Anthology of Japanese Literature (25 page)

"It is, to be sure, most remarkable, but since it came here of its own accord I cannot return the storehouse to you. I have never had anything of the kind, and it will be convenient for me to keep things in. However, you may take away whatever is inside as soon as you wish," replied the holy man.

"But how," asked the rich man, "can I carry these things home with me now? There are a thousand measures of rice inside the storehouse."

"That is a very simple matter. I will see to it that they are transported for you," said the holy man. He had someone load one of the bales of rice on his bowl, which he caused to fly into the sky. Thereupon all the other bales followed along after it, just like a flock of geese.

When the rich man saw the bales flying off, he was more than ever astonished and struck with awe, and he said to the holy man, "Wait! Don't send them all back! Please keep two or three hundred measures of rice for your own use."

"That may not be," said the holy man. "What would I do with them if they were left here?"

"Then let me give you as many as you can use—say, ten or twenty measures," suggested the rich man.

The holy man still would not accept. "If I had any need for so much rice, I would take your ten or twenty measures, but I have not." He made certain that every last bale landed at the rich man's house.

While the holy man went on living thus, performing miracles of every description, the Emperor Daigo
²
fell seriously ill. All manner of prayers, exorcisms, and recitations of the scriptures were performed on his behalf, but he showed no signs of recovery. Someone said, "There lives at Shigi a holy man who has been practicing austerities for many years, and has never once come down from his solitary retreat. He possesses supernatural powers and performs all manner of miracles. Without so much as budging from his seat, he can make his begging bowl fly through the air. If he is summoned to court and offers prayers for His Majesty, he cannot fail to effect a recovery."

It was decided to adopt this suggestion, and an archivist was sent as an Imperial messenger to summon the holy man. On his arrival, the messenger was gready impressed by the hermit's noble and venerable bearing. He announced to the holy man that he was commanded by Imperial decree to appear at court, and that he must proceed to the capital in all haste. The holy man showed no sign whatever of stirring. "Why am I being summoned?" he asked.

"His Majesty is suffering from a serious complaint. Please come and pray for him," explained the messenger.

"Why," asked the holy man, "may I not pray for him here?"

"In that case," objected the messenger, "if His Majesty should recover, how would we know that it was due to the efficacy of your prayers?"

The holy man said, "So long as his health is restored, it hardly matters whose miraculous powers are responsible."

"Just the same," insisted the messenger, "it would be best to have some way of telling which of the many prayers and rituals performed is the one that has had the desired effect."

"Very well then," said the holy man, "when I perform my ritual, I shall send the Sword Guardian to His Majesty as a sign. If he should happen to see this guardian either in a dream or a vision, he may know that he comes from me. The Sword Guardian wears a cloak of swords woven together. Under no circumstances can I go up to the capital."

The Imperial messenger returned to the court and made his report. Toward noon of the third day following, the Emperor, while fully awake, caught sight of something glittering near him. When he looked at it closely, he saw that it was the Sword Guardian of which the holy man had spoken. From that moment on, His Majesty became cheerful, all symptoms of his illness disappeared, and he was his former self again. Everyone was delighted, and the holy man was honored and praised by all. His Majesty was also greatly impressed, and sent a man with the message, "You must let me make you an archbishop, or at least let me bestow a manor on your temple."

When the holy man received the message, he answered, "I cannot possibly become an archbishop or a bishop, and if a manor were made over to my temple, it would certainly entail having an intendant and other people to manage it. That would be as unwelcome to me as being tormented for my sins. Let me remain as I am." And so the matter was dropped.

Now this holy man had an elder sister. She had not laid eyes on him since he went to Nara to be ordained and, being worried over how he had fared during the long years of their separation, she went to look for him. She made inquiries all around the neighborhood of the Todaiji for a man named M
ō
ren, but not a soul knew of him. Though she grew weary with searching, she told herself, "I will not go home until I have found out what has become of him." That evening she prayed all night, long before the Great Buddha of the Todaiji, asking that she be shown where Moren was. At last she fell into a doze, and in her dream Buddha said to her, "The priest whom you seek lives on a mountain southwest of here. Go there and look for him on the side of the mountain from which a cloud is trailing."

When she awoke it was already close to dawn, and she waited impatiendy for the day to break. As soon as the first pale light appeared, she gazed off to the southwest, and could see the faint outlines of a mountain from which trailed a purple cloud. Overjoyed, she made her way in that direction. When she arrived, she found that there really was a temple at the very spot indicated, and going over to a building which looked as if it might be inhabited, she called out, "Is M
ō
ren there?"

"Who is it?" asked the holy man, coming out of his hut. What was his surprise to discover his elder sister from Shinano! "How did you ever find me?" he asked. "I never expected to see you."

She told him all that had happened, adding, "You must be suffering terribly from the cold. Here is something for you to wear." She took out what she had brought, a kind of padded underjacket. It was by no means an ordinary one; it was carefully sewn with stout thread and fashioned exceptionally thick and strong. The holy man gladly accepted it, and put it on. Up to then he had had only a single paper garment to wear, and had therefore been very cold indeed; but when he put the jacket on underneath his paper robe, he felt warm and comfortable.

In this way he went on performing his devotions for many years. The nun, his sister, did not return to her native province, but remained with him and worshiped beside him. He wore the padded underjacket constantly for many years, until it fell into shreds. The storehouse which was carried to the mountain by his begging bowl is called the Flying Storehouse. The tattered remains of the jacket and other relics of the holy man are kept inside and are said still to be there. Those who happen, through some fortunate karma affinity, to obtain even so much as a scrap of that underjacket use it as a charm. The storehouse is now in a very dilapidated state, but is still there. People who manage to get hold of even a splinter of the wood from which it was built, make it into a charm, and those who obtain larger pieces and have them carved into images of Bishamon never fail to become rich and prosperous. It is no wonder that everyone who hears this story is anxious to buy a piece of wood from the storehouse. The name of the mountain where the holy man lived all those years is Shigi; it is a place so rich in wonderful miracles that even today it is crowded morning and night with pilgrims. The image of Bishamon enshrined there is said to be the very one that the holy man Moren miraculously produced through his devotions.
³

(
VIII
, 3)

TRANSLATED BY ROBERT H. BROWER

1
The Todaiji is a temple completed in 752 in Nara, and is known for the colossal statue of the Buddha Vairocana which is its principal object of worship.

2
Reigned 897-929.

3
The events described in this story arc depicted in the
"Shigisan Engi,"
or "Illustrated History of Mount Shigi," a famous picture scroll of the late Heian Period.

THE CAPTAIN OF NATUTO

[
Naruto Ch
Å«
j
ō
Monogatari
]

This tale, which was probably written in the late thirteenth century, ostensibly relates an actual event at the court of the Emperor Gosaga, who reigned from 1242 to 1246. It was intended to edify, but the modern reader may find that it affords instead a rather sardonic insight into the court life of the time.

One year, in the spring, when the cherry blossoms were at their peak, there took place in a courtyard within the palace grounds a football match in which distinguished members of the court took part. Among the spectators were a number of ladies, one of whom attracted the Emperor's interest. His attention was diverted from the game, and he allowed his glance to wander repeatedly in the direction of this lady, who was so distressed by his gaze that she slipped away toward the Left Gate. The Emperor summoned a secretary, instructing him to follow and report the lady's destination. When the secretary had overtaken her, the lady who understood and meant to mislead him somehow, beckoned him to draw near, and with a smile said, "Tell His Majesty, Of the young bamboo.' I will wait here, I promise, until I receive his reply." The secretary, never dreaming that she might deceive him, assumed that she merely wished to arrange a rendezvous and hurried away. The Emperor, on receiving this report, felt certain that she had quoted a line from a poem and inquired what it might be. None of those in attendance, however, were familiar with it, and Lord Tameie
¹
was sent for. "It is an old poem," he said without hesitation.

"Tall though it be, what can one do with the useless lengths of the young bamboo with its one or two joints?"
²

On hearing this, the Emperor became more and more intrigued, and without composing a reply he ordered the secretary to find out where the lady lived. When the secretary returned to the Gate, however, he found that she had quite vanished. He reported this to the Emperor, who with a terrible look told him that unless he discovered her whereabouts he would be held guilty of a crime. The secretary paled and withdrew. The Emperor, as a result of this, lost all interest in the football match and retired.

For some time afterward he wore a bitter scowl and caused everyone concern. One day Lord Konoe and others were in attendance at an Imperial entertainment. The Emperor was not his usual self. He seemed preoccupied and gazed listlessly about him. Lord Konoe had the wine cup presented and remarked, "Is it true that Your Majesty was not long ago 'singed by a smudge-fire at a house in some unknown quarter?' If it were looked for it wouldn't remain hidden long, I daresay. In China the search was carried as far as Paradise.
³
Her house is within the capital; finding it should be a simple matter." He offered the cup to the Emperor who, though he smiled faintly, was not amused and, drawing himself up, retired.

Meanwhile, the secretary was searching in every imaginable quarter, hoping to encounter the lady, and even offered prayers to the gods and to Buddha, but without avail. He was in despair when he remembered a certain diviner, named Fumpira, who was famed for his effortless predictions and who would be able to divine her whereabouts. The secretary called upon this man and asked his aid. "Word has reached me privately about this. A very grave matter," said the diviner. "Now let us see what Fumpira's divining can do about it. We have come under Mars. Today's sign is the Serpent. From this I take it that she is in hiding only temporarily. You will find her in good time. Now, Mars in the summer term is very lucky, and being governed by the Serpent she will appear from the same hole she went into. You are sure to find her this summer at the spot where she disappeared." The secretary, though he did not put too much stock in the words of the diviner, who after all was but an ordinary mortal, was still sufficiently impressed by what he had heard, and from this time, instead of going about in a daze as before, stationed himself by the Left Gate.

It was on the thirteenth day of the fifth month, at the opening of the lectures on the
Stivarna-prabh
ā
sa
Sutra, that he suddenly came upon the lady, this time in company with five others. He was so overjoyed that he scarcely knew whether to believe his eyes. In order to avoid arousing her suspicions, he mingled with the throng and saw her sitting among those in the west gallery of the Chamberlain's pavilion, listening to the sermon. Fearful lest he lose sight of her in the scramble at the end of the lecture, he asked Lord Tsunetoshi, who happened to be at the entrance to the Imperial loge, to report his discovery to the Emperor. "His Majesty is with the Empress listening to the sermon. It is out of the question," replied Tsunetoshi. He looked about for a herald who might deliver the message, but saw no one. Finally he approached a lady-in-waiting. "Forgive the interruption," he said apologetically, "but it is His Majesty's wish," and asked her to convey his message quickly to the Emperor. She had prior knowledge of the affair and promptly obeyed. The Emperor replied, through the lady-in-waiting, "Admirable. This time find out for certain where she goes, and tell me."

By the time the sermon was over it was dusk. The lady and her party seemed about to set off in a single coach. The secretary, fearing that she might be suspicious of him a second time, sent a certain resourceful woman to observe her in his stead. The lady's destination proved to be the house of a certain Junior Captain in Sanj
ō
Shirakawa. No sooner had the Emperor been informed of this than he sent the following letter. "Was it an empty dream or did I really see the young bamboo, that morning and night I yearn for with a love that is torment? Tonight without fail."

This was all. The secretary went to her house with the letter. The lady, being a married woman, was much upset, and lamented her lot. The messenger pressed her heardessly for a reply, and, deciding that concealment was out of the question, she told her husband just what had happened. The Captain was understandably disturbed. "As a man I have an abhorrence of sending you," he said, "but there is no point in presuming to admonish the Emperor. Things are not the same for one man as for another in this world, and in a way it is an honor. Let tongues wag if they will. Hurry and go," he urged. She broke into tears, however, and protested repeatedly that it would never do. "These past three years," he went on, "we have spent in the deepest love, as though we were made for each other, but for you to have been summoned in this way shows his attachment is not superficial. If you fail to go, out of pride, it is sure to look very bad, and who can say what will become of me? People will not think the worse of us for it. Hurry and go," he insisted. Sobbing, the lady opened the letter, and beneath the words "Tonight without fail," wrote in thick black ink the single word
"wo
" and refolding the letter sent it by the messenger.

The Emperor, seeing the letter returned, and no different in appearance than before, was about to conclude reluctantly that it had been without effect, when he noticed that the knot was carelessly tied. He undid it and beheld the word
"wo.
" Ponder over it as he would, he could make nothing of it. He summoned several ladies-in-waiting who would be likely to know and asked them about the word. One of them said, "Long ago a certain prime minister wrote the word 'moon' and sent it to the daughter of Izumi Shikibu, a lady well versed in such matters. She may have spoken of it to her mother, for she readily understood and wrote beneath 'moon' the single word
'wo.'
That is the allusion, I imagine. 'Moon' meant that he would be waiting that night for her to come. And in answer to a summons from above, men should reply
'yo,'
while women say
'wo.'
The lady went to him, and he was more in love with her than ever. This lady too will surely come."

The Emperor was much pleased at this and was filled with anticipation. The night grew later and later, but still he delayed retiring to his bedchamber. Just as he heard the watchmen's cry—could it be the hour of the Ox
⁴
already, he wondered in despair—the secretary announced the lady's secret arrival. Overjoyed, the Emperor had her conducted in immediately. Not even Han Wu's meeting with the Lady Li or Hsiian Tsung's winning of Yang Kuei-fei could surpass this moment, he felt. The night was far too short for him to tell her all that was in his heart. As daybreak neared she explained to him that her position, unkind as it was for her to say it, was distasteful to her, and so, for the while, he allowed her to be escorted home. His desire for her, however, was boundless, and he considered installing her among his consorts, with her own apartments inside the palace, but to this proposal she responded with unaffected sorrow that were he to do that, it would be to show her no mercy at all; that she would feel like someone unable to escape from a deep pool. As long as things remained as they were, and no one knew about her, she would always be at his command. At length he agreed that she might remain in her own home, and thence from time to time he would summon her secretly.

The Captain, her husband, who had been living in retirement, was summoned to court on some pretext and had conferred upon him untold marks of the Emperor's favor. He was included in the ranks of the Imperial retinue and shortly afterward was promoted to Middle Captain. The promotion was kept quiet, but news of it got about, and he came to be known on the vulgar tongues of the day as "the Captain of Naruto." He received this sobriquet, it is to be supposed, because Naruto is the place from which the seaweed called "maiden of Naruto" is sent up to the capital.

A prince is to his subjects as water is to fish. However high the prince, he should not be guilty of arrogance or contemptuousness; however low his subjects, they should not be disordered by envy. Emperor Gosaga's gracious feelings and the Captain's generous sacrifice in the present story deserve to be remembered as examples of truly noble conduct. It is indeed natural that from the earliest times it has ever been said that between the prince and his subjects there should be no estrangement, but bonds of deep sympathy.

TRANSLATED BY CHARLES E. HAMILTON

1
Fujiwara no Tameie (1198-1275), famous as a poet and compiler of anthologies.

2
Puns in the poem give it the additional meaning of "Exalted though you are, what would he the good of one or two nights of idle love-making with the 'young bamboo'?"

3
Reference to the search for the soul of the Emperor Hsüan Tsung's favorite Yang Kuei-fei (718-756), discovered in the Taoist paradise.

4
2 A.M. to 4 A.M.