The Nō Plays Of Japan, by Arthur Waley--The Project Gutenberg eBook

“The wind blowing through withered trees: rain from a cloudless sky.
The moon shining on level sands: frost on a summer’s night.”[26]
Frost lying ... but I, because I could not lie at rest,
Am come back to the World for a while,
Like a shadow that steals over the grass.
I am like dews that in the morning
Still cling to the grasses. Oh pitiful the longing
That has beset me!

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

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

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

A dim voice whispers where the shadow of a man
Visibly lay, but when I looked

Only as a tricking magic,
A bodiless vision,
Can he hover in the world of his lifetime,
Swift-changing Tsunemasa.
By this name we call him, yet of the body
That men named so, what is left but longing?
What but the longing to look again, through the wall of death,
On one he loved?
“Sooner shall the waters in its garden cease to flow
Than I grow weary of living in the Palace of my Lord.”[27]
Like a dream he has come,
Like a morning dream.

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

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

Plucking them even as now
This music plucks at your heart;
The sound of the plectrum, then as now
Divine music fulfilling
The vows of Sarasvati.[28]
But this Tsunemasa,
Was he not from the days of his childhood pre-eminent
In faith, wisdom, benevolence,
Honour and courtesy; yet for his pleasure
Ever of birds and flowers,
Of wind and moonlight making
Ballads and songs to join their harmony
To pipes and lutes?
So springs and autumns passed he.
But in a World that is as dew,
As dew on the grasses, as foam upon the waters,
What flower lasteth?

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

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

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

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

The moon undimmed
Hangs over the pine-woods of Narabi [30] Hills.
It was the wind you heard;
The wind blowing through the pine-leaves
Pattered, like the falling of winter rain.
O wonderful hour!
“The big strings crashed and sobbed
Like the falling of winter rain.
And the little strings whispered secretly together.
The first and second string
Were like a wind sweeping through pine-woods,
Murmuring disjointedly.
The third and fourth string
Were like the voice of a caged stork
Crying for its little ones at night
In low, dejected notes.”[31]
The night must not cease.
The cock shall not crow
And put an end to his wandering.[32]

Shakes the autumn clouds from the mountain-side.”[34]
The phœnix and his mate swoop down
Charmed by its music, beat their wings
And dance in rapture, perched upon the swaying boughs
Of kiri and bamboo.

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

The shadow that we saw before is still visible.
Can it be Tsunemasa?

Oh! I am ashamed; I must not let them see me.
Put out your candle.

“Let us turn away from the candle and watch together
The midnight moon.”
Lo, he who holds the moon,
The god Indra, in battle appeareth
Warring upon demons.
Fire leaps from their swords,
The sparks of their own anger fall upon them like rain.
To wound another he draws his sword,
But it is from his own flesh
That the red waves flow;
Like flames they cover him.
“Oh, I am ashamed of the woes that consume me.
No man must see me. I will put out the candle!” he said;
For a foolish man is like a summer moth that flies into the flame.[36]
The wind that blew out the candle
Carried him away. In the darkness his ghost has vanished.
The shadow of his ghost has vanished.

CHAPTER II

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

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

KUMASAKA

These weary feet that found the World
Too sad to walk in, whither
Oh whither shall wandering lead them?

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

Over the mountains, down the Ōmi road by a foam-flecked stream;
And through the woods of Awazu.
Over the long bridge of Seta
Heavily my footfall clangs.
In the bamboo-woods of Noji I await the dawn.
There where the morning dew lies thick, over the Greenfield Plain,
Green in name only—for the leaves are red with autumn—
In evening sunshine to the village of Akasaka I am come!

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

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

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

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

For he that taketh a prayer unto himself
Even though his name be not named, if he receive it gladly,
Is the owner of the prayer.
Was not the promise made to the trees of the field,
To the soil of the land? Though the heart that prays marks no name upon the prayer,
Yet shall it be heard.

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

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

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

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

For hand of priest unfit indeed
Such deeds and weapons had I thought;
Yet among gods
Hath not the Lord Amida his sharp sword?
Doth not the King of Love [39]
Shoot arrows of salvation from his bow?
Tamon with tilted lance
Outbattled demons and hath swept away
All perils from the world.

Thoughts of love and pity
May be sins fouler

Than the Five Faults of Datta;[40]
And the taking of life for faith
Be holiness greater
Than the six virtues of Bosatsu.[41]
These things have I seen and heard.
But for the rest, is it not Thought alone
That either wanders in the trackless night
Of Error or awakes to the wide day?
“Master thy thoughts, or they will master thee,”
An ancient proverb [42] says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And at last, very late at night,
Kichiji and his brother, with no thought for safety,
Fell into a sodden sleep.

But there was with them a boy of sixteen.[45]
He put his bright eye to a hole in the wall.
He did not make the least noise.

And, hurling their firebrands,
In they rushed, each jostling to be first,
More of them and more, in a wild onslaught.
Not even the God of Peril had dared to face them.
But little Ushiwaka showed no fear.
He drew his belt-sword and met them.
The Lion Pounce, The Tiger Leap, The Bird Pounce ...[46]
He parried them all. They thrust at him but could not prevail.
Thirteen there were who attacked him;
And now, done to death, on the same pillow head to head they lie.
And others, wounded, have flung down their swords and slunk back weaponless,
Stripped of all else but life.
Then Kumasaka cried: “What demon or god can he be
Under whose hand all these have fallen? For a man he cannot be!
But even robbers need their lives! This is no work for me; I will withdraw.”
And slinging his pike, slowly he turned to go.

He was thinking as he went,
“Though this stripling slash so bravely,
Yet should Kumasaka employ his secret art,—
Then though the boy be ogre or hobgoblin,
Waist-strangled he would be pressed to dust.”
“I will avenge the fallen,” he cried, and, turning back,
He levelled his pike and sheltered behind the wattled door,
Waiting for the urchin to come.
Ushiwaka saw him, and drawing his sword held it close to his side,
Stood apart and watched. But Kumasaka too stood with his pike ready.
Each was waiting for the other to spring.
Then Kumasaka lost patience. He lunged with his left foot and with his pike
Struck a blow that would have pierced an iron wall.
But Ushiwaka parried it lightly and sprang to the left.
Kumasaka was after him in a moment, and as he sprang nimbly over the pike,[47]
Turned the point towards him.
But as he drew back the pike, Ushiwaka crossed to the right.
Then levelling the pike, Kumasaka struck a great blow.
This time the boy parried it with a blow that disengaged them,
And springing into the air leapt hither and thither with invisible speed.
And while the robber sought him,
The wonderful boy pranced behind and stuck his sword through a chink in his coat of mail.
“Hey, what is that?” cried Kumasaka. “Has this urchin touched me?”
And he was very angry.
But soon Heaven’s fatal ordinance was sealed by despair:
“This sword-play brings me no advantage,” he cried; “I will wrestle with him.”
Then he threw away his pike, and spreading out his great hands,
Down this corridor and into this corner he chased him, but when he would have grasped him,
Like lightning, mist, moonlight on the water,—
The eye could see, but the hand could not touch.

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

Are vanished the men of this old tale.
“Oh, help me to be born to happiness.”

The cocks are crowing. A whiteness glimmers over the night.
He has hidden under the shadow of the pine-trees of Akasaka;

Under the shadow of the pine-trees he has hidden himself away.

EBOSHI-ORI

We as travellers dressed—
Our weary feet upon the Eastern road
For many days must speed.

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

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

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

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

And Ushiwaka eagerly grasped it.
To-day, he said, begins our troublous journey’s toil.

Past the creek of Awata, to Matsusaka,
To the shore of Shinomiya I travel.
Down the road to the barrier of Ōsaka walking behind pack-ponies,
How long shall I serve in sadness these hucksters of gold?
Here where once the blind harper [48] lay sorrowing
On a cottage-bed, far away from the City,
Thinking perhaps some such thoughts as I do now.
We have passed the plain of Awazu. Over the long bridge of Seta
The hoofs of our ponies clank.
We cross the hill of Moru, where the evening dew
Lies thick on country paths and, caught in the slanting light,
Gleams on the under-leaves till suddenly night
Comes on us and in darkness we approach
The Mirror Inn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My grandfather lived at Karasu-maru in the Third Ward.
It was the time when Hachimantarō Yoshi-iye, having routed [50] the brothers Sadatō and Munetō,
Came home in triumph to the Capital.
And when he was summoned to the Emperor’s Palace, he went first to my grandfather and ordered from him
A left-folded eboshi for the Audience. And when he was come before the Throne
The Emperor welcomed him gladly
And as a token of great favour made him lord
Of the lands of Outer Mutsu.
Even such an eboshi it is that I am making now,
A garment of good omen.
Wear it and when into the world

When into the world you go, who knows but that Fate’s turn
May not at last bring you to lordship of lands,
Of Dewa or the country of Michi.
And on that day remember,
Oh deign to remember, him that now with words of good omen
Folds for you this eboshi.
On that day forget not the gift you owe!
But alas!
These things were, but shall not be again.
The time of the left-folded eboshi was long ago:
When the houses of Gen and Hei [51] were in their pride,
Like the plum-tree and cherry-tree among flowers,
Like Spring and Autumn among the four seasons.
Then, as snow that would outsparkle the moonlight,
Gen strove with Hei; and after the years of Hōgen,[52]
The house of Hei prevailed and the whole land was theirs
So is it now.
But retribution shall come; time shall bring
Its changes to the world and like the cherry-blossom
This eboshi that knows its season
Shall bloom again. Wait patiently for that time!