and practice of the art, and from which many of the details here summarised are taken.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 3.
Note 3.—The world of covetousness, the world of concupiscence, and the world without love.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 4.
Note 4.—The full names of the bucolic mime and the monkey mime were respectively Den-gaku-no-Nô and Saru-gaku-no-Nô or the accomplishment of Den-gaku and of Saru-gaku; and since every feature distinctive of the original Den-gaku and Saru-gaku disappeared in the new development of the fourteenth century, it was natural that the names also should be abandoned.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 5.
Note 5.—The descendants of these celebrated Nô dancers and writers called themselves "Kwanze" from generation to generation, a name formed by combining the two first syllables of Kwanami and Seami.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 6.
Note 6.—A celebrated Chinese warrior who saved his sovereign's life by a splendid display of courage. The chorus compares Benkei to Hankai.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 7.
Note 7.—A pilgrim who has made at least three previous pilgrimages, acts as pioneer of each band.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 8.
Note 8.—These four lines are taken bodily from a stanza by the blind poet Semi-maru. They are introduced simply because their celebrity has associated them in the minds of educated people with Osaka in Omi—not the city of Osaka—to which the chorus next refers. Japanese poetry abounds in allusions of this kind, which often defy translation, and can never be appreciated by foreigners. It should be understood that the chorus at this stage describes the journey of the pilgrims, who pace the stage rhythmically meanwhile.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 9.
Note 9.—Another instance of the extreme difficulty of rendering Japanese poetry into English. In the original "Itatori" and "woodman" are connected by a jeu-de-mot which disappears altogether in the translation.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 10.
Note 10.—There is here another play upon words; quite untranslatable.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 11.
Note 11.—Here again the force is lost. "Ata," the first part of the name "Ataka," signifies "enemy," and solely for the sake of qualifying that significance the allusion to flowers attacked by the wind is introduced.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 12.
Note 12.—He is called Hogwan in the original, but for the convenience of English readers the name "Yoshitsune" is here used.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 13.
Note 13.—A celebrated temple.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 14.
Note 14.—The Buddhists regard a and um as the quintessential sounds. The first sound made by the new-born babe is a; the last articulation of the dying, um.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 15.
Note 15.—The God of War, supposed to be the special tutelary deity of the Minamoto family.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 16.
Note 16.—One part of the chorus interprets here the thoughts of Yoshitsune; another part, those of Benkei.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 17.
Note 17.—Yoshitsune owed his misfortunes to slanders whispered in Yoritomo's ear by Kajiwara Kagetoki.
- ↑ See appendix, note 18.
- ↑ See appendix, note 19.
Note 18.—The first line of a couplet.
- ↑ See appendix, note 20.
Note 19.—The last three lines are part of the Buddhist Yennen-mai (life-lengthening dance), which Benkei learned when an acolyte in the Hiyeizan monastery.