The Ten Foot Square Hut and Tales of the Heike Read online

  "It was done neither by the command of the Chancellor nor by my own design," replied the Chūjō, "but it happened accidentally in the course of the operations we undertook to suppress the violence of the monks. I beg your indulgence to speak of a fresh subject, but, as you know, in former days the Genji and Heike families stood together in rivalry to support the Throne, and after that the fortunes of the Genji house declined, and our family alone, since the days of Hogen and Heiji, has many times subdued the Imperial enemies, and been rewarded for its services, even, I speak it with reverence, so far as to be permitted to become Imperial Relatives, and to hold the office of Chief Minister; while no less than sixty members of the family have been promoted to high office, so that for twenty years there has been none to equal it in all the land for rank and authority.

  Now it is said that he who fights the battles of the Emperor shall not be bereft of the Imperial Favour for seven generations; but this I think is quite false, for though the late Chancellor hazarded his life for the Throne many times, it was his generation only that was fortunate and happy, and his children have come to this state that you behold. Our fate has come upon us and our rule is overthrown: fugitives from the Capital, our corpses bleach on mountain and plain, and men would spread our shame far over the waves of the Western Ocean. That I should thus be taken alive and brought down hither is a thing of which I never dreamed, and I can but regard it as the result of the misdeeds of a former life. In the history of China it is related that King T'ang of Yin was imprisoned at Hsia T'ai and Wen Wang was held captive at Yu Li'. And if there were such examples in antiquity, how should the men of this age fare better? It is not really such a disgrace for a warrior to fall into the hands of his enemy and be put to death, so I pray you of your favour grant me a speedy execution."

  As he thus finished speaking, Kajiwara exclaimed in admiration: "Ah! There is a great leader indeed! And both he and the samurai in attendance could not refrain from pressing their sleeves to their eyes. Yoritomo too was not unaffected by his bearing. "Far be it from me to regard the Taira house as my personal foes," he exclaimed in reply, "it is only that I carry out the Imperial Order: as for the burning of the temples of the South Capital, let that be settled by the decision of the monks themselves."

  And he ordered that the Chūjō should be placed in charge of Kanō-no-suke Munemochi of the province of Izu. A treatment that seemed just like the handing over of the sinners of the Shaba-world to the Ten Kings for seven days each. But this Kanō-no-suke was a merciful man and did not treat the Chūjō at all severely, but was very kind to him in all things. And first of all he led him away to take a hot bath. Now the Chūjō thought he could meet any fate calmly if he could wash away the dust and grime of the road, and make himself clean again, and was just taking his bath, when after a little while the door of the bathroom was opened and there entered a beautiful girl of about twenty years old, with a fine white complexion and very lovely hair.

  She was wearing a bath-robe of unlined material dyed in colours, and was attended by a little maid of fourteen or fifteen with short hair, dressed in an unlined garment of white, dyed with a blue design here and there, and carrying some combs in a small wash-basin. This lady assisted the Chūjō in his bath for some time, and then, after she had washed her hair, made to depart again, but as she was going out she said to him: "I am one of those who have access to Yoritomo, so if there is anything you wish, please tell me, and I will ask him; it may be difficult for a man, but a woman can manage these things."

  "In this condition, what can I want?" replied the Chūjō, "there is only one thing that I could desire, and that is to be allowed to become a monk." This request the lady repeated to Yoritomo, but he replied: "That cannot be. If he were my own enemy, it might be, but as he is an enemy of the Throne it is not possible." When the lady brought this answer to the Chūjō, after she had retired again he asked his guard what might be the name of this very elegant visitor. "She is the daughter of the Chōja of Tegoshi," said Kanō-no-suke, "and she is equally winsome in face and figure and disposition; she has been in attendance on the lord Hyōye-no-suke for some two or three years, and her name is Senshū-no-Mae."

  That evening was somewhat rainy, and everything was very dreary, when the lady again appeared bringing a lute and harp. Kanō-no-suke also came in with ten of his attendants and brought wine before the Chūjō, which Senshū-no-Mae served to him. Shigehira took a little, but seemed rather indifferent to their attentions, whereupon Kanō-no-suke spoke as follows: "I am a man of the province of Izu, and am only a sojourner in Kamakura, but I will do anything I can to serve you; and Hyōye-no-suke Dono has ordered that we accede to any wishes you may have, so please command us. So let sake be served."

  So Senshu-no-Mae brought him sake and recited once and again the piece entitled: "I am angry with the weaving-woman for the heaviness of my silken robe." "Though Kitano Tenjin, the Deity of Literature, swore that he would hasten three times a day to protect him who sings this verse," said the Chūjō, "seeing that I am one forsaken and without hope in this world, of what avail is it to join in the singing; still, if it will at all lessen my guilt, I will do so." Then Senshu sang the refrain entitled: "Even the Ten Transgressions, they shall be taken away," and then sang four or five times the Imayō measure: "Let all who desire Paradise call on the name of Amida."

  Then the Chūjō drained his cup, and Senshū took it and gave it to Kanō-no-suke, and while he was drinking she played the lute. "This melody is usually called Gojō-raku," said the Chūjō in jest; "but now it seems to me like Goshō-raku (songs of the next world); so I will sing the piece called Ōjō-no-kyū (hastening to heaven): and he took the lute and tuned it, and sang the melody Ōjō-no-kyū.

  And so the night grew on, and his heart became free of care, and he said: "Who would have thought to find such grace in the Elastern Provinces? Let us have another song." So Senshū-no-Mae sang several times with great feeling the Shirabyōshi refrain: "Those who find shelter beneath one tree, or those who snatch a draught from the same stream; it is naught but the promise of a former life." Then the Chūjō also sang: "The tears of Yū Chi when the light grew dim." And the meaning of this song is as follows: when in old time in China the Emperor Kao Tsu of Han strove with Hsiang U of Chu, Hsiang U triumphed in seventy-two battles, but at length he was beaten and his army routed. Then, springing on to his horse Sui, famous for its wondrous strength and swiftness, he made to escape with his consort Yū Chi, when strange to say the horse set both his feet firm and refused to move. Shedding tears of chagrin Hsiang U exclaimed: "My power is already gone, and for the attacks of the enemy I care nothing, all that grieves me is the parting with this lady." It is the scene of Yū Chi weeping in the waning light, as the troops of the enemy came shouting down on all sides, that Tachibana Hiromi has represented in this poem, and it was a sign of the Chūjō's artistic feeling that he chose it to sing on this occasion.

  So they went on until the day was about to break, when Kanō-no-suke took leave of the Chūjō, and Senshū-no-Mae returned also. That morning it chanced that Yoritomo was reading the Hokke Sutras in his private oratory when she came back, and he turned to her with a smile and remarked: "No doubt the entertainment last night was very amusing?" At this Sai-in-no-Jik-wan Chikayoshi, who was writing something in his presence, asked what he meant. "For the last two or three years the Heike have experienced nothing but hardships and fighting," said Yoritomo, "and yet so charming was the playing and singing of Sammi Chūjō that I stood all night outside listening to it. He is indeed a fine artist."

  "I too should have liked to hear it," replied Chikayoshi, "but 1 had some other business last night and so I could not; but I will take the first chance of doing so henceforth. The Heike have always produced many talented musicians and artists, and a while ago when they were comparing each other to various flowers, they decided that Sammi Chūjō was the peony among them." At any rate his playing the lute and singing so impressed Yoritomo that he never forgot it.


  When Senshū-no-Mae afterwards heard that the Chūjō had been sent to Nara and put to death there, the tidings so affected her that she retired from the world and became a nun, entering the temple of Zen-kōji in Shinano, there to pray for his happy rebirth in Paradise.

  YOKOBUE

  Now though the body of Komatsu-no-Sammi Chūjō Koremori was in Yashima, yet his heart was ever in Miyako, for never for a moment was his mind free from anxiety about his wife and little ones whom he had left in the Capital. Unable at last to bear the suspense, on the fifteenth day of the third month of the third year of Ju-ei he slipped out of his house at Yashima at dawn and departed, accompanied by Yosō-hyōye Shigekage, his page Ishidō Maru, and an attendant named Takesato, who was included because he understood ships. With these three he took ship at Yuki-no-ura in the province of Awa, and after passing by the offing of Naruto, they shaped their course towards Kii, passing on their way the shrines of Tamatsu-shima Myōjin, Nichizen and Kokken, and arriving at last at Minato in Kii.

  Thence he thought to go by the hills to Miyako and meet his wife and children, but when he remembered how his uncle the Chūjō Shigehira had been taken alive, and exposed to the shame of being carried thus to Miyako and Kamakura, he feared to heap shame on his father's grave if he also were taken, and though his feelings naturally dragged him in that direction, he fought them down and proceeded to Kōya.

  Now in Kōya there was a certain saintly priest whom he had formerly known. He had been a retainer of Shigemori, and his name was Saitō Takiguchi Tokiyori, the son of Saitō Saemon Mochiyori. When he was thirteen years of age he had gone to the Palace to take up his duties, and there he fell deeply in love with a girl named Yokobue, a maid-in-waiting on the Imperial Consort Kenrei-mon-in. When his father heard of this he remonstrated with him very strongly, for he had intended that his son should make a good match through which he might be able to obtain a good position at Court.

  Thereupon Takiguchi exclaimed: "In ancient times in China there lived one named Si Wang Mu who is alive no longer, and Tung Fang So also is now but a name and nothing more. Fleeting are the limits of youth and age; for as a flash of fire they pass and are gone. If we speak of long life, it is but seventy or eighty years, and of these the prime of life is no more than twenty. So in this world of dreams and illusions why be burdened with one we dislike, even for a moment? But if I look on the one I love it is disobedience to my father. By this lesson I will learn virtue. I will renounce this passing world and enter the way of Buddha."

  And at the age of nineteen he shaved his head and entered the temple of Ōjō-in in Saga. When Yokobue heard this, she said: "That he should give me up is quite natural, but why be so foolish as to become a monk? And if he meant to retire from the world, why did he not first come and tell me of it?" So thinking that however strong his resolve might be, he might have come and expressed his regret, she left the city one evening and set off for Saga in anxious mood.

  It was now past the tenth day of the second month, and the spring breeze of Umezu wafted her the grateful scent of many blossoms, while the moon, half-hidden by the drifting mist, reflected itself dimly in the Ōigawa, but how sad and troubled was her heart as she searched for her lover. All she had heard was the name of the temple, but she knew not in what part of it he was living, and so she wandered about distractedly hither and thither, trying to find it in great distress. Then she heard proceeding from a rough and poor cell the voice of some one reciting the Sutras, and she knew it for the voice of Takiguchi Nyūdō.

  So she told the maid who was with her to go and take this message: "Even though you have thus changed your condition, I, Yokobue have come so far to see you once more." Takiguchi was greatly amazed and agitated to hear this, and peeping through a hole in the shōji, saw her standing outside, the skirts of her garments soaked with dew, and her sleeves wet with tears. Her face had grown thinner in the meanwhile, and she looked weary with her search, truly a sight to melt the heart of the most fanatic devotee. But Takiguchi only sent some one out to say: "The person whom you seek is not here. You must have come to the wrong place." And so there was nothing for Yokobue to do but to swallow her tears and wend her way back to Miyako, sad and bitter of heart.

  By and by Takiguchi said to the monk who dwelt with him: "This is a quiet place, and there is no interruption to one's prayers, but now that girl knows my whereabouts, and though once I was able to steel my heart, if she should follow me again I might melt. Farewell." And he left Saga and betook himself to Mount Kōya, where he entered the temple of Shōjō-shin-in to practise the religious life. There after a while he heard that Yokobue too had left the world and become a nun, and he sent her this stanza:

  Till you shaved your head

  And vowed to renounce the world

  Your heart found no peace.

  Surely you must now be glad,

  Having entered Buddha's way.

  To this Yokobue answered:

  Now I've shaved my head

  And become a cloistered nun,

  What should I regret?

  There can be no looking back

  Having entered Buddha's way.

  Afterwards she entered the temple of Hokkeji at Nara, but she was unable to forget the past, and brooded over it until before long she fell sick and died. When Takiguchi Nyūdō was told of it he redoubled his religious austerities, and his father forgave his unfilial conduct, so that he became to be known to all who were acquainted with him as the Saint of Kōya.

  Now when Koremori met him after a long while he remembered him as attired in Court costume, his hair carefully dressed and his whole appearance rich and gay, but the man he now beheld was dressed in a priest's robe and stole of sombre colour, and though he was not yet thirty years old, he looked like an emaciated old monk. His person exuded an odour of incense-smoke, and his whole demeanour was that of a sage sunk in profound and pious meditations, so much that his condition seemed to Koremori a most enviable one. Perhaps the Seven Sages of Tsin who dwelt in the Bamboo Grove, or the Four Greybeards of Han who lived in Shang Shan, did not look more venerable than he.

  THE BOOK OF KŌYA

  When Takiguchi Nyūdō saw that it was Koremori, he exclaimed: "Can it be that you are not an illusion? Then how is it that you have managed to escape from Yashima?" "When I left the Capital for the Western Provinces," replied Koremori, "I did not think much of it, but afterwards I could not rest for a moment for anxiety about those I had left behind there, and though I said nothing my feelings were apparent, and both Munemori and the Nii Dono were uncertain whether Yoritomo would extend to them the indulgence that he had to Yorimori for the sake of Ike-no-Zenni, and so, unable to bear the suspense any longer, I was impelled to come thus far. Here I thought to renounce the world, and yield up my life by fire or water, but I have a great desire to go to Kumano." "The affairs of this world of dreams are of little matter," replied Takiguchi Nyūdō, "but to spend long ages in the hells is indeed painful."

  Then Takiguchi led him round to pray at all the monasteries and pagodas, coming at last to the Oku-no-in, the tomb of Kōbō Daishi. Mount Kōya is two hundred ri from the Imperial Capital, silent and far from the habitations of men: untainted are the breezes that rustle its branches, calm are the shadows of its setting sun. Eight are its peaks and eight are its valleys, truly a place to purify the heart: beneath the forest mists the flowers blossom; the bells echo to the cloud-capped hills. On the tiles of its roofs the pine-shoots grow; mossy are its walls where the hoar-frost lingers.

  In ancient times in the period Enki, in answer to a request in a dream from Kōbō Daishi, the Mikado Daigo Tennō sent a dark coloured robe to Kōya; but when the Imperial Messenger Chūnagon Sukezumi-no-Kyō ascended the mountain, accompanied by the Sōjō Kwangen of Hannyaji, and opened the doors of the holy tomb to put the new robe on the Daishi, a thick mist arose and hid his figure from their eyes. Bursting into tears Kwangen exclaimed: "Why are we not permitted to see him? This is the first time since I was born tha
t I have received such a rebuke." And casting himself on the ground he wept bitterly. Then the mist gradually melted away, and the Daishi appeared like the moon from the clouds, and Kwangen, weeping now for joy, clothed him in the new garment and also shaved his hair which had grown very long.

  Though the Imperial Messenger and the Sōjō Kwangen were able to see and adore the Daishi, the Sōjō's acolyte, Naigū Shunyū of Ishiyama, who had accompanied them, was unable to do so on account of his youth, and was greatly grieved in consequence, so the Sōjō took his hand and placed it upon the knee of the Daishi, and ever after this hand had a fragrant odour. It is said too that instruction for making incense of a similar scent is still handed down at the temple of Ishiyama. Now this was the reply that the Daishi sent to the Mikado: "In former days I met a Sattva, and from him learned all the secret tradition of Dharani and Mudra. In everlasting pity for the people of the world I took upon myself an unparalleled vow, and trusting in the great mercy of Fugen, exhibiting in myself perfect tranquillity in these far-off confines, I wait the coming of Maitreya." Not otherwise did Maha Kas'yapa retire to the cave in Mount Kukkrita to await the coming of universal peace. It was on the twenty-first day of the third month of the second year of Shōwa, at the Hour of the Tiger (4 a.m.), that Kōbō Daishi entered Nirvana, and that is now three hundred years ago, so that he has yet five billion six hundred and seventy million years to wait for the rebirth of Maitreya and the salvation of the world.

  KOREMORI RENOUNCES THE WORLD

  "I am forever undecided, like the birds on the snowy peaks of India that are always crying, 'to-day we will build our nest, or to-morrow" declared Koremori, weeping. Tanned by the salt breezes, and wasted by continual anxiety, he no longer looked like his former self, but even now he was far more comely than most men.