Anthology of Japanese Literature (29 page)

Although the messenger sent to Kamakura had apparently by this time already returned, the priest deliberately avoided mention of him. Tomoyuki was oppressed by the desire to find out his fate, and though he had resigned himself to death, his spirits were low. "What good would it do me to be sent off to some distant island?" he asked himself. "No one in this world lives to be a thousand years old, and indeed, the longer one lives, the greater the suffering. Sooner or later I must journey the road that none escape—it's all one. He whose mind is free of disturbance at the final hour will go to the Pure Land."

In spite of his resolve, however, his heart was still torn by longing for the capital, and many thoughts continued to unsettle him. He realized that in any case, at least to judge by appearances, his own end could not be far off. His escort had hinted to him of it, and since he had shown himself a man of kindness, Tomoyuki thought that he would not object if he became a priest. The following day Tomoyuki said, "I think I should like to shave my head." "That is most unfortunate. I wonder what they will think in Kamakura if they hear of it. However, I don't imagine it makes any difference." He thus gave his consent. This happened on the nineteenth day of the sixth moon.

That day, as Tomoyuki could tell, was probably to be his last. It did not come as a surprise to him, but he could not help feeling how disgraceful it was that he, a prince, should meet with so unprecedented a fate.

It was evident from his words that he still harbored rebellious thoughts against Kamakura. Toward evening of the same day he was finally put to death. He did not behave in an unseemly manner during his last moments, even though his heart must have been filled with bitterness, but acted as though he considered his fate inevitable. It may be imagined how painfully his wife was afflicted by the news she so long had been dreading. Soon afterward she shaved her head and entered a convent where friends of former days were now living a life of holy devotions. . . .

In this manner one after another of the adherents of the Emperor Godaigo was executed or sent to distant exile, each meeting a lamentable fate, but to describe them all is beyond my powers. Only Prince Sonun escaped the tiger's mouth, wandering here and there with no safe refuge. It was wondered in pity how long he could survive.

On the little island of Oki the passing months and days brought with them only additional sorrows. The Emperor wondered, "Of what great crimes have I been guilty that I should be made to suffer so?" Even while he thus lamented his karma, he tried to think how he might atone for his sins. He gave himself to strict Buddhist discipline, and performed his devotions day and night. Perhaps he also thought that the power of the Law might help him to regain his throne. Whenever he himself lit the holy fire, many auspicious signs appeared, both in his dreams and in his waking hours.

At times when he was bored he used to pace the gallery-like part of the temple looking out at the bay in the distance. He could faintly see the little fishing boats, which reminded him of floating autumn leaves, and in his melancholy he would wonder, "Whither do they go?"

He recited the verse "The boat rowed out to the bay now is rudderless; how sad it is to be alone, adrift."
⁷
He somehow managed to conceal the tears which fell, lending an indescribable nobility to his face. Although he was no longer young, he was still so graceful and handsome that it seemed almost sacrilegious even to himself that such majesty should be wasted in so dreary a place.

In the capital, now that the tenth moon had come, everyone was frantically busy with preparations for the Thanksgiving Service for the new reign. The Household Treasury, the Department of Works, and the guilds of seamstresses and dyers were all noisily engaged in their respective tasks. But for those loyal to the Emperor Godaigo, the occasion was a source only of tears.

Various people were commanded to compose poetry to be inscribed on the Heaven and Earth palace-screens, but as there was no one who could write them beautifully enough, it was debated whether to recall Yukifusa from exile. Word of this soon reached Oki. In the stillness of an evening, when no one else was in attendance, Yukifusa waited on the Emperor. In the course of one of his stories about things present and past, the Emperor remarked, "I wonder what they will decide to do about you in the capital. If they do recall you I shall certainly be most envious." The Emperor's eyes filled with tears in spite of himself, as he gazed at the lantern by his side, and Yukifusa, who was watching him, quite lost heart. "If it were really some important business, I would go back, but to write poetry—how can I possibly return to the capital when I see him look that way?" Such were his thoughts, but he could not speak them.

It was just the time for the Emperor's midnight devotions. A wind from the sea was blowing fiercely, and there even came a harsh ratde of hail. The Emperor broke the ice that had formed during this terribly cold night to offer holy water to the Buddha, like some little priest in a mountain temple. Tadaaki and Yukifusa, who had come to worship with sprays of anise as offerings, were profoundly stirred, and wondered when the Emperor had learned the ceremony. The Emperor was beset by coundess thoughts as he prayed that somehow once again he might rule the country, this time with a better understanding of the true natures of men.

TRANSLATED ST DONALD KEENE

1
At the time two emperors who had abdicated and taken Buddhist orders were living in the capital—Gofushimi (1288-1336) and Hanazono (1297-1348).

2
Go-uda (1167-1324) reigned from 1275 to 1288.

3
This section has many references to the Suma and Akashi chapter of "The Tale of Genji," linking Godaigo's exile with Genji's.

4
An allusion to a line by Po Chü-i: "I think of old friends separated from me now by two thousand leagues."

5
There had been a scandal about a false pregnancy.

6
Azuma ("the East") here stands for the military government in Kamakura which was responsible for Godaigo's exile.

7
An allusion to a poem by Ono no Komachi in the
"Shokukokinsh
Å«
."

SEAMI ON THE ART OF THE N
Ō

The principal figure in the development of the
N
ō
was Seami (or Zeami) Motokiyo (1363-1443). He was the author of most of the
N
ō
plays which are still performed, including three of the four given in this volume. In addition to the plays, he wrote a number of critical works on the
N
ō
in which he described the aesthetic principles underlying his art. The language he used, perhaps necessarily so, is at times obscure, and offers special problems in translation. This was due in part to the influence of Zen Buddhism, with its emphasis on intuitive understanding: this Zen influence is particularly apparent in the first selection given here. The word
y
Å«
gen,
with which the second selection is concerned, had a primary meaning of "mystery" and, however used, generally retains something of the sense of a mysterious power. Seami gave to this word the meaning of the chief aesthetic principle of the
N
ō
.

THE ONE MIND LINKING ALL POWERS

Sometimes spectators of the
N
ō
say that the moments of "no action" are the most enjoyable. This is one of the actor's secret arts. Dancing and singing, movements on the stage, and the different types of miming are all acts performed by the body. Moments of "no action" occur in between. When we examine why such moments without action are enjoyable, we find that it is due to the underlying spiritual strength of the actor which unremittingly holds the attention. He does not relax the tension when the dancing or singing comes to an end or at intervals between the dialogue and the different types of miming, but maintains an unwavering inner strength. This feeling of inner strength will faintly reveal itself and bring enjoyment. However, it is undesirable for the actor to permit this inner strength to become obvious to the audience. If it is obvious, it becomes an act, and is no longer "no action." The actions before and after an interval of "no action" must be linked by entering the state of mindlessness in which the actor conceals even from himself his own intent. The ability to move audiences depends, thus, on linking all the artistic powers with one mind.

"Life and death, past and present—
Marionettes on a toy stage.
When the strings are broken,
Behold the broken pieces!"
¹

This is a metaphor describing human life as it transmigrates between life and death. Marionettes on a stage appear to move in various ways, but in fact it is not they who really move—they are manipulated by strings. When these strings are broken, the marionettes fall and are dashed to pieces. In the art of the
N
ō
too, the different types of miming are artificial things. What holds the parts together is the mind. This mind must not be disclosed to the audience. If it is seen, it is just as if a marionette's strings were visible. The mind must be made the strings which hold together all the powers of the art. If this is done the actor's talent will endure. This effort must not be confined to the times when the actor is appearing on the stage: day or night, wherever he may be, whatever he may be doing, he should not forget it, but should make it his constant guide, uniting all his powers. If he persistendy strives to perfect this, his talent will steadily grow. This article is the most secret of the secret teachings.

ON ATTAINING THE STAGE OF Y
Ū
GEN

Y
Å«
gen
is considered to be the mark of supreme attainment in all the arts and accomplishments. In the art of the
N
ō
in particular, the manifestation of
y
Å«
gen
is of the first importance. When
y
Å«
gen
in the
N
ō
is displayed, it is generally apparent to the eye, and it is the one thing which audiences most admire, but actors who possess
y
Å«
gen
are few and far between. This is because they do not know its true meaning and so do not reach that stage.

In what kind of place is the stage of
y
Å«
gen
to be found? Let us begin by examining the various classes of people on the basis of the appearance that they made in society. May we not say of the courtiers whose behavior is distinguished and whose appearance far surpasses that of other men, that they are at the stage of
y
Å«
gen?
From this we may see that the essence of
y
Å«
gen
is true beauty and gendeness. Tranquillity and elegance make for
y
Å«
gen
in personal appearance. In the same way, the
y
Å«
gen
of discourse lies in a grace of language and a complete mastery of the speech of the nobility and the gentry so that even the most casual utterance will be graceful. A musical performance may be said to possess
y
Å«
gen
when the melody flows beautifully and sounds smooth and sensitive. A dance will possess
y
Å«
gen
when the discipline has been thoroughly mastered and the audience is delighted by the performer's movements and by his serene appearance. Acting possesses
y
Å«
gen
when the performance of the Three Roles
²
is beautiful. If the characterization calls for a display of anger or for the representation of a devil, the actions may be somewhat forceful, but as long as the actor never loses sight of the beauty of the effect and bears in mind always the correct balance between his mental and physical actions and between the movements of his body and feet,
³
his appearance will be so beautiful that it may be called the "
y
Å«
gen
of a devil."

All these aspects of
y
Å«
gen
must be kept in mind and made a part of the actor's body, so that whatever part he may be playing
y
Å«
gen
will never be absent. Whether the character he portrays be of high or low birth, man or woman, priest, peasant, rustic, beggar, or outcast, he should think of each of them as crowned with a wreath of flowers. Although their positions in society differ, the fact that they can all appreciate the beauty of flowers makes flowers of all of them.
⁴
Their particular flower is shown by their outward appearance. An actor, through the use of his intelligence, makes his presentation seem beautiful. It is his intelligence which permits him to grasp the above principles; to learn poetry so as to impart
y
Å«
gen
to his discourse; and to study the most elegant costuming so as to give
y
Å«
gen
to his bearing. Though the characterization varies according to the different parts, the actor should realize that the ability to appear beautiful is the seed of
y
Å«
gen
. It is all too apt to happen that an actor, believing that once he has mastered the characterization of the different parts he has attained the highest stage of excellence, forgets his appearance and is therefore unable to enter the realm of
y
Å«
gen
. Unless, however, he enters that realm he will not attain to the highest achievements, and will therefore not become a great master. That is why there are so few masters. The actor must consider
y
Å«
gen
as the most important aspect of his art, and study to perfect his understanding of it.

The "highest achievements" of which I have spoken are beauty of form and maimer. The most careful attention must be given to the appearance presented. When the form is beautiful, whether in dancing, singing, or in any type of characterization, it may be called a "highest achievement." When the form is ugly, the performance will be inferior. The actor should realize that
y
Å«
gen
is attained when all different forms of visual and aural expression are beautiful. It is when the actor himself has worked out these principles and made himself their master that he may be said to have entered the realm of
y
Å«
gen
. If he fails to work out these principles for himself, he will not master them, and however much he may aspire to attain
y
Å«
gen,
he will never in all his life do so.

TRANSLATED BY RYDSAKU TSUNODA AND DONALD KEENE

1
Poem by an unknown Zen master. The last two lines may mean, "When life comes to an end the illusions of this world also break into pieces."

2
Seami considered the Three Basic Roles to be those of the old person, the woman, and the warrior.

3
Seami elsewhere discusses the relation between what the actor expresses with his body and what he knows but does not overtly express. At first an actor who has studied witha master does not know any more than what he has learned and what he expresses, but as he himself acquires mastery there are things which he comes to understand beyond what he has been taught, and which he suggests rather than expresses. The relation between the movements of the body and feet refers to a theory of Seami's that if the body and the feet move in the same manner the effect will be crude. Thus, in an agitated passage when the feet are stamping wildly, the movements of the body should be gentle or a disorderly effect will be produced which will mar the spectator's enjoyment.

4
That is, their love of beauty makes them beautiful, irrespective of their station.