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

Like a root-cut reed,[90]
Should the tide entice,
I would come, I think; but now
No wave asks; no stream stirs.
Long ago I was full of pride;
Crowned with nodding tresses, halcyon locks,
I walked like a young willow delicately wafted
By the winds of Spring.
I spoke with the voice of a nightingale that has sipped the dew.
I was lovelier than the petals of the wild-rose open-stretched
In the hour before its fall.
But now I am grown loathsome even to sluts,
Poor girls of the people, and they and all men
Turn scornful from me.
Unhappy months and days pile up their score;
I am old; old by a hundred years.
In the City I fear men’s eyes,
And at dusk, lest they should cry “Is it she?”
Westward with the moon I creep
From the cloud-high City of the Hundred Towers.
No guard will question, none challenge
Pilgrim so wretched: yet must I be walking
Hid ever in shadow of the trees.
Past the Lovers’ Tomb,
And the Hill of Autumn
To the River of Katsura, the boats, the moonlight.

Who are those rowing in the boats?[91]
Oh, I am weary. I will sit on this tree-stump and rest awhile.

Come! The sun is sinking; we must hasten on our way. Look, look at that beggar there! It is a holy Stūpa that she is sitting on! I must tell her to come off it.

Now then, what is that you are sitting on? Is it not a holy Stūpa, the worshipful Body of Buddha? Come off it and rest in some other place.

Buddha’s worshipful body, you say? But I could see no writing on it, nor any figure carved. I thought it was only a tree-stump.

Even the little black tree on the hillside
When it has put its blossoms on
Cannot be hid;
And think you that this tree
Cut fivefold in the fashion of Buddha’s holy form
Shall not make manifest its power?

I too am a poor withered bough.
But there are flowers at my heart,[92]
Good enough, maybe, for an offering.
But why is this called Buddha’s body?

Hear then! This Stūpa is the Body of the Diamond Lord.[93] It is the symbol of his incarnation.

“He that has looked once upon the Stūpa, shall escape forever from the Three Paths of Evil.”[94]

“Nothing is real.
Between Buddha and Man
Is no distinction, but a seeming of difference planned
For the welfare of the humble, the ill-instructed,
Whom he has vowed to save.
Sin itself may be the ladder of salvation.”
So she spoke, eagerly; and the priests,
“A saint, a saint is this decrepit, outcast soul.”
And bending their heads to the ground,
Three times did homage before her.

I now emboldened
Recite a riddle, a jesting song.
“Were I in Heaven
The Stūpa were an ill seat;
But here, in the world without,
What harm is done?”[102]

The priests would have rebuked her;
But they have found their match.

Who are you? Pray tell us the name you had, and we will pray for you when you are dead.

Shame covers me when I speak my name; but if you will pray for me, I will try to tell you. This is my name; write it down in your prayer-list: I am the ruins of Komachi, daughter of Ono no Yoshizane, Governor of the land of Dewa.

Oh piteous, piteous! Is this
Komachi that once
Was a bright flower,
Komachi the beautiful, whose dark brows
Linked like young moons;
Her face white-farded ever;
Whose many, many damask robes
Filled cedar-scented halls?

I made verses in our speech
And in the speech of the foreign Court.

The cup she held at the feast
Like gentle moonlight dropped its glint on her sleeve.
Oh how fell she from splendour,
How came the white of winter
To crown her head?
Where are gone the lovely locks, double-twined,
The coils of jet?
Lank wisps, scant curls wither now
On wilted flesh;
And twin-arches, moth-brows tinge no more
With the hue of far hills. “Oh cover, cover
From the creeping light of dawn
Silted seaweed locks that of a hundred years
Lack now but one.
Oh hide me from my shame.”

Death may come to-day—or hunger to-morrow.
A few beans and a cake of millet:
That is what I carry in my bag.

She cannot hide her face from our eyes;
And how her limbs

Not rags enough to wipe the tears from my eyes!
Now, wandering along the roads
I beg an alms of those that pass.
And when they will not give,
An evil rage, a very madness possesses me.
My voice changes.
Oh terrible!

KOMACHI (thrusting her hat under the PRIESTS’ noses and shrieking at them menacingly).

No, no.... Komachi was very beautiful.
Many letters came to her, many messages,—
Thick as raindrops out of a black summer sky.
But she sent no answer, not even an empty word.
And now in punishment she has grown old:
She has lived a hundred years—
I love her, oh I love her!

There were many who set their hearts on her,
But among them all
It was Shōshō who loved her best,
Shii no Shōshō of the Deep Grass.[105]

The wheel goes back; I live again through the cycle of my woes.
Again I travel to the shaft-bench.
The sun ... what hour does he show?
Dusk.... Alone in the moonlight
I must go my way.
Though the watchmen of the barriers
Stand across my path,
They shall not stop me!

CHORUS (speaking for KOMACHI, while she, dressed as her lover Shōshō, mimes the night-journey).

Pulling down over my ears the tall, nodding hat,
Tying over my head the long sleeves of my hunting cloak,
Hidden from the eyes of men,
In moonlight, in darkness,
On rainy nights I travelled; on windy nights,
Under a shower of leaves; when the snow was deep,

Swiftly, swiftly coming and going, coming and going ...
One night, two nights, three nights,
Ten nights (and this was harvest night) ...
I never saw her, yet I travelled;
Faithful as the cock who marks each day the dawn,
I carved my marks on the bench.
I was to come a hundred times;
There lacked but one ...

Oh the pain! and desperate,
Before the last night had come,
He died—Shii no Shōshō the Captain.

Was it his spirit that possessed me,
Was it his anger that broke my wits?
If this be so, let me pray for the life hereafter,
Where alone is comfort;
Piling high the sands [106]
Till I be burnished as gold.[107]
See, I offer my flower [108] to Buddha,
I hold it in both hands.
Oh may He lead me into the Path of Truth,
Into the Path of Truth.

CHAPTER IV

Note on Ukai.

Seami tells us (Works, p. 246) that this play was written by Enami no Sayemon. “But as I removed bad passages and added good ones, I consider the play to be really my work” (p. 247).

On p. 245 he points out that the same play on words occurs in Ukai three times, and suggests how one passage might be amended. The text of the play which we possess to-day still contains the passages which Seami ridiculed, so that it must be Enami no Sayemon’s version which has survived, while Seami’s amended text is lost.

It is well known that Buddhism forbids the taking of life, especially by cruel means or for sport. The cormorant-fisher’s trade had long been considered particularly wicked, as is shown by an early folk-song:[109]

“Woe to the cormorant-fisher
Who binds the heads of his cormorants
And slays the tortoise whose span is ten thousand æons!
In this life he may do well enough,
But what will become of him at his next birth?”

This song, which is at least as old as the twelfth century, and may be much earlier, seems to be the seed from which the Nō play Ukai grew.

UKAI
(THE CORMORANT-FISHER)

I am a priest from Kiyosumi in Awa. I have never yet seen the country of Kai, so now I am minded to go there on pilgrimage.

On the foam of white waves
From Kiyosumi in the land of Awa riding
To Mutsura I come; to the Hill of Kamakura,
Lamentably tattered, yet because the World
Is mine no longer, unashamed on borrowed bed,
Mattress of straw, to lie till the bell swings
Above my pillow. Away, away! For dawn
Is on the hemp-fields of Tsuru. Now the noonday sun
Hangs high above us as we cross the hills.
Now to the village of Isawa we come.
Let us lie down and rest awhile in the shelter of this shrine.

When the fisher’s torch is quenched
What lamp shall guide him on the dark road that lies before?
Truly, if the World had tasked me hardly
I might be minded to leave it, but this bird-fishing,
Cruel though it be in the wanton taking of life away,
Is a pleasant trade to ply
Afloat on summer streams.

I have heard it told that Yūshi and Hakuyō vowed their love-vows by the moon, and were changed to wedded stars of heaven. And even to-day the high ones of the earth are grieved by moonless nights. Only I grow weary of her shining and welcome nights of darkness. But when the torches on the boats burn low,

Then, in the dreadful darkness comes repentance
Of the crime that is my trade,
My sinful sustenance; and life thus lived
Is loathsome then.
Yet I would live, and soon
Bent on my oar I push between the waves
To ply my hateful trade.

I will go up to the chapel as I am wont to do, and give my cormorants rest. (Seeing the PRIESTS.) What, have travellers entered here?

We are pilgrim-priests. We asked for lodging in the village. But they told us that it was not lawful for them to receive us, so we lay down in the shelter of this shrine.

Gladly. I am a cormorant-fisher. While the moon is shining I rest at this shrine; but when the moon sinks, I go to ply my trade.

Then you will not mind our lodging here. But, sir, this work of slaughter ill becomes you; for I see that the years lie heavy on you. Pray leave this trade and find yourself another means of sustenance.

You say well. But this trade has kept me since I was a child. I cannot leave it now.

Listen. The sight of this man has brought back something to my mind. Down this river there is a place they call Rock-tumble. And there, when I passed that way three years ago, I met just such a fisherman as this. And when I told him this cormorant-fishing was reckoned a sin against life, I think he listened; for he brought me back to his house and lodged me with uncommon care.

Following his trade, more shame to him. Listen to his story and give his soul your prayers.

You must know that on this river of Isawa, for a stretch of three leagues up stream and down, the killing of any living creature is forbidden. Now at that Rock-tumble you spoke of there were many cormorant-fishers who every night went secretly to their fishing. And the people of the place, hating the vile trade, made plans to catch them at their task. But he knew nothing of this; and one night he went there secretly and let his cormorants loose.

There was an ambush set for him; in a moment they were upon him. “Kill him!” they cried; “one life for many,” was their plea. Then he pressed palm to palm. “Is the taking of life forbidden in this place? Had I but known it! But now, never again....” So with clasped hands he prayed and wept; but none helped him; and as fishers set their stakes they planted him deep in the stream. He cried, but no sound came. (Turning to the PRIEST suddenly.) I am the ghost of that fisherman.

Oh strange! If that be so, act out before me the tale of your repentance. Show me your sin and I will pray for you tenderly.

I will act before your eyes the sin that binds me, the cormorant-fishing of those days. Oh give my soul your prayer!

The night is passing. It is fishing-time.
I must rehearse the sin that binds me.

I have read in tales of a foreign land [110]
How sin-laden the souls of the dead
Have toiled at bitter tasks;
But strange, before my eyes
To see such penance done!

FISHER (going to the “flute-pillar” and bending over as if opening a basket).

See them, see them clear in the torches’ light
Hither and thither darting,
Those frightened fishes.[111]
Swift pounce the diving birds,
Plunging, scooping,
Ceaselessly clutch their prey:
In the joy of capture
Forgotten sin and forfeit
Of the life hereafter!
Oh if these boiling waters would be still,
Then would the carp rise thick
As goldfinch in a bowl.
Look how the little ayu leap [112]
Playing in the shallow stream.
Hem them in: give them no rest!
Oh strange!
The torches burn still, but their light grows dim;
And I remember suddenly and am sad.
It is the hated moon!

The lights of the fishing-boat are quenched;
Homeward on the Way of Darkness [113]
In anguish I depart.

PRIEST (sings his “machi-utai” or waiting-song, while the actor who has taken the part of the FISHER changes into the mask and costume of the KING OF HELL.)

I dip my hand in the shallows,
I gather pebbles in the stream.
I write Scripture upon them,
Upon each stone a letter of the Holy Law.
Now I cast them back into the waves and their drowned spell
Shall raise from its abyss a foundered soul.

Hell is not far away:
All that your eyes look out on in the world
Is the Fiend’s home.

I am come to proclaim that the sins of this man, who from the days of his boyhood long ago has fished in rivers and streams, were grown so many that they filled the pages of the Iron Book;[114] while on the Golden Leaves there was not a mark to his name. And he was like to have been thrown down into the Deepest Pit; but now, because he once gave lodging to a priest, I am commanded to carry him quickly to Buddha’s Place.

The Demon’s rage is stilled,
The fisher’s boat is changed
To the ship of Buddha’s vow,[115]
Lifeboat of the Lotus Law.[116]

AYA NO TSUZUMI
(THE DAMASK DRUM)

I am a courtier at the Palace of Kinomaru in the country of Chikuzen. You must know that in this place there is a famous pond called the Laurel Pond, where the royal ones often take their walks; so it happened that one day the old man who sweeps the garden here caught sight of the Princess. And from that time he has loved her with a love that gives his heart no rest.

Some one told her of this, and she said, “Love’s equal realm knows no divisions,”[117] and in her pity she said, “By that pond there stands a laurel-tree, and on its branches there hangs a drum. Let him beat the drum, and if the sound is heard in the Palace, he shall see my face again.”

Listen, old Gardener! The worshipful lady has heard of your love and sends you this message: “Go and beat the drum that hangs on the tree by the pond, and if the sound is heard in the Palace, you shall see my face again.” Go quickly now and beat the drum!

They talk of the moon-tree, the laurel that grows in the Garden of the Moon.... But for me there is but one true tree, this laurel by the lake. Oh, may the drum that hangs on its branches give forth a mighty note, a music to bind up my bursting heart.

Listen! the evening bell to help me chimes;
But then tolls in
A heavy tale of day linked on to day,

And hope stretched out from dusk to dusk.
But now, a watchman of the hours, I beat
The longed-for stroke.

I was old, I shunned the daylight,
I was gaunt as an aged crane;
And upon all that misery
Suddenly a sorrow was heaped,
The new sorrow of love.
The days had left their marks,
Coming and coming, like waves that beat on a sandy shore ...

Oh, with a thunder of white waves
The echo of the drum shall roll.

The after-world draws near me,
Yet even now I wake not
From this autumn of love that closes
In sadness the sequence of my years.

And slow as the autumn dew
Tears gather in my eyes, to fall
Scattered like dewdrops from a shaken flower
On my coarse-woven dress.
See here the marks, imprint of tangled love,
That all the world will read.

And got worse torment so
Than by remembrance. But all in this world
Is as the horse of the aged man of the land of Sai;[118]
And as a white colt flashes
Past a gap in the hedge, even so our days pass.[119]
And though the time be come,
Yet can none know the road that he at last must tread,
Goal of his dewdrop-life.
All this I knew; yet knowing,
Was blind with folly.

The watchman of the hours,—
“Wake from the sleep of dawn!”
And batters on the drum.
For if its sound be heard, soon shall he see
Her face, the damask of her dress ...
Aye, damask! He does not know
That on a damask drum he beats,
Beats with all the strength of his hands, his aged hands,
But hears no sound.
“Am I grown deaf?” he cries, and listens, listens:
Rain on the windows, lapping of waves on the pool—
Both these he hears, and silent only
The drum, strange damask drum.
Oh, will it never sound?
I thought to beat the sorrow from my heart,
Wake music in a damask drum; an echo of love
From the voiceless fabric of pride!

CHAPTER IV

Note on Ukai.

UKAI (THE CORMORANT-FISHER)

AYA NO TSUZUMI (THE DAMASK DRUM)

UKAI
(THE CORMORANT-FISHER)

AYA NO TSUZUMI
(THE DAMASK DRUM)