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

  The priest-soldiers of the great monasteries of Hieizan, Miidera, and Nara, who are so often represented as stirring up trouble in the Empire, and who are specially referred to by the Emperor as one of the things over which he had no control, were no more credit to Buddhism than were the monks of many medieval establishments to Christianity, and their habits were just about as contrary to the precepts of their founder as were those of the latter. But monasteries everywhere tended to become dens of thieves, and it may be said that the quarrels of these warlike monks were entirely about material matters, and they rarely, if ever, indulged in sectarian persecution.

  The verses that occur in these texts have been put into the same form as the Japanese metre of five, seven, five, seven, seven syllables. Unfortunately it is impossible to represent in any other language the allusive word-play that is a feature of Japanese verse, so much of the meaning must necessarily be lost.

  The selections from the Heike Monogatari are taken from my translation of the whole in the Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan, Vols. XLVI and XLIX, somewhat revised. A new version has been made of the Hōjōki, since the excellent translation of F. V. Dickins has been long out of print.

  A.L.S.

  Footnotes

  * cf. the statement of Yoshida Kenko (1281-1350) in the Tsuregure-gusa.

  In the time of the Retired Emperor Go-Toba (1184-1221) Yukinaga former Governor of Shinanao was renowned for his knowledge of musical matters, so that he was once summoned to take part in a discussion about them, but forgetting two of the "Dances of Seven Virtues," he was given the nickname of "The Young Master of Five Virtues," and this he took so much to heart that he forsook his studies and became a recluse. But the priest Jichin, who would take in anyone, however low his rank, if he had any artistic gift, felt sympathy for him and provided him with what he needed. It was this lay-priest Yukinaga who wrote the Heike Monogatari and taught a certain blind man named Jobutsu to recite it. He wrote specially well about the affairs of the temples of Hieizan, and his detailed knowledge of Yoshitsune enabled him to describe him graphically. Of Noriyori he does not seem to have had so much information, for he omits much concerning him. For what pertains to the warriors and their horses and arms, Jobutsu, who was a native of the East Country, was able to tell him what he had learned from these warriors themselves. And the Biwa players of the present day imitate the voice of this Jobutsu.

  THE HŌJŌKI

  CEASELESSLY the river flows, and yet the water is never the same, while in the still pools the shifting foam gathers and is gone, never staying for a moment. Even so is man and his habitation.

  In the stately ways of our shining Capital the dwellings of high and low raise their roofs in rivalry as in the beginning, but few indeed there are that have stood for many generations. This year falling into decay and the next built up again, how often does the mansion of one age turn into the cottages of the next. And so, too, are they who live in them. The streets of the city are thronged as of old, but of the many people we meet there how very few are those that we knew in our youth. Dead in the morning and born at night, so man goes on for ever, un-enduring as the foam on the water.

  And this man that is born and dies, who knows whence he came and whither he goes? And who knows also why with so much labour he builds his house, or how such things can give him pleasure? Like the dew on the morning glory are man and his house, who knows which will survive the other? The dew may fall and the flower remain, but only to wither in the morning sun, or the dew may stay on the withered flower, but it will not see another evening.

  During the forty years or so that I have lived since I began to understand the meaning of things I have seen not a few strange happenings.

  In the third year of the era Angen,* and the twenty-eighth day of the fourth month I think it was, the wind blew a gale, and at the hour of the Dog (8 p.m.) a fire started in the south-east of the Capital and was blown across to the north-west. And everything as far as the Shujaku Gate, the Daikyoku Hall and the Office of Internal Affairs was reduced to ashes in a single night. They say it started at Higuchi Tominokōji in a temporary structure used as a hospital. Now as the flames came on they spread out like an opened fan, and the remoter houses were smothered in smoke while those nearer roared up in flames. The sky was dark with ashes and against this black background the fire glowed red like early dawn, while everywhere the flames driven by the wind went leaping on over a space more than a hundred yards wide. And of those caught by it some fell choked in the smoke, while others were overtaken by the flames and perished suddenly. And those few who managed with difficulty to escape were quite unable to take their goods with them, and how many precious treasures were thus lost none can tell.

  Of the Palaces of the Great Nobles sixteen were entirely destroyed, and of the houses of lesser people the number is unknown. One-third of the city was burnt and many thousands must have perished, and cattle and horses beyond reckoning. The handiwork of man is a vain thing enough in any place, but to spend money and time on building houses in such a dangerous spot as the Capital is foolish indeed beyond measure.

  Then again in the fourth year of the era Jisho, the fourth month and about the twenty-ninth day a great typhoon blew with immense violence from the neighbourhood of Naka-no-Mikado and Kyōgoku toward Rokujō. For the space of near a quarter of a mile it raged, and of the houses within its reach there were none, great or small, that it did not throw down. Of some the whole house fell flat, and of others the roof of the gate was taken off and blown it may be some five hundred yards. Others again had their boundary walls levelled, so that there was nothing between them and their neighbour's premises. Household treasures were blown up into the air and destroyed and pieces of board and shingles filled the air like driven leaves in winter. The dust was as thick as smoke, and the roar of the wind so loud that none could hear the other speak. I suppose the bitter wind of Karma that blows us to Hell could not be more savage or fearsome.

  And not only were the houses damaged, but a number of people were lamed and hurt in trying to repair them. This whirlwind eventually veered round to the south-west and fresh shouts of distress arose. It is true these winds are not infrequent, but yet there were very many who said: "Ah, this must be the portent of some dreadful happening."

  And in the Waterless Month (sixth) of the same year suddenly and without warning the Capital was changed. And this was a most extraordinary thing, for they say that the Capital was first fixed here in the August Age of the Mikado Saga, and so it has remained for all these centuries. And thus to change it without any good reason was a very great mistake, and it was no wonder that the people should complain and lament. Still that was, of course, quite unavailing, and all the inhabitants, beginning with His August Majesty the Mikado, and the Ministers and Great Nobles of the Court, had perforce to remove to the new Capital at Naniwa in Settsu.

  And of those who wished to get on in the world who would stay in the former Capital? All who coveted Court Rank, or were the expectant clients of some great lord, bustled about to get away as soon as possible. It was only a few unadaptable people who had nothing to hope for, who stayed behind in the ancient Capital.

  And those mansions that stood so proudly side by side from day to day became more ruinous. Many were broken up and floated down the river Yodo, while their pleasure grounds were turned into rice-fields. And the fashions changed also in these days, so that every one came to ride on horseback, while the more dignified ox-car was quite forsaken. And everybody was scrambling to get land by the Western Sea and none cared for manors in the north and east.

  Now it happened at this time that I chanced to go down myself to the new Capital in the province of Settsu. And when I came to look at it the site was cramped and too narrow to lay out the Avenues properly. And the mountains towered over it to the north while the sea hemmed it in on the south and the noise of the waves and the scent of the brine were indeed too much to be borne.

  The Palace was right up against
the hills, a "Logliut Palace" built of round timbers. It all seemed so very strange and rough, and yet somehow not a little elegant. And as for all those houses that had been broken up and brought down, so that the river was almost dammed up by them, I wondered wherever they were going to put them, for still there was so much empty ground, and very few dwellings had been built. So the old Capital was already a waste and the new one not yet made. Every one felt as unsettled as drifting clouds. And the natives of the place were full of complaints over losing their land, while the new inhabitants grumbled at the difficulty of building on such a site. And of the people one met in the streets those who ought to have been riding in carriages were on horseback and those who usually wore court costume were in military surcoats. The whole atmosphere of the Capital was altered and they looked like a lot of country samurai. And those who said that these changes were a portent of some civil disturbance seemed to be not without reason, for as time went on things became more and more unquiet and there was a feeling of unrest everywhere.

  But the murmurings of the people proved of some effect, for in the following winter they were ordered back to the Ancient Capital. But all the same the houses that had been destroyed and removed could not at once be restored to their former condition.

  Now we learn that in the dim ages of the past, in the August Era of a certain most revered Mikado, the Empire was ruled with great kindness: that the Palace was thatched with reeds and its eaves were not repaired, because it was seen that little smoke went up from the houses, and the taxes were on that account remitted. So did the sovereign have pity on his people and help them in their distress. When we compare it with these ancient days we can well understand what a time we live in. And if this were not enough, in the era Yōwa* I think it was, but so many years have elapsed that I am not certain, there were two years of famine, and a terrible time indeed it was. The spring and summer were scorching hot, and autumn and winter brought typhoons and floods, and as one bad season followed another the Five Cereals could not ripen. In vain was the spring ploughing, and the summer sowing was but labour lost. Neither did you hear the joyous clamour of the harvest and storing in autumn and winter.

  Some deserted their land and went to other provinces, and others left their houses and dwelt in the hills. Then all sorts of prayers were said and special services recited, but things grew no better. And since for everything the people of the Capital had to depend on the country around it, when no farmers came in with food how could they continue their usual existence? Though householders brought out their goods into the street and besought people to buy like beggars with no sense of shame, yet no one would even look at them, and if there should be any ready to barter they held money cheap enough, but could hardly be brought to part with grain. Beggars filled the streets and their clamour was deafening to the ears.

  So the first year passed and it was difficult enough to live, but when we looked for some improvement during the next it was even worse, for a pestilence followed, and the prayers of the people were of no effect. As the days passed they felt like fish when the water dries up, and respectable citizens who ordinarily wore hats and shoes now went barefooted begging from house to house. And while you looked in wonder at such a sight they would suddenly fall down and die in the road. And by the walls and in the highways you could see everywhere the bodies of those who had died of starvation. And as there was none to take them away, a terrible stench filled the streets, and people went by with their eyes averted. The ordinary roads were bad enough, but in the slums by the River-bed there was not even room for carts and horses to pass.

  As for the poor labourers and woodcutters and such like, when they could cut no more firewood and there was none to help them, they broke up their own cottages and took the pieces into the city to sell. And what one man could carry was hardly enough to provide him with food for one day.

  And it was a shocking thing to see among these scraps of firewood fragments with red lacquer and gold and silver foil still sticking to them. And this because those who could get nothing else broke into the mountain temples and stole the images and utensils and broke them up to sell for kindling. It must be a wretched and degenerate age when such things are done.

  Another very sad thing was that those who had children who were very dear to them almost invariably died before them, because they denied themselves to give their sons and daughters what they needed. And so these children would always survive their parents. And there were babies who continued to feed at their mother's breast, not knowing she was already dead.

  Now there was a noble recluse of the Jison-in Hall of the Ninnaji temple called Ryūgyō Hō-in and entitled Lord of the Treasury, who out of pity for the endless number of dead arranged for some monks to go round the city and write the syllable "A" on the foreheads of all they found, that they might receive enlightenment and enter Amida's Paradise. And the number that they counted within the city, in the space of four or five months, between the First and Ninth Avenues on the north and south and between Kyōgoku and Shujaku on the east and west, was at least forty-two thousand three hundred. And when there is added to this those who perished before and after this period, and also those in the River-bed and Shirakawa and Western City quarters, they must have been almost beyond count. And then there were all the other provinces of the Empire. It is said that not long ago in the August Age of the Mikado Sutoku-in in the era Chōshō* there was such a visitation. But of that I know nothing. What I have seen with my own eyes was strange and terrible enough.

  Then in the second year of the era Gen-ryaku† there was a great earthquake. And this was no ordinary one. The hills crumbled down and filled the rivers, and the sea surged up and overwhelmed the land. The earth split asunder and water gushed out. The rocks broke off and rolled down into the valleys, while boats at sea staggered in the swell and horses on land could find no sure foothold. What wonder that in the Capital, of all the temples, monasteries, pagodas and mausoleums, there should not be one that remained undamaged. Some crumbled to pieces and some were thrown down, while the dust rose in clouds like smoke around them, and the sound of the falling buildings was like thunder. Those who were in them were crushed at once, while those who ran out did so to find the ground yawning before them. If one has no wings he cannot fly, and unless one is a Dragon he will find it difficult to ride the clouds. For one terror following on another there is nothing equal to an earthquake.

  Among those who suffered was the child of a warrior some six or seven years old. He had made a little hut under the eaves of the earthern wall and was playing there when the whole fell and buried him. And it was very sad to see how his parents cried aloud in their grief as they picked him up all battered and with his eyes protruding from his head. Even a stern samurai at such a time thought it no shame to show signs of his deep feeling. And indeed I think it quite natural.

  The worst shocks soon ceased, but the after tremors continued for some time. Every day there were some twenty or thirty that were beyond the ordinary. After the tenth and twentieth day they gradually came at longer intervals, four or five, and then two or three in a day. Then there would be a day and then several without any shock at all, but still these after shocks lasted, it may be three months.

  Of the four elements, water, fire, and wind are always doing damage, but with the earth this is comparatively rare. It was in the era Saiko.* I think, that there was a great earthquake, and the head of the Great Buddha in the Tōdaiji at Nara fell, which I consider a very sad loss indeed, but it is said to have been not so severe as the one I have described.

  On these occasions it is the way of people to be convinced of the impermanence of all earthly things, and to talk of the evil of attachment to them, and of the impurity of their hearts, but when the months go by and then the years, we do not find them making mention of such views any more.

  Thus it seems to me that all the difficulties of life spring from this fleeting evanescent nature of man and his habitation. And in other ways too the oppor
tunities he has of being troubled and annoyed by things connected with his locality and rank are almost infinite.

  Suppose he is a person of little account and lives near the mansion of a great man. He may have occasion to rejoice very heartily over something, but he cannot do so openly, and in the same way, if he be in trouble it is quite unthinkable that he should lift up his voice and weep. He must be very circumspect in his deportment and bear himself in a suitably humble manner, and his feelings are like those of a sparrow near a hawk's nest. And if a poor man lives near a wealthy one he is continually ashamed of his ill appearance and has to come and go always with an apologetic air. And when he sees the envious glances of his wife and the servants, and hears the slighting way in which his neighbour refers to him, he is always liable to feel irritable and ill at ease. And if a man has little land round his house he is likely to suffer in a conflagration, while if he lives in an out of the way place it is awkward for travelling and he is very liable to be robbed.

  Men of influence are usually greedy of place and power, while those of none are apt to be despised. If you have a lot of property you have many cares, while if you are poor there is always plenty to worry you. If you have servants, you are in their power, and if you compassionate others then that feeling masters you. If you follow the fashions around you, you will have little comfort, and if you do not you will be called crazy. Wherever you go and whatever you do it is hard to find rest for mind and body.