Japan: Its History, Arts, and Literature/Volume 3/Chapter 2
Chapter II
REFINEMENTS AND PASTIMES OF
THE MILITARY EPOCH (Continued).
THE Kyôgen, or farces, with which the solemnity of the Nô was relieved, are often very comical, but their humour does not always appeal to foreign readers. A great many were composed during the Military epoch, and it is notable that, like the Nô proper, not one of them contains anything opposed to the canons of propriety. The same cannot be said of early Japanese prose literature, for though the diction is graceful and the style refined, subjects are sometimes introduced that are distinctly indelicate. It must not be supposed, however, that early and medieval Japanese literature was worse in this respect than contemporary European writings. On the whole, it was better. Still freedom from the taint of immorality cannot be claimed for it; whereas in the realms of farce and of the drama a very strict rule seems to have been prescribed and observed. The experience of other nations would lead us to expect that in this branch of literature above all others realism would sometimes degenerate into immodesty and humour into obscenity. But such is not the case in Japanese dramas or farces. The former deal solely with the higher sentiments, seeking their subjects among instances of signal bravery, heroic devotion, loyal piety, and pitiful misfortunes; the latter take their material from the every-day life of the people, but avoid all its erotic and indecorous aspects. This remark applies only to Nô and Nô-Kyôgen, not to the farces and comedies represented on the boards of the theatre in later times. Concerning these latter no such favourable verdict can be passed. But the vulgar theatre and the aristocratic Nô and Nô-Kyôgen remained always distinct. The theatre, indeed, in the ordinary sense of the term, had not come into existence in the age now under consideration: it was a creation of subsequent eras, as will presently be shown. Common folks in the Military epoch had no opportunity of witnessing a histrionic performance unless a drama of the Nô type was put upon one of the religious stages for purposes of charity, and even then a certain measure of selection was applied to the audience. The drama (Nô) and its associated farce (Kyôgen) were essentially a pastime of the upper classes, and to that reason, perhaps, is to be chiefly attributed their authors' obedience to the rules of pudicity. The plots were never complicated. A skinflint leaves his servants in charge of a jar of sugar, telling them that it is poison. They eat it in his absence, and then prepare an excuse by destroying some of his choicest possessions, in order to be able to tell him, on his return, that remorse for their carelessness induced them to attempt suicide by poison. Three men set out on a pilgrimage, agreeing that under no circumstances will they quarrel during their travels. Two of them shave the head of the third during his sleep, and when he awakes and finds what has happened, he forgets his promise, loses his temper, and turns his face homeward. But en route he conceives a scheme of retribution; goes to the wives of his two friends; tells them that their husbands have been drowned in crossing a ford, and that he has shaved his head and become a monk in order to pray for the repose of their souls; induces the women also to shave their heads and become nuns; carries away the hair, and shows it to the two travellers as proof of the deaths of their wives, and thus persuades them also to shave their heads and abandon the world. From such simple materials were these farces constructed, and though the costumes were prepared with the greatest fidelity, and the acting reached a high standard, no attempt was made to adapt the scenery to the incident, nor was the audience expected to look for realistic effects outside the speech, mien, and actions of the performers. The following is a typical Kyôgen:—
The Three Cripples
A farce of the fifteenth century
(Enter Householder.)
(Enter Blindman.)
Blindman. I'm a gambler of this neighbourhood. I've had a terrible run of bad luck lately and lost all my money. Even my household furniture has gone. I don't see any way to get a living, but I hear that a placard has been put up promising that infirm folks shall be supported. I haven't any natural infirmity, but as people are wont to say that the scabbards have slipped off my eyes, my sight is so sharp, I'm going to make a radical change and be blind for a time. I've got myself up for the purpose. Now to hurry to the place. (En route.) Well! Well! It would have been better if I'd stopped when every one warned me; but I kept thinking, I'll get even this time, I'll win back this time, and so I've come to a pretty plight! Hulloa! Here's the place. Now to be a blindman. Within there! Within there! (calling at the gate.)
Householder. Somebody outside. Who's there?
Blindman. Beg pardon. I'm a blindman come on account of the placard posted up.
Householder. What do you say? A blindman come on account of the placard? I'll support you, by all means. Come in.
Blindman. Thank you, Sir. With your permission. (Goes inside, and the door is closed.)
(Enter Cripple.)
Cripple. I'm a famous gentleman at large belonging to this neighbourhood. Keeping company with those "boys" and playing games with them, I've lost all my money and my house and property into the bargain. I don't see my way to get a living, but I hear that a rich fellow over there has put up a placard promising that infirm folks shall be supported. I haven't any natural infirmity, but as I'm particularly strong in the legs, I'm going to make a radical change and be a cripple for the time. Now to hurry to the place. (En route) Well! Well! What an idiot I've been! I found it so amusing, so amusing; and now I've come to this! But repentance is of no use. Well, here I am! Now to be a regular cripple. Within there! Within there! (calling at the gate.)
Householder. Somebody outside. Who's there?
Cripple. It's I; a cripple come on account of the placard posted up.
Householder. What's that? A cripple come on account of the placard? Why, you are quite young. How sad! I'll support you, by all means. Come in.
Cripple. Thank you, Sir. With your permission. (Goes in, and the door is closed.)
(Enter a Mute.)
Mute. I'm a well-known gambler of this neighbourhood. Keeping company with idle fellows of late and playing games, I've had a terrible run of bad luck, and lost not only all my money but even my wife's clothes into the bargain. I don't see any way of supporting myself, but I hear that a rich fellow over there has put up a placard promising that infirm folks shall be supported. It's true I haven't any natural infirmity, but as people are in the habit of saying that my tongue is particularly sharp, I'm going to make a radical change and be a mute for a time. I've come provided with the implements. Now to hurry to the place. This is truly a case of the old saying, "Heaven doesn't leave people to die." I've only to go over there and I shall get food. Hulloa! Here's the place. Now to be a mute. Mutes carry two bits of bamboo like these and strike them together thus—Wa-a-a! Wa-a-a!
Householder. Hulloa! There's a strange noise outside. What can it be! Who's there?
Mute. Wa-a-a!
Householder. A mute, eh?
Mute. Wa-a-a!
Householder. I'll support you. But haven't you any accomplishment?
Mute (striking the attitude of an archer). Wa-a-a!
Householder. You can shoot with a bow, can you?
Mute. Wa-a-a!
Householder. Any other accomplishment?
Mute (striking a spearman's attitude). Wa-a-a!
Householder. You can use a spear, can you? Why, you 're a very serviceable fellow. I'll give you plenty to eat.
Mute. Oh, thank—(Remembers that he is a mute covers his mouth, and begins to move away.)
Householder. What's this? A mute speaking! However, the proverb says " The speech of a mute is an earnest of good fortune." I think I'll support him. Hi! Hi! I'll support you. Come in here.
Mute. Wa-a-a!
Householder. Put yourself there.
Mute. Wa-a-a!
Householder (soliloquising). Come, come! I've quite a number of infirm people to support, I'd better allot to each of them his task, as I am going to be absent for a time. Hulloa, blindman!
Blindman. What is it, Sir?
Householder, I'm going away for three or four days, and I shall put you in charge of the storeroom where the Chinese furniture is. Look well after it in my absence.
Blindman. Certainly, Sir, Pray do not be uneasy. I trust you will soon return.
Householder. Good! Hulloa, hulloa, cripple! I'm going away for three or four days, and I shall put you in charge of the money room. Look well after it in my absence.
Cripple. Certainly, Sir. I trust you will soon return.
Householder. Good! Hulloa, hulloa there!
Mute. Wa-a-a!
Householder. I'm going away for four or five days. Look after things well in my absence. I put you in charge of the cellar.
Mute. Wa-a-a.
Householder. Good-bye, all of you, then. I shall soon be back. [Exit.Blindman. Well, well! It's very inconvenient keeping one's eyes shut, I'll just open mine for a little.
Cripple. Come, come! One's feet feel quite queer doubled up like this. I'll just stretch out mine a little.
(The Blindman and the Cripple recognise each other.)
Blindman. Hulloa! It's you, is it? Well, well, well! I suppose the bad luck you've had lately sent you here?
Cripple. Precisely. Just so. But there's a fellow there with a queer voice. Let's go and have a look at him. Blindman. Come along. (They see the Mute.)
Blindman. What's this? Who's that fellow? Let's give him a start. (Both together) Hulloa! Hulloa!
Mute. Wa-a-a!
Blindman and Cripple (both laughing). Well! This is funny!
Mute. Oh, it's you fellows, is it? No doubt the bad luck you've had lately sent you here?
Cripple. Precisely. Just so.
Mute. And what did you come as?
Cripple. He came as a blindman and I as a cripple. And what are you?"
Mute. Well, you see, as folks say that I've a particularly glib tongue, I went in for a change and became a mute.
Blindman. Yes, indeed. You were a regular mute just now.
Mute. Our host has gone away for four or five days. Didn't he put you in charge of anything?
Cripple. Certainly we are in charge. The Blindman has the Chinese room, and I have the strong-room.
Mute. Oh, ho! Those are very nice things!
Blindman. And you, are you in charge of anything?
Mute. I am looking after the cellar.
Blindman and Cripple (both). That's better still.
Mute. I'll tell you my idea. Let's first open the cellar that I am in charge of, and have a drink. Then we'll open the strong-room and play a few games; and then we'll open the Chinese room and clear out with its contents.
Blindman and Cripple (together). That'll be first-rate.
Mute. Come along then, come along. I'll open the cellar. Here we are. Here we are. Here's the door. (Zara zara, sound of door opening.) Dear me, what a lot of jars! Which shall we go for ? I'll take the lid off this. It looks like capital sake (rice-wine). I'll pour out for you. Drink away! Drink away!
The Other Two. Pour out. Now then! Ha, ha! capital wine. Have a drink yourself, mute.
Mute. Come, shall I give you a song?
The Other Two. Good, good!
The Three (together). Zaranza, zaranza (sounds made to accompany a song).
Blindman. Then I'll do the pouring out.
Mute. Full enough! Full enough! Have a drink, Blindman. (Sings.)
Spring again; buds and basking;
Kyomizu, Kyomizu!
Ask and get, all's for asking;
Love among the leaves.
(All sing together.)
Mute. Ha, ha! A fine song, isn't it? The bottle's with me. Fill up. Now, Blindman, give us a little dance.
Blindman. Anything for sport! Shall I dance?
The Other Two. Good, good!
Blindman. Sing, then.
The Other Two. We're with you.
Blindman (sings).
Down the hill a friar slim.
At his waist a conch-shell.
See his hands the beads tell!
Shall I ask across the fence?
Whither, friar, and from whence,
Prythee, priest so prim?
The Other Two. Fine! Zaranza, zaranza!
Mute. Another drink. Come, Cripple, can't you dance a step? Cripple. Shall I do a dance?
The Other Two. Good! Good!
Cripple (sings and dances).
Sweet boy, hey and ho!
Little drummer boy!
Rap a tap, smiles and joy;
Tap a rap, soft and coy;
Chichi ta-popo!
Does it speak, is it dumb,
Little boy and drum?
The Other Two. Fine! Fine! Come along; each in turn. Now, Mute, a dance.
Mute. Away I go! (Sings and dances.)
The joiner's daughter wears a gown,
A gown that put men's hearts to proof.
Planes and chisels run adown
Her shapely shoulders; at her waist
Adze and mallet deftly traced,
With cunning trick of warp and woof.
Aye, but see you, saw and file
Enter not this maiden's style.
Line and rule she doth disdain.
Round her skirt's edge shavings curl;
Blows the spring breeze, puff and whirl!
Love, the time to part is here;
Waits the swift ship at the pier.
Maiden, will he come again?
The Householder is seen approaching.)
Householder. The infirm folks are looking after things in my absence, but somehow I feel uneasy. I'll get home quickly. (Getting near.) What can this mean? Sounds of a revel! (Enters in the midst of the singing and dancing.) Here! Hulloa! The blindman's eyes are open! The cripple's jumping around! The mute's singing! Oh, you rascals! Oh, you robbers! Hi! Hi!
The Three Men. Ugh! He's back. What shall we do! (The Mute shuts his eyes tightly and cries for pardon; the Cripple springs up and throws himself on his knees, mumbling, "Wa-a-a!" the Blindman begins to crawl around.)
Householder (to Cripple). You were a cripple and now you're a mute. Robber! Villain! I sha'n't let you off.
Cripple. Oh, forgive me. Sir! There! I'm a cripple again!
Householder (to Mute). You were a mute and now you're a chattering blindman?
Mute. Wa-a-a!
Householder. At it again, are you? Thief! I'll give it to you (beating him).
Mute. Oh! Ah! Let us off, let us off!
Householder. I sha'n't! I sha'n't![1]
The old pastime of competitive verse-making continued to be practised in this era, but owing in part to the comparative illiteracy of the military men, who now formed a prominent element of society, and in part to the general decay of classical learning, the quality of a composition ceased to be of prime importance, and people preferred to amuse themselves capping verses. One person gave an opening line, a competition then followed as to who should first discover a suitable sequel. The "linked poems" (renka) thus produced had little literary merit, and were sometimes carried to extravagant length, as many as a hundred lines being chained together by the flimsiest links. In this matter also the love of elaboration and the tendency to formalism that have been noted already in connection with other refined pursuits, asserted themselves. Minute formulæ were laid down for the guidance of composers and for testing excellence; styles were divided into "subjective" and "objective," and some professors of the art went so far as to allege a knowledge of "mysteries " invisible to ordinary folks. The Emperor Go-tsuchi-mikado (1465-1499) received the name of "beneath the blossom in recognition of his skill as a composer of renka, and many names of "masters have been handed down to posterity. This was certainly the most frivolous of Japan's literary pursuits. In reading its products the student is constantly obliged to recall the impressionist proclivity of Japanese art, whether pictorial or poetical; its delight in expressing ideas by a few strong strokes of the brush or a few cleverly compacted ideographs.
He that fame would find,
Must not balance life to lose.
So the bowman's way
Leads him ever face to foe.
Note of cuckoo heard
From the nest of nightingale.
Green plum peeping out
From the midst of April's bloom.
Soft eularia and
Rushes in green company.
While the convives sat searching for an apt couplet, a letter was handed to Miyoshi. He read it, and after a moment's thought composed these lines,———
Shallow grows the swamp
Changing slowly to a field.
The couplet having been received with acclaim, Miyoshi said quietly: "This letter brings me news that my troops have been defeated and that my brother Saneyoshi was killed in the fight. Our verse, then, is the last gift I shall receive in my lifetime." Thereupon he went out and fell in battle.
In the Military epoch there was constant display of a satirical habit of mind, which has always marked the Japanese people, and is at least as strong to-day as it ever was. The Chinese language, and the Japanese in a lesser degree, lend themselves readily to a species of irony which owes its force almost entirely to plays upon words. This fatal facility has certainly tended to produce shallowness of thought by tempting men to substitute mere puns for wit and humour, though it is an extravagance to say, as some have said, that both of these latter qualities are wanting in the mental equipment of the Japanese. Wit is rarely found among any people, wherever it be sought, but it is not rarer in Japan than in Occidental countries, and humour abounds. What is spoken of here, however, is ironical levity which brings all subjects, grave or gay, terrible or trivial, within legitimate range of a jeu-de-mot. Thus, when, in the middle of the tenth century, the arch traitor Masakado was killed and his head exposed in Kyōtō, one of the Fujiwara nobles composed a couplet owing its attraction solely to the facts that Masakado had been struck down by a blow on the "temple" (kome-kami), which is a homonym for "rice eating," and that his conqueror was Tawara Tôda, whose first name is synonymous with "rice bag." It is comprehensible that such trivialities should provoke a smile, but this punning couplet actually became a popular song so well did it fit the fancy of the time. Frequently such effusions were anonymous: their authors wrote them in a disguised hand and posted them in some public place. Thus, when a certain Saito Dôsan of Mino in the province of Owari killed his liege lords, one of whom had married his daughter, and appropriated their estates, he found a couplet placarded throughout his camp:—
One's liege lord to slay,
One's son-in-law to slaughter,
Seems to be the vogue
In Mino of Owari.
"Mi-no-owari" has also the significance of fate," or "the end of all things," and in this punning allusion is to be found the whole point of the verse.
It may almost be said that in the absence of a newspaper press public opinion found in the composition of anonymous verselets a vehicle for expressing itself. They did not all derive their interest solely from jeu-de-mots. Many were political criticisms undisfigured by any such verbal devices,—political, that is to say, in the sense attaching to the term among men who gave no thought to such matters as popular representation, forms of government or party platforms, since they had only one orthodox, though often violated, code of action, fealty to a liege lord; only one ideal of success, the assertion of military prowess, and only one object of pursuit, the assertion of family interests.
When Kiyomori created a social panic by removing the capital from Kyōtō, with all its classical associations and sensuous delights, to the bleak, uninteresting, and vulgarly new Fukuhara, an indignant critic set up by the wayside a plac-ard predicting that fate had evil things in store for a family so infatuated as "to abandon the city of flowers in full bloom and go forth into the bleak wilderness; and when the Taira leader, Koremori, returned with an army which had failed to effect anything against the rival house of Minamoto, a writing was found next morning on the gate of his stronghold declaring that he was rushing to his ruin as swiftly as the current of Fuji River leaped towards the sea. Displays of cowardice, departures from the "path of the soldier," or acts of disloyalty, seldom failed to evoke satirical censure of this nature, and a cleverly turned couplet was as potent to invoke public ridicule or execration as is a leading article in a modern newspaper.
It will be observed that the middle and lower orders have not been spoken of in connection with the pursuits and pastimes here described. But they were not wholly excluded. They had their tea ceremonials, their incense parties, their dancing, their landscape gardening, and above all, their gambling, fashioned after aristocratic models, though on a greatly reduced scale. They had also their religious festivals and their fêtes, which will be spoken of independently. It was always characteristic of the Japanese that the fashions of the "upper ten" found imitators on the lowest planes of society. This is especially true in the matter of dancing. From the sixteenth century it became the custom to organise general 
Ceremony on the Arrival and Departure of a Guest.
Wrestling was a favourite exercise of the Japanese samurai from the earliest time. When first heard of historically, two decades before the commencement of the Christian era, it presents itself simply as the art of applying one's strength to the best advantage for the destruction of an enemy. There were no rules, no restrictions, no vetoes; only devices. Kicking, striking, gripping anywhere and anyhow; attacking the most vital parts of the body—all were permissible. A man sought only to kill his adversary, and if, after throwing him, he could break bones or ribs by stamping, or kicking, or pounding with the knees, success was complete. The earliest historical wrestler served his opponent in that manner. One of the Emperor Suinin's (B.C. 29–70 A.D.) Palace guards, Tayema no Kehaya, or Tayema the quick-kicker," had such thews that no one could stand against him, and his truculent, quarrelsome disposition made him universally hated. It is characteristic of the methods of early Japanese sovereigns, that, although this man was an object of dread to all the courtiers, and although his daily deeds of violence made him a general terror, no way of getting rid of him presented itself except to seek some one who might overmatch him. The custom of that time was to summon the strongest men in the country to be the sovereign's guards. Tayema had been one of such a levy. A second summons subsequently brought a batch of recruits, among whom was Nomi no Sukune. He challenged Tayema. The encounter took place in the presence of the Emperor and the Court nobles, and Nomi threw Tayema and kicked him to death. It is thus evident that there were authorised displays of wrestling in those days, but nothing is known as to the science of the practice, and its ferocious nature cannot have recommended it to a nation which has never shown a love for sports so deadly as those formerly popular among the Romans and the Spaniards. Nomi no Sukune is said to have modified the art, reduced its methods to a recognised system, and deprived it of its deadly character. Such action would have been consistent with his traditional conduct in other matters, but the annals of Japan are doubtful evidence when they deal with incidents twenty centuries old. Curiously enough, wrestling is next heard of under the patronage of a lady, the Empress Kōgyoku. She assembled the strong men among her subjects and made them wrestle for the entertainment of Korean envoys. Apparently the art had then become a pastime robbed of its brutal features; an inference which is finally confirmed by the records of the Emperor Shomu (724–728). This is the same sovereign who erected the celebrated Dai-Butsu of Nara and showed extraordinary zeal for the promotion of Buddhism. It is easy to conceive that the kind of wrestling approved by him was not likely to be a murderous combat. He included it among the regular sports of the harvest-thanksgiving in the month of August, and thenceforth the "wrestler's fête" (sumo-no-sechiye) is classed in the same category with the "Boys' Celebration," or the "Lantern Festival." Shomu's idea was to promote muscle-developing exercises. He invited strong men from all parts of the Empire, and the Court nobles matched the rivals, compiling lists of the pairs just as is done to-day. Thus from a deadly struggle the practice was transformed into a harmless trial of strength and skill. Its fortunes thenceforward reflected the course of politics. During the sway of the effeminate Fujiwara, it dropped almost completely out of vogue, to be revived by the warlike Emperor Gotoba (1186–1198), and again discarded after his death, when for three and a half centuries the Imperial city eschewed it, and the military men throughout the provinces took it up, treating it as one of the exercises that a soldier should practise. Thereafter it was classed with the dances and mimetic dramas performed at shrines and temples in honour of the deities and to attract monetary contributions, and Kanjin-zumo, or wrestling displays for charitable purposes, became one of the regular performances of the time. The professional wrestler made his appearance at this stage, and the yose-zumo, or "collection of wrestlers," is for the first time mentioned. By yose-zumo, as then practised, is to be understood a kind of wrestling in which a champion set up a booth and challenged all comers, meeting them one after another until he was ousted from the championship or confirmed in it. Such a method suited the mood of the Military epoch, and was so zealously patronised by the great captains, Oda Nobunaga and Hideyoshi (the Taikō), that the samurai of the sixteenth century paid almost as much attention to wrestling as to archery or swordsmanship. Under the Tokugawa Regents, who had their court in Yedo, the sport was not less popular. In the year 1630 an athlete, Akashi Shiganosuke, opened lists at Yotsu-ya in that city, and for six days held his own against the strongest men of the time. Shiganosuke is as famous in Japan to-day as though he had been an illustrious scholar or a great legislator. But some fierce quarrels broke out among the samurai who attended his yose,[2] and the Tokugawa Government, always drastic in its methods, interdicted the practice of the art altogether. This veto held for thirty-seven years, when once again wrestling was revived in its mediæval form of Kanjin-zumo, that is to say, a charitable performance at religious festivals. Since then it has held a firm place in popular favour, and the profession now attracts scores of men who find in it a profitable and honourable pursuit.
That is the history of the art in outline, but greater interest attaches to its methods. These appear to have been elaborated with considerable care during the reign of Shomu (724-728), and many features of the system then established remain without change to the present time. The champion of Shomu's reign was Seirin, commonly called "Shiga Seirin," because he came from Shiga on the borders of Lake Biwa. He is said to have been invincible, and the title of Hote-yaku (expert) was conferred on him, the next in point of skill being distinguished as Hote-waki (assistant expert), or simply Suke-te (assistant). All the others were called Riki-shi (athlete) or Sumo-bito (wrestler). They were not "commoners" (heimin): they all belonged to the military class. In further recognition of Seirin's prowess, his province, Omi, was regarded as the centre of strength and taken as a basis of division, the other athletes being distinguished as "Eastern" or "Western" according to the position of their birthplaces with regard to Omi. Hence arose the Eastern and Western camps into which wrestlers are to-day divided. In Seirin's time the men of the East wore a hollyhock flower in the hair for distinguishing badge, and the men of the West employed a convolvulus in the same way. Thus it came about that the term "flower path" (hana-michi) was applied to the place where these athletes made their entries and exits; a term subsequently used to designate the approach to all stages for mimetic dances or dramatic performances. The holding of the ring against all comers was not the only form of contest in that era. The men of the East were regularly paired against the men of the West, match lists being compiled, and the office of umpire (giyoji) being conferred on Seirin and his descendants for all time. Seirin's family discharged the function, often only nominal, for fourteen generations, until the year 1183, when, the last representative dying childless, the Emperor Gotoba (1190) conferred the post on Yoshida Iyenaga, a squire of the celebrated Minamoto chieftain, Kiso Yoshinaka. Yoshida's family thenceforth became the Tsukasa-ke (directing house) of all wrestlers in the Empire, its representative in each generation taking the name "Oikade" (conferred on Yoshida by the sovereign), and holding the second grade of the fifth official rank, which is the rank of a prefectural governor in modern times. The Emperor also gave to Yoshida a "war fan" having inscribed on it the legend ichimi-seifu ("one taste pure wind," signifying that there is only one perfect style of wrestling), and to this day the umpire, still a representative of the Yoshida family, may be seen carrying the sacred fan as he steps into the ring. With the Tsukasa-ke rests the sole right of conferring upon the great champion of the era, the man who has remained undefeated for six years consecutively, the badge of premiership, a girdle formed of two thick strands of white straw, finely plaited, with tapering ends and short streamers suspended from it—a facsimile, in short, of the rope festooned over the lintels of houses at New Year's time. It is not known when the badge of supremacy took this form, but the wrestlers' records show that there have been only seventeen premier champions since history began to be written. The holder of the coveted distinction at present is Oozutsu Manyemon, who has achieved the unparalleled feat of conquering all comers for nine consecutive years. It is the champion's privilege to perform a solitary pantomime in the ring at intervals during the period—ten days—of a performance. This dohyo-iri, as it is called, is a stately and ceremonious business. First stalks in a "dew-remover" (tsuyu-harai), carrying a bow. Tsuyu-harai is the name given to the vassal marching in advance of a nobleman to clear away every obstruction, even dew-drops; and the bow commemorates the fact that Oda Nobunaga conferred that weapon upon Miai Ganyemon, who worsted all opponents on the occasion (1570 A. D.) of a great wrestling-match organised by Nobunaga's order at Joraku-ji in Omi. After the champion an attendant enters bearing a sword, in token of the fact that Tokugawa Iyeyasu honoured the strongest wrestler of his era by a gift of a sword, the highest distinction that can be conferred even on a soldier. The champion wears a magnificently embroidered silk apron, above which the yoko-zuna (silk belt) is knotted. Having solemnly thrown his limbs into certain ordered postures, he takes the bow and describes some picturesque but meaningless curves with it. The old-fashioned title of Hote-yaku is no longer employed. The premier champion is called Yoko-zuna; the two champions of the East and West are known as O-zeki; the assistant champions are termed Seki-waki, and the second assistant champions have the curious and unexplained name of Komusubi (little knot). The O-zeki, like the Yoko-zuna, are privileged to enter the ring and posture before the audience, but in their case it is a divided glory, for they make their entrée together.
The Japanese wrestler is generally a man of fine stature and grand muscular development. His proportions differ so greatly from those of the generality of his countrymen, that by some observers he has been supposed to belong to a distinct race. But there is no basis for such a theory. Among the rural and sea-coast population of Japan men of splendid physique are to be found. The wrestler is one of these. There is no mystery about his origin. A country lad gifted with conspicuously fine thews conceives the ambition of becoming a wrestler, and makes application to one of the old masters, who takes him as a pupil, supporting him during his period of training, which is long and arduous. At last, if he shows sufficient aptitude, his name is placed on the roll of wrestlers, and he makes his début in the ring at the Yeko-in in Tokyo. The Yeko-in is a temple where were buried, in 1657, the charred and unidentifiable remains of an immense multitude of people—tradition says over a hundred thousand—who perished in one of the stupendous conflagrations by which that city has been periodically visited. Funds to procure the performance of Buddhist rites for the souls of these unfortunates were collected, according to mediæval custom, by performances of dances, mimes, and wrestling, and from that time the place became the wrestlers' metropolitan circus. Twice every year, in January and in May, tournaments are held there. They continue for ten days, and by their results the rank of each athlete is determined until the ensuing tournay. It is a common supposition among foreigners that the issue of a match is often arranged beforehand, and that the combatants merely simulate com-petition. That is never the case at the Yeko-in, though it may possibly happen at performances in the provinces. The wrestler cannot afford to trifle with his duties at the Yeko-in. He enters the arena once every second day, or five times altogether during a tournay. On his first appearance he becomes entitled to a daily salary the equivalent of two shillings, and if he loses more than one out of his five bouts, he cannot look for an increase of emoluments. Four victories and one defeat, or three victories and two draws, entitle him to an additional sixpence, and five victories raise his stipend to three shillings. Thus working his way gradually upward, he reaches the coveted figure of twenty shillings (10 yen), obtains a place (seki) among the names printed in capitals on the roll, and is called a Seki-tori (placeholder), or, less aristocratically, a juryo-dori (ten-yen-receiver). Seventy shillings is the limit of his regular earnings at one tournay, and whatever his stipend, he never fails to hand over a liberal portion to his teacher. But this sum, which is paid by the lessee, represents only a fraction of the successful wrestler's earnings. His progress is keenly watched by numerous enthusiasts among the audience, and often when he spreads his victorious arms in the ring, the cheering onlookers doff their mantles or surcoats and fling them at his feet, redeeming them afterwards for substantial sums. Besides, in the intervals between the Yeko-in tournays, the wrestlers travel from place to place in the great cities and in the provinces, and the portion of their earnings that falls to their share in connection with these performances is a matter of arrangement with the lessee. The latter also furnishes them with food and drink—meat and sake (rice-beer)—in unlimited quantities. They observe no regimen in their diet, for obesity, so long as it does not interfere with their muscular efficiency, is an advantage; the greater their weight, the greater being their inertia, which, as will presently be understood, is a gain to Japanese wrestlers, though the vast accumulations of adipose tissue that some of them display seem at once repulsive and unworkmanlike to Occidental eyes. There is a strictly observed system of etiquette with regard to the manner of serving their meals, but it has no special interest except as the only etiquette with which their lives conform. For the continence and self-restraint elsewhere considered essential to the development of a high type of muscular energy are not observed with any strictness by these Japanese athletes. Many a career of high promise is wrecked on its threshold by sensual excess.
To adhere strictly to a chronological system in tracing the developments of every Japanese custom, would sometimes necessitate fragmentary and bewildering treatment. Wrestling is one of the subjects that does not lend itself to such division. The important position it occupied as a part of every samurai's training during the Military epoch entitles it to a place here, whereas its practice as a professional art belongs more properly to a later era. For obvious reasons, however, to say now at once what has to be said about it will be convenient, and as it is one of the Japanese institutions that specially attract the attention of foreigners visiting the Far East, no apology is needed for speaking of it with some minuteness.
In truth, the science of wrestling as seen in Japan must be classed as one of the things that are essentially Japanese. Its exact counterpart is not to be found in any other country. The wrestlers at the Olympic Games, in the Circus, in Nineveh and in Egypt, stood facing each other from the first, and while they resorted to various tactics of pulling, pushing, twisting the body, interlocking the limbs, and even hitting, their ultimate aim was to obtain the mastery over one another's legs and thus secure a fall. But in the Japanese science of wrestling, as practised since the eighth century, the fall is always a subordinate incident, the principal object being to force the adversary out of a circular ring fifteen feet in diameter. As in Greece and Rome, so also in Japan, the wrestler is almost completely naked, wearing nothing but a loincloth and a girdle. The combatants are required to begin by squatting opposite to each other in the centre of the ring, and the umpire stands close by, his prime duty being to see that at the moment when they spring upright to commence the play, neither has the slightest advantage in priority of rising or in difference of inhalation. Sometimes this prefatory performance occupies several minutes, for when the men are well matched and highly skilled, they attach importance to points of the most trifling nature, quite imperceptible to ordinary observers. At last, rising erect on terms of absolute equality, and receiving the signal from the umpire, they begin to fence for grips, or to make thrusting motions with the hands, or even to butt with the head. In this part of the contest the onlooker might conclude that there were no limitations whatever. The arms, the legs, the girdle, the neck, the throat,—in short, every part of an adversary's body may be seized, and it is even lawful to slap the face with the open hand, though such a manœuvre seldom commends itself on account of the dangerous opportunity it offers to a nimble adversary. Kicking alone is seen to be strictly forbidden. But this absence of restraining rule is only apparent. Every grip or thrust has to be strictly conformed to what is called the "direct" principle; that is to say, a combatant must not divide his force and apply it in opposite directions so as to produce what are mathematically termed "moments." For example, to deliver a downward thrust on an opponent's arm while forcing his wrist upward, or to bend his fingers back while pulling his fore-arm forward, is foul play, and any wrestler resorting to such tricks would be at once expelled from the ring and forbidden to practise his profession.[3] At the same time, although the prime aim is to thrust an adversary from the ring, a throw also counts decisively; not a throw with complicated conditions, as in the French or Cornish style, but a fall constituted by touching the ground with any part of the body except the soles of the feet. To drop on one knee, or even to lay a finger on the sand of the arena, amounts to defeat. The skilled expert, however, never deliberately tries for a throw. His body bent slightly forward, his legs firmly braced, he carefully parries his opponent's attempts to get a favourable hold, and, on his own part, avoids with equal care any undue impetuosity of attack or extreme muscular effort such as might impair his power of resilience. It follows from the purpose to be achieved that the acme of skill consists in exerting a maximum of force with a minimum disturbance of position, just as a master of the rapier confines the area of his lunges and parries to a circle of minute radius. Hence the finest displays of Japanese wrestling seem less interesting to an uninitiated observer than the comparatively brisk and violent struggles of amateur combatants. Further, it is the umpire's care to interpose before the point of exhaustion has been reached, and, after an interval of rest, to replace the men in exactly the same grips they had before the interruption, the idea of these pauses being to prevent any unscientific exercise of brute force. If the course of the contest satisfies the umpire that neither man is likely to gain an advantage over the other, he declares the bout "divided" (hiki-wake), and if there occurs a perplexity which the elders of the ring cannot agree to solve, the umpire says "we take chare" (o-azukari), and again the struggle is drawn. Absolute good temper prevails. The wrestler is generally an uneducated man of low origin, but roughness and violence are foreign to his disposition, and he possesses the Japanese characteristic of being able to accept his reverses or welcome his successes with unfailing equanimity.
The whole science of wrestling is supposed to be comprised in forty-eight devices,"—forty-eight hands,” as they are called,—namely, twelve thrusts, twelve grasps, twelve twists, and twelve under-grips, each having a distinctive name,—another example of the extraordinary elaboration to which every art and every pastime is carried in Japan. It is a commonly entertained belief that these have never been changed since they were reduced to rule in the eighth century. But that is a fallacy. Various celebrities in successive ages added methods of their own, and a thorough master of the craft in the present era must be acquainted with about one hundred and fifty or one hundred and sixty "hands." Thus, during the Military epoch, when wrestling had a place scarcely second to archery and fencing in a soldier's training, great captains like Hatake-yama, Kawazu-no-Saburo, and Moritano-no-Goro, were as famous for wrestling as for the leadership of soldiers, and the forty-eight "hands" received various additions from them.
Wrestling in Japan has its esoterics. They are founded on the Chinese philosophy of the Ch'i. The easiest way to explain this is to describe the arena. There is a circular ring covered with sand, its circumference formed by sixteen bags of sand laid end to end. Entrances are made on the east and west by removing two of these bags; over the ring a roof is supported on four equidistant pillars, and under the eaves of the roof there is suspended a narrow curtain, which used formerly to be of black cloth with a conventional wave pattern, but is now purple. These things are all allegorical. The ring represents the primordial circle, chaos. The entrances, forming the ideograph "two," represent the primæval forces (the Yin and the Yang) from whose interactions all things were evolved. The four pillars represent the four seasons—that on the east, draped in blue, is spring; that on the west, draped in white, autumn; that on the south, draped in red, summer; and that on the north, draped in black, winter. The sixteen sand-bags represent two groups of the Eight Diagrams,[4] and the black eaves-curtain with its design of white waves represents the passion-calming element. At the base of each pillar sits an expert, whom age has compelled to retire from the arena, and who has acted as teacher to the men in the ring. Near him is placed a vessel of water with a wine-cup beside it, and wrestlers, before a contest, take a draught of this water, in deference to the old custom of warriors on the eve of a perilous undertaking who exchanged a "water-cup" (mizu-sakazuki) in token of farewell that might be for ever. The relations of the wrestlers to their teacher are the poetical phase of their career. They still regulate their treatment of him by the ancient formula of reverence, that to tread even within three feet of his shadow is disrespectful. Altogether the Japanese wrestler has no counterpart elsewhere. The nature of his profession is not reflected in his daily life; though uneducated, he knows how to conduct himself with propriety in the high society to which his patrons often introduce him; he has a fine moral code of his own which holds him in the path of honest manliness, and the crime of abusing his strength is almost unrecorded against him.
It has already been noted that the Japanese swordsman practised an art called by various names at different epochs or by different schools, but having for its fundamental principle the substitution of subtlety for strength. This method of parrying or delivering an attack has now begun to attract attention in Europe, and is enthusiastically studied in Japan under the name of ju-jutsu or ju-dō, a term of which the nearest English equivalent is the "art of pliancy." Ju-jutsu does not appear to have been familiar to the Japanese in ancient eras. At any rate, they were not acquainted with it in the elaborate form that it assumed during the seventeenth century. According to the view of some historians, its methods were first taught by a Chinese immigrant at that time. But nothing of the kind has ever been known to exist in China. The probability, if not the certainty, is that what ju-jutsu received from China was merely some new plans for disabling an adversary by striking or kicking; and that, since this happened at a time when the art had passed out of vogue, its professors tried to bring about a renaissance by magnifying the value of the Chinese innovations. In point of fact, such innovations were discordant with the true spirit of the system, which aimed, not at breaking down force by force, nor yet at initiating assaults, but at utilising an enemy's strength for his own destruction, and at rendering his attacks suicidal. It may be supposed, on superficial reflection, that to set up a distinction between such an art and wrestling is pedantic. In a sense that is true. If by "wrestling" is understood every possible device for overthrowing an opponent, then ju-jutsu is wrestling. But it is not Japanese wrestling. In the first place, Japanese wrestling absolutely forbids every dangerous resolution of force into components acting in opposite directions, whereas ju-jutsu puts such resolution in the forefront of its methods. In the second place, Japanese wrestling has for its object the development of strength in excess of that of an adversary, whereas ju-jutsu seeks primarily to divert an adversary's force into directions fatal to his own equilibrium. So essential is the difference between the two arts that while success in wrestling depends theoretically on preponderance of force on the side of the victor, success in ju-jutsu is promoted by preponderance of force on the side of the vanquished. A skilled wrestler of great thews fares worse than a feeble tyro at the hands of a ju-jutsu expert. The science starts from the mathematical principle that the stability of a body is destroyed so soon as the vertical line passing through its centre of gravity falls outside its base. To achieve disturbance of equilibrium in accordance with that principle, the ju-jutsu player may throw himself on the ground by way of preliminary to throwing his opponent, a sequence of proceedings that would, of course, be suicidal in wrestling. In fact, to know how to fall is as essential a part of his science as to know how to throw. Checking, disabling by blows delivered in special parts of the body, paralysing an opponent's limb by applying a "breaking moment" to it,—all these are branches of the science, but it has its root in making an enemy undo himself by his own strength. These principles may be seen strikingly illustrated in any of the schools in Tōkyō, where weak striplings not yet out of their teens easily gain the mastery over stalwart men. On the abolition of feudalism after the Restoration in 1867, ju-jutsu shared the decadence that befell everything patronised by the samurai of early eras. But it was subsequently revived by Professor K. Kano, an eminent educationist, and it is now taught gratuitously in two large institutions organised by him in Tōkyō, as well as at many of the chief seats of learning throughout the Empire. Every police-constable is required to go through a course, and the result of his instruction is that he can generally master the strongest malefactor without difficulty. Evidently to explain such a system in writing would require a special treatise with elaborate illustrations. It may be stated, however, that the novice passes through three preliminary classes, and then reaches the first of the ten stages into which the science proper is divided. Six of the stages are devoted to physical training and four to moral discipline, the time required to graduate in the whole course being ten years. Before matriculation every pupil must take an oath to obey the rules implicitly, and he learns not merely the art of overcoming an adversary, but also the science of resuscitating persons who have been temporarily disabled, whether by his own devices or by certain other kinds of accident. It may appear curious that moral training should form part of the course, but the students of ju-jutsu, or ju-dō (the path of pliancy), claim a great deal for it in the latter respect. Mr. T. Shidachi, in a paper read before the Japan Society in London in 1892, has this to say about the moral side of the art: "Respect and kindness, fidelity and sincerity are essential points which ju-dō students should particularly observe. We come by daily training to know that irritability is one of our weakest points, and that we have to try to avoid it in our life, as it facilitates our opponents' efforts to overcome us. Not to be irritated by any emergency, but to be always calm and composed is one of the first principles of ju-dō. Prudence, precaution, temperance, perseverance, presence of mind, quick discernment, decision after deliberation, animation, self-respect, and self-control,—all these are moral qualities inculcated by the study of ju-dō. Greatness of mind, obedience to duty, and abhorrence of extravagance should be cultivated with no less attention. The influence which ju-dō exerts on intellectual power is no less important. The strict attention we have to give to daily duties is acknowledged. . . . I take the liberty of saying that I have received conscious benefit to my faculties of concentration and observation by the study of ju-dō." A measure of enthusiasm certainly presided at the compilation of this list of advantages, and several of the moral results here claimed for ju-dō would be equally attained by any system of well-directed discipline. But ju-dō is one of Japan's unique possessions, and her estimate of its nature may fairly claim attention.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 22.
Note 20.—Mr. B. A. Chamberlain, in his "Classical Poetry of the Japanese," has given some admirable renderings of celebrated Kyōgen.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 21.
Note 21.—This term, originally used in the sense of a gathering, an assembly, had now become, and remains to this day, a synonym for the place where the assembly took place.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 22.
Note 22.—This rule has one exception. When a wrestler finds his girdle grasped on either side, he is at liberty to pass his hands under his adversary's arms and give an upward heave, thus applying a breaking strain at a point midway between the adversary's elbows and shoulders. The most celebrated wrestler that ever lived in Japan, Raiden Tamayemon (1625), is said to have snapped the bones of more than one opponent by this method, and he was ultimately forbidden to employ it. The strength required for such a feat is scarcely conceivable. It is recorded of this same Raiden that, strenuous as were his methods in the ring, he once shed tears of regret on throwing a man to whom defeat meant ruin.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 23.
Note 23.—This theory is thus expressed in Japan: Taikyoku riyo-gi wo shōzu; riyo-gi shizō wo shōzu; shizō hakkwa wo shōzu (From chaos the two principles are born; from the two principles, the four forms; from the four forms, the eight diagrams).