The Ten Foot Square Hut and Tales of the Heike Page 4

  THE SPLENDOUR OF KIYOMORI

  Not only did Kiyomori himself live in splendour and luxury, but all his house likewise shared his prosperity. His eldest son Shigemori was Naidaijin and Sadaisho, his second son Munemori was Chūnagon and Udaisho, his third son Tomomori was Chūjō of the third grade, his eldest grandson Koremori Shosho of the fourth grade; sixteen of his house in all held offices of the higher grade while thirty had right of entry to Court. The whole number of his family who drew revenues from the provinces as military officials was about sixty persons. All others appeared as of no account in the world.

  Now Nippon Akitsushima has but sixty-six provinces, and of these the domains of the Heike were thirty; almost half the land. Beside these the manors, rice-fields and gardens that they possessed were without number. In the multiplicity of their gorgeous costumes they were resplendent as the flowers of the field; the noble and illustrious crowded before their gates like a throng in the market-place: the gold of Yang Chow, the jewels of King Chow, the damask of Wu, the brocade of Shuh—of the seven rarities and the myriad treasures not one was lacking. For poetry and music, fishing and riding, perchance even the Mikado's Palaces were not more renowned.

  GIŌ

  Now not only did this priestly statesman hold the whole country in the hollow of his hand, but, neither ashamed at the censure of the world, nor regarding the derision of the people, he indulged in the most surprising conduct. For example, in the Capital there were two famous Shirabyōshi* who were sisters, named Giō and Ginyō, both young girls and very skilled in their art. The elder, Giō, was beloved by Kiyomori, and her younger sister also was in high favour with every one. So they were enabled to build a good house for their mother, who was granted a monthly income of a hundred koku of rice, and a hundred kwan in money by Kiyomori. Their family was consequently rich and honoured, fortunate beyond the lot of most people. Now the origin of Shirabyōshi in our country was in the reign of Toba-in when Shima-no-senzai and Waka-no-mae appeared as dancers. In the beginning the Shirabyōshi wore the Suikan or silk court robe and Tate-eboshi or black court headdress, with a white dirk in their belt, when they danced, and it was like the dancing of a man: but from the middle age the headdress and sword were disused, and they danced only in the white Suikan, hence they were called Shira-byōshi.

  But among the Shirabyōshi of the Capital, when they heard of the good fortune of Giō, there were some who hated her and some who were envious. Those who envied her said: "Ah! how fortunate is Giō Gozen, if we do even as she does we too may become prosperous in like manner;" so they added the syllable "Gi" to their names to see if they too might not obtain good luck. Some called themselves Giichi, Giji, Gifuku, or Gitoku. Those who hated her said, "Surely it is not a matter of the name or character with which it is written, fortune is the result of disposition inherited from a previous existence;" and so few of them took such a name.

  Now it came to pass that, three years afterwards, another skilful Shirabyōshi appeared; and she was a maiden sixteen years of age, born in the province of Kaga, and her name was Hotoke. And when the people of the Capital, both high and low, saw her, they said that although from of old times many Shirabyōshi had been seen there, one so dexterous as she had not been beheld; and she too was in exceeding great favour with all. And in the course of time Hotoke Gozen said: "Though I have made sport for the whole Empire, yet this great Taira minister who now is the source of all fortune and prosperity has not yet deigned to summon me; after the manner of entertainers I will e'en go uninvited." So she forthwith proceeded to the Palace in Nishi-hachijo. On her arrival, a servant entered the presence of the minister and announced: "Hotoke Gozen, now so famous in this city is without." Then the Lay-priest grew very angry and replied "How then! do not these players attend only when they are called? Why it is that she has come unbidden? Whether she be called God or Buddha, (Hotoke) it is not suitable that she come here while Giō is present. Bid her depart at once."

  Hotoke Gozen was already retiring at these unkind words, when Giō said to the Minister "It is surely the usual custom that players should attend unbidden, and moreover it is because she is still young and innocent that she has thus intruded on you—so it will be most unkind to speak harshly and send her away—how greatly will she be shamed and distressed by it; as I myself have trodden the same path, I cannot but remember these things. If you will not deign to allow her to dance or to sing, yield, I pray you, so far as to call her back and receive her in audience; if you then dismiss her, it will be a favour indeed worthy of her deep gratitude." To this the Priest-Minister answered: "Since you wish it to be so, I will see her and then dismiss her:" and he sent a servant to call her.

  Hotoke Gozen, having been thus harshly treated, was even then entering her carriage to return when she was summoned and turned back again. The Minister met her and granted her an audience. Thus Hotoke, though it seemed unlikely that she would gain an audience, yet through the kindness of Giō, who thus importuned for her, was not only able to enter the Minister's presence, but further it happened that he, wishing to hear her voice, directed that she should sing a song of the kind called "Imayo:" and thus she sang:

  When I first enjoyed the sight of your bountiful presence,

  'Twas like the evergreen pine, flourishing age after age.

  Like to the pond on whose rocks is basking the turtle thrice blessed,

  Numberless storks beside it happily preening their wings.

  And those who heard it were greatly wondering at her skill and her beauty, and pressed her to repeat it even to three times. The Lay-priest also was greatly diverted and said: "Since you are so skilful at Imayo you must also be able to dance well; we wish to see one of your dances." Then the drums were ordered to be beaten and she danced forthwith. Now Hotoke Gozen was renowned for the beauty of her hair and features, and her voice was no less exquisite; how then should she fail in the dance?

  So when she put forth all her skill and charm in dancing, Kiyomori was enraptured and his heart turned wholly toward her. But when Hotoke Gozen said to him: "Did I not present myself uninvited, and when almost rejected was I not only brought back by the entreaty of Giō Gozen? I pray thee grant me leave that I may return quickly;" the Lay-monk by no means agreed to the proposal, and thinking that she was only embarrassed because of the presence of the other, proposed to send Giō away.

  But Hotoke Gozen answered "How can this be? If we were to remain here both together, I should be most embarrassed, and if your Excellency send away Giō Gozen and keep me here alone, how ashamed will she not feel in her heart? Indeed it will be most painful to her. If you deign to think of me again in the future, I am always able to come at your call. I beg that to-day I may be allowed to retire."

  Kiyomori, seeing how the matter lay, straightway ordered Giō to leave the Palace, and to that end sent a messenger three times. Although Giō had expected this thing from long before, she did not think that it would come to pass to-day or to-morrow. But as the Nyūdō continually repeated this unreasonable demand, there was nothing for her but to sweep her room clean and to go. Even those who meet under the shade of the same tree, or who greet each other by the riverside, since it is owing to relations in a previous existence, ever feel pain at parting with each other; how much more grievous a thing it is, when two have been together in affection for the space of three years. So in regret and grief she shed unavailing tears. Thus as it was a thing that must be, Giō went forth, but ere she went she wrote on the shōji this verse, thinking to bring perchance to remembrance the forgotten image of one who was gone.

  Whether fresh and green

  Or in sere and yellow leaf,

  Grasses of the field,

  When the autumn comes at length,

  Meet with the same hapless fate.

  Then riding in a carriage to the place where she lived, she cast herself down within the shōji and wept unceasingly. Her mother and her younger sister, seeing these things, asked many questions, but Giō would by no means give a
ny answer, and only by inquiring of her maid did they come to know what had happened. Moreover the hundred koku and hundred kwan of monthly allowance ceased; it was now the turn of the relations of Hotoke Gozen to taste the enjoyment of this prosperity. Soon all the people of the Capital heard of these matters, and wondered if it were true that Giō had been dismissed from the Nishi-hachijo Palace. There were some who went to see her, some who sent letters, and some who sent their servants, but Giō, since she had no inclination to amuse anyone now, did not even receive their letters, neither did she treat in any way with the messengers. She became more and more melancholy and only shed unavailing tears. Thus the year ended and the next spring came.

  Then Kiyomori sent a messenger to Giō asking after her affairs and her health and saying that as Hotoke Gozen wished for some one to beguile her tedious hours, would she not come up to the palace to dance, or it might be sing Imayo, and thus cheer her, but Giō returned no answer, only she lay down and restrained her tears. Again he sent to know why she did not go, or why at least she did not answer. When her mother heard this, weeping bitterly, she thus admonished her: "Why at least do you not deign to send an answer? and why do you not go when thus rebuked?" At which Giō said, restraining her tears: "If I thought I ought to go, I would answer, but since I shall by no means go, I know not what answer I can give. As I do not go when I am thus summoned, he has somewhat to discuss with me, he says; and what may this be but perchance to drive me from the city, or it may be to take my life. Beyond these two things no worse is possible. Even though one go forth from Miyako, the way is not so sorrowful. Again if one is called away from life, would one grudge this body so much? Once having known the bitterness of being disliked, shall I look on his face a second time?"

  Now when she did not feel it necessary to reply, her mother again admonished her, weeping: "Among those who dwell in this land, the commands of Taira Minister ought not to be disobeyed, and moreover the relation of man and woman is from a former existence, it does not begin in this life; even though the pledge be for a thousand or ten thousand years, there are many who soon are parted, and though some think that it will be but for a little while, yet it may endure unto the end of life. The thing that has no certainty in this life of ours is the relation between man and woman. If you do not go now when you are summoned, it is not likely that you will be put to death, but certainly we shall be driven from Miyako. Even if you must leave the Capital, you are both still young, and can make shift to find shelter somewhere or other; but I am old, and when weak and declining, to go and live in a strange place, is sad even to think of. Oh that I might be allowed to live and die in Miyako!"

  Thus considering her filial duty both in this life and the next, though Giō had determined that she would not go, not disobedient to her mother she stood ready to set out, bathed in tears; indeed her feelings were very pitiable. As it would be lonely for her to go alone, her younger sister, Ginyō prepared to accompany her, with two other Shirabyōshi beside, making in all a company of four. In one carriage they rode together and came to the Nishi-hachijo Palace.

  On entering however, she was not called to take the seat she had formerly occupied, a place much lower down being provided for her. "Alas!" thought she, "how shall this be? Although there is no fault in me, and although I have come hither, how am I distressed in being given a lower seat." And not knowing what to do, she said nothing to anyone, but her tears fell plentifully from beneath the sleeve she pressed to her face. When Hotoke Gozen saw this, she was greatly affected and said to Kiyomori: "It would have been better if you had not sent for her; but now let her be called up hither, or if not, suffer me to be dismissed and go away."

  The Lay-priest would not at all consider this and would not permit her to go away, but by and by he deigned to receive Giō and to greet her and inquire how she did, explaining that, as Hotoke Gozen was lonely, it would be very pleasant if Giō would comfort her by dancing and singing Imayo. "Indeed I came wishing not to disobey your august command," replied Giō and sang the following verse of Imayo:—

  Even Buddha himself was once an ordinary person,

  I also at last like unto Buddha shall grow.

  Everything on this earth can partake of the nature of Buddha.

  Only to be prevented, that would be painful indeed.

  Twice she sang it, weeping bitterly, and as she sang all the Princes and Courtiers of the Heike and the high officers and samurai shed tears of admiration and sympathy. Kiyomori also acknowledged the justice of her complaint and frankly confessed it before them all.

  So when the dance was finished he intimated that, as at present he had to attend to other matters, in future she should come without any especial summons to dance and sing and amuse Hotoke. But Giō, repressing her tears, went forth without returning any answer.

  Thus Giō, not having intended to go, but thinking it cruel to disobey her mother, a second time suffered ignominious treatment. How pitiable it was indeed! Then thinking that if she remained in this world, she was always liable to meet with such afflictions, she determined to put an end to her life. Her sister Ginyō, hearing this, also made up her mind to die with her.

  Then their mother, being aware of their resolve, again with tears more gravely admonished them. "If you have determined to do this, how greatly do I regret that I persuaded you to go; for in truth your chagrin is the cause of this, and if you take your life and your sister follow you, what profit is it to me your mother, who am aged and declining, if I still live on? I also will die with you. Now to cause one's mother, who has not yet attained the limit of her years, to cast her life away, is it not even as one of the five great sins?* This life is but a temporary abiding place, shame upon shame even, what is it to be accounted? There is only sadness of heart in the long darkness of this world. If in this life we become attached to things, in the next life we must tread an evil way in sadness." Thus melted in tears she persuaded them.

  Giō, also weeping, admitted that she spoke truth; doubtless it was as one of the five great sins that, because of regret at being put to shame, she should determine to put an end to her life. So it was that she gave up her intention of dying by her own hand: but since if she should stay in Miyako she would still be liable to humiliation, Giō, at the age of only one and twenty, deserted the Capital and became a nun. In a mountain village in the recesses of Saga, building herself a hut of brushwood, she continually murmured her invocations to Buddha. When her sister Ginyō perceived that she did thus, having made compact to die with her, how much more when the world has become so hateful shall she not at least accompany her sister. So at the age of nineteen she changed her condition, and retiring from the world with her elder sister, devoted herself to prayers for their future happiness. Then their mother, seeing that she was left alone, aged, grey-haired arid feeble since her two young daughters had forsaken the world, despairing of any future happiness, at the age of forty-five shaved her head. Earnestly giving herself up to prayer to Buddha, with her two daughters she sought a happier birth in future.

  Thus the spring passed by and the summer grew late; the first winds of autumn began to blow. Gazing at the Milky Way where the lover stars* meet in the heavens, when verses are accustomed to be traced on the leaves of the Kaji,† watching the evening sun hide behind the ridge of the western hills, they likened the sunset to the Pure Land of the West,‡ wondering when they should be reborn in that blessed region and with all desire extinguished abide there for ever.

  Thus they continued to meditate on their sad condition, their tears alone being inexhaustible. But one evening when twilight was passing into darkness they had shut their latticed door of bamboo and lighted their dimly burning lamp, and mother and daughters together were repeating the Nembutsu when there came a knocking on the lattice. The three nuns were at once overcome by fear: "Ah! perchance it is some goblin who has come to disturb our prayers and make our Nembutsu of no avail. For what human being will approach a brushwood hut like this by night to which none comes eve
n by day? Such a slight bamboo gate as this, even if we shut it, is easy to break through, therefore let us open it without delay. If indeed it be a pitiless one who will deprive us of life, relying on the True Vow of Amida on whom till now we have called, if we ceaselessly repeat the Nembutsu, surely the Buddha and the attendant Bosatsu will hear our voice and come to meet us, leading us safely to the Paradise of the West." Thus earnestly repeating the Nembutsu, and holding each the hand of the other, they opened wide the bamboo lattice.

  But behold it was no evil spirit, but only Hotoke Gozen that stood outside. While Giō was inquiring how Hotoke Gozen had come to visit them, whether in a dream or in her actual person, Hotoke answered amid her tears. "It is a strange thing to speak of what has happened, but if I speak it not, perhaps I may not be remembered. So I will relate all things as they were from the beginning in detail. When first I came to the Court uninvited and was about to go away disappointed after being dismissed, it was at your request that I was called back again; but a woman is a person not to be relied on, so that, not obeying my own conscience, I allowed you to be sent away and even stayed myself in your stead. Now in consequence of this I am overwhelmed with shame and conscience stricken. When I saw you go away I felt it to be through my fault and could not feel at all happy. Moreover when I saw the lines written by your hand on the shōji, 'In autumn meet with the same hapless fate,' I thought it was indeed true. And then when you were once more summoned and when you recited the Imayo verse, the whole matter came to my mind again. But as I did not know where you were, I inquired and heard that you were together in a certain place absorbed in prayer and meditation. Then indeed I felt envious of you, and having zealously begged my freedom since the Lay-priest has no further need of me, when I thought attentively about the matter, the glory of this Shaba-world is a dream of a dream—pleasure and prosperity, of what value are they? Very difficult it is to receive a body and to obtain the mercy of the Buddha. If now I go down in sorrow to the underworld, even though I escape from the endless circle of births and deaths, how difficult will it be to rise up again. In a world of uncertainty for both old and young how can we rely on our youth? The day when the breath enters our body or goes forth we cannot know; our life is more fleeting than gossamer or a flash of lightning; if we boast of the glory that endures for a moment, loss of happiness in the future life must be our portion.