Anthology of Japanese Literature (36 page)

TRANSLATED BT DONALD KEEMB

THE THREE PRIESTS

[
Sanniti H
ō
shi
]

Among the characteristic literary products of the Muromachi Period were the
Otogi s
ō
shi
(or nursery tales). These were for the most part children's stories of didactic intent, but sometimes they rose above the rather elementary level of the medium and became genuine literature. The finest of these stories is generally considered to be "The Three Priests." It is of the "confessional" variety of
Otogi s
ō
oshi.
In this translation only the stories of the first two priests are given; the third priest's story is in no way connected with the other two. The authorship is unknown, and the date can only be surmised as probably early sixteenth century.

Mount K
ō
ya lies far from the capital. It is a remote place, where no human voices are heard, where many lofty peaks tower, and such profound silence fills the valleys that ever since K
ō
b
ō
Daishi
¹
here entered the Realm of Meditation it has been counted a holy site to await the coming of the Buddha of the Future. There are platforms for those who wish to sit in contemplation, and halls where salvation may be gained by invoking the name of Amida. At this mountain, where one may live in retreat from the world in whatever manner one chooses, there met three priests, come together by chance from the different places where they had their abodes. In the course of a conversation one of them said, "We are all three priests. Let us each confess to the others why he has abandoned the world. This can surely do no harm, for they say that confession reduces the sins."

Another of them, a priest of perhaps forty-two years, was a man whom long and bitter penances had emaciated and weakened, but there remained about him an aristocratic air, and his teeth were deeply blackened.
²
Above his torn robes he wore a priest's stole. He had seemed to be immersed in thought, but he looked up and said, "I should like to be the first to speak.

"Since what I have to relate occurred in the capital, it may well be that you have already heard of it. Formerly I was called Kasuya no Shir
ō
zaemon, and I was in the personal service of the Shogun Takauji. From the age of thirteen I was in attendance at his palace, and I used to accompany him on pilgrimages to temples and shrines and on excursions to view the moon and the cherry blossoms, never failing to be present.

"It happened once, when the Shogun was visiting the Nij
ō
Palace, that the other young men in his service were having a party, and messages came from them two or three times, urging me to hurry back and join them. It was less the desire to be with them than impatience over the slowness of the Shogun to leave which led me to look into his private room to see how much longer he was likely to remain. The second or third round of the drink offerings
³
was being passed to him. Just then a court lady entered the room bearing what appeared to be a gift, a silken garment on a stand. She was not yet twenty. Her long hair was swept up, revealing a face of indescribable beauty. Not even Yang Kuei-fei or (in our own country) Ono no Komachi could possibly have surpassed her. Ah, what man but would desire to converse with such a woman, to lay his pillow beside hers! I prayed that she might appear again so that I could have another glimpse of her. From that moment on my mind was in turmoil, my heart was turned to smoke. However much I tried to forget my yearning for her, I could not. The love in which I was plunged grew more and more hallucinatory.

"When the Shogun left the palace that night I returned to my lodgings. The lady's face would not leave my mind. I could not eat and, taking to my bed, failed to appear at court for four or five days. The Shogun asked why I was not present, and when it was reported to him that I was ill, he immediately summoned his personal physician and bade him cure me. When the doctor came to my house I arose from bed and put on a court hat and robes to converse with him. After he had felt my pulse for a while he said, 'This is most unusual. I cannot discover any specific malady, and I wonder if your illness arises because you harbor resentment toward someone? Or perhaps you are worried over an important lawsuit?'

"I pretended that my indisposition was nothing. 'Ever since childhood I have been subject to this illness, but if I rest for a fortnight or so I shall certainly recover. Please wait until then. I do not imagine that it is anything serious.' The doctor then reported to the Shogun, 'This is no normal illness. Either some grave worry is weighing on him, or he is suffering from the malady which in former times might have been called "love".'

"The Shogun said, 'Even nowadays love is not an unknown complaint. I should like to discover what is actually on Kasuya's mind.' On being informed that Sasaki Sabur
ō
zaemon was my closest friend, he summoned Sasaki and ordered him to visit my house, look after me, and find out what the trouble was.

"Sasaki accordingly visited me. First of all, he asked in a hurt tone, 'You and I are the closest friends among all the Shogun's attendants, as close as brothers. Why have you failed to let me know of your illness?' After he had continued in this vein for a while, I said, 'It is not that serious an illness. I have not even told my mother about it. I can see why you should be indignant, but I promise you that if anything more consequential develops, I shall inform you of it. But it embarrasses me to have you treat this illness with such undue concern. Please go now. Don't you think that it will appear rather odd if you neglect your court duties just to watch over me?'

"I several times repeated words to this effect, but he insisted on looking after me. For several days he remained with me, constandy questioning me about my thoughts. I concealed them as long as I could, but, deciding that I was being excessively cautious, I finally revealed to him what had happened. When Sasaki heard the cause of my illness he exclaimed, 'If all that is ailing you is love, you will soon be cured!' He stole out of the room before I knew it, and went at once to the palace.

"When the Shogun heard his report, he declared that meeting the lady would be an easy matter to arrange, and himself deigned to write a letter on my behalf to the Nij
ō
Palace, which he sent with Sasaki. The reply stated that since the lady in question was the Court Dame Onoe, it would not be proper for her to visit a commoner, and that I should therefore go to her. The Shogun was kind enough to have this reply forwarded to my lodgings. I shall never be able to repay my indebtedness to him for his great kindnesses.

"Even then I could not help but feel what a wretched world it was. It was clear that even if I were able to meet the Lady Onoe, it could only be for one night. I thought that now was a fitting time for me to abandon the world, but on further reflection it occurred to me how extraordinary it was that I, one Kasuya, should have had the intercession of the Shogun in my love with a great lady from the Nij
ō
Palace. I would be shamed for the rest of my life if it were said that it was out of cowardice that I had abandoned the world. I decided that I would go to her even if it were but for one night, and then let the future take care of itself.

"One night, having at last made up my mind, I set out late in the evening for the Nij
ō
Palace with three young companions and a guide. I did not take any special pains to create a splendid appearance, but dressed in a dignified manner. I was guided into a beautiful room, decorated with screens and Chinese paintings, in which there were four or five gaily attired court ladies of about the same age.

"After they had each offered the formal three cups of sake, there was a tea ceremony and perfume-blending. I could not be sure which of the ladies was Onoe, only having seen her that once. They were all so lovely that I was quite at a loss to decide, but when one of them came quite close to me with a wine cup from which she had drunk, and offered it to me,
⁴
I realized that she was the Lady Onoe, and I accepted the cup.

"The crowing of the cocks announced the approach of dawn, and the tolling of the temple bells proclaimed the moment of lovers' farewell. We vowed that our love would last into the distant future. She left the chamber while it was still dark and stepped out onto the veranda. She was truly exquisite at that moment, with her dark eyebrows and crimson lips just visible, and a captivating perfume clinging to her sleep-tangled hair. She composed the verse, 'Strange it is—this morning, because of someone I have met but once, see how the dew has fallen on my sleeve!'

"I answered, 'Because of love I shall wrap up the dew that fell on your sleeve the night we met, and make it my keepsake.'

"From then on I frequently visited the palace, and sometimes she even secretly came to my lodgings. 'People will surely get word of this,' the Shogun said, and he granted the lady a large estate outside the city where we might more easily meet.

"At the time I was a devout believer in the Tenjin of Kitano,
⁵
and it had been my practice to spend the night of the twenty-fourth of each month in prayers at his shrine. I had been neglecting my devotions because of this lady, but now that it was the twenty-fourth of the twelfth month, the last Tenjin day of the year, I paid a visit to confess my remissness of the previous months. While I was praying late at night, I heard someone near me say, 'Oh, how dreadful! Who could it be?' I felt somehow uneasy and asked what had happened. They told me that at a certain place near the capital a court lady of seventeen or eighteen had been killed and her clothes torn from her. The more I heard, the more agitated I became, and unable to stand the strain, I rushed off.

"I found that my worst fears had been realized—it was she. Even her hair had been sheared off by the robber. I stood there, dumbfounded, uncertain whether it was a nightmare or reality. For what sin was this the punishment? Oh, the bitter grief that I then experienced! I had always been overjoyed to be with her, but now I regretted every moment. Why had my heart been thus consumed for love of her, only to have her die and leave me behind? And was it not entirely on account of me that she, a court lady, had been put to a pitiless sword before she was twenty? Imagine if you can what feelings tormented me! If I had known of the danger to her, no demons could have frightened me. I would have charged alone into three hundred, five hundred, enemy, so little did I value my life. But the deed had occurred without my knowing of it, and I had been powerless. That very night I shaved my head and became a priest. It is now some twenty years that I have lived on this mountain, praying for the repose of her soul."

When he had finished speaking the other two priests wetted with tears the sleeves of their dark robes.

. .

The next priest to speak was a man about fifty. He stood six feet tall, had a jutting collarbone, angular chin, high cheekbones, thick lips, and a prominent nose. He was dark of complexion and very powerfully built. Above his tattered robes he also wore a stole thrust in at the breast. As he spoke he fingered a large rosary. "I should like to be the next to tell my story," he said. The others urged him to do so. He began, "Strange to relate, it was I who killed the lady!" Kasuya started up at the words; his color changed, and an attitude of determination came over him.

The second priest said, "Please remain calm for a little while, and I shall tell you in detail what happened." Kasuya composed his feelings and asked him to begin at once. The second priest said, "Since you gentlemen are from Kyoto, I believe that you may have heard of me. My name is Aragoro of the Third Ward. I began my career of robbery at the age of eight, and first killed a man at twelve. That lady was about the three hundred eightieth person I had killed. I always prided myself on my skill at burglary with violence, but, perhaps because of accumulated sins, from the tenth month of that year I had not been able to carry off a single successful robbery. I tried my hand at mountain banditry, but failed at that too. Every time I thought that I had at last found a way to make a living, it would suddenly come to nothing. I fell on difficult times, and there was often nothing in the house to eat. My wife and children were so wretched a sight that I could not bear to look at them, and from the eleventh month, as I recall, I began living away from home, passing my nights and days in the shelter of some old temple building or hidden in the sacred hall of a shrine. After having spent many days wandering about, I thought that I should like to see what was happening at home. But no sooner did I set foot inside the house than my wife seized me and began to weep bitterly.

"'How hateful of you! Why have you acted in such an inhuman way? It happens commonly enough that relations between a husband and wife become unbearable, and I have no intention of wasting my breath in useless lamenting over it. Now that your heart has changed and our ties have come to an end there is no point in my trying to cling to you. Please divorce me at once. Have you any conception of what it has been like for me, a lone woman trying to maintain a family? It is almost New Year now, but I shall have to find work so that I can support the little ones. You have no property, you don't know anything about trade or farming. All you can do is to steal things from people, and now you can't even manage to do that. You don't think about what will happen to the children—you've even left your own house to live elsewhere. I see that it has all been because of me. But no matter how much this house bores you, how can you not care whether your children are starving to death? These past two or three days I have had no money. There has been nothing to cook, and the children are weeping with hunger. You can imagine how unhappy it makes me to look at them.'