THE LOCKED CEMETERY
It is not by my wish
I come no longer to visit you
but that the world has found ways of self-deceit,
defiles that which is beautiful
and no longer gives honor to that which is great.The Sumac tree that hid the sky
itself now is hidden by bush and sapling.
The single stick which marked your grave,
broken and hidden deep in grasses
is now hard to find.The open space
where, your pockets heavy with books,
you read to me the wisdom of Chuang and Meng,
now is tangled alike with rose and blackberry.The ways we walked are difficult to find,
difficult to find and hard to follow.
In their green tunnels, tightly roofed,
no breeze enters,
no sound stirs by day;
by night, the fox only.The Iron Gates are chained and bolted
that none, living or dead, may now enter.
Yet are tombs prised,
bones scattered.
Of the marble monuments,
here and there
fragments are used to stop a drain.
Names are defaced.That is why you have a number,
despoiled only by weed and weather.Do not think it is by my choice
that I loiter long in the world of men,
nor doubt that I shall forget our words,
not come at last to lie beside you:
that, beneath nettle and fern,
promises kept,
bones mingled,
we shall care little at last
which way blows the wind.
The theatre of the West is the last stronghold of realism. No one treats painting or music as mere transcripts of life. But even pioneers of stage-reform in France and Germany appear to regard the theatre as belonging to life and not to art. The play is an organized piece of human experience which the audience must as far as possible be allowed to share with the actors.
A few people in America and Europe want to go in the opposite direction. They would like to see a theatre that aimed boldly at stylization and simplification, discarding entirely the pretentious lumber of 19th century stageland. That such a theatre exists and has long existed in Japan has been well-known here for some time. But hitherto very few plays have been translated in such a way as to give the Western reader an idea of their literary value. It is only through accurate scholarship that the "soul of Noh" can be known to the West. Given a truthful rendering of the texts the American reader will supply for himself their numerous connotations, a fact which Japanese writers do not always sufficiently realize. The Japanese method of expanding a five-line poem into a long treatise in order to make it intelligible to us is one which obliterates the structure of the original design. Where explanations are necessary they have been given in footnotes. I have not thought it necessary to point out (as a Japanese critic suggested that I ought to have done) that, for example, the "mood" of Komachi is different from the "mood" of Kumasaka. Such differences will be fully apparent to the American reader, who would not be the better off for knowing the technical name of each kurai or class of Noh. Surely the Japanese student of Shakespeare does not need to be told that the kurai of "Hamlet" is different from that of "Measure for Measure"?
It would be possible to burden a book of this kind with as great a mass of unnecessary technicality as irritates us in a smart sale-catalogue of Japanese Prints. I have avoided such terms to a considerable extent, treating the plays as literature, not as some kind of Delphic mystery.
In this short introduction I shall not have space to give a complete description of modern Noh, nor a full history of its origins. But the reader of the translations will find that he needs some information on these points. I have tried to supply it as concisely as possible, sometimes in a schematic rather than a literary form.
These are some of the points about which an American reader may wish to know more:
(1) THE NOH STAGE
Something of its modern form may be seen from Plate II and from the plans on pp. x-xi. The actual stage (A) is about 18 feet square. On the boards of the back wall is painted a pine-tree; the other sides are open. A gallery (called
hashigakari)
leads to the green-room, from which it is separated by a curtain which is raised to admit the actor when he makes his entry. The audience sit either on two or three sides of the stage. The chorus, generally in two rows, sit (or rather squat) in the recess (0). The musicians sit in the recess (J) at the back of the stage, the stick-drum nearest the "gallery," then the two hand-drums and the flute. A railing runs round the musician's recess, as also along the gallery. To the latter railing are attached three real pine-branches, marked S in the plan. They will be seen in Plate II. The stage is covered by a roof of its own, imitating in form the roof of a Shinto temple.
(2) THE PERFORMERS
(a) The Actors
The first actor who comes on to the stage (approaching from the gallery) is the
waki
or assistant. His primary business is to explain the circumstances under which the principal actor (called
shite
or "doer") came to dance the central dance of the play. Each of these main actors
(waki
and
shite)
has "adjuncts" or "companions."
Some plays need only the two main actors. Others use as many as ten or even twelve. The female roles are of course taken by men. The
waki
is always a male role.
(b)The Chorus
This consists of from eight to twelve persons in ordinary native dress seated in two rows at the side of the stage. Their sole function is to sing an actor's words for him when his dance-movements prevent him from singing comfortably. They enter by a side-door before the play begins and remain seated till it is over.
(c) The Musicians
Nearest to the gallery sits the "big-drum," whose instrument rests on the ground and is played with a stick. This stick-drum is not used in all plays.
Next comes a hand-drummer who plays with thimbled finger; next a second who plays with the bare hand.
Finally, the flute. It intervenes only at stated intervals, particularly at the beginning, climax and end of plays.
COSTUME
Though almost wholly banishing other extrinsic aids, the Noh relies enormously for its effects on gorgeous and elaborate costume. Some references to this will be found in Oswald Sickert's letters at the end of my book.
Masks are worn only by the
shite
(principal actor) and his subordinates.
The
shite
always wears a mask if playing the part of a woman or very old man. Young men, particularly warriors, are usually unmasked. In child-parts (played by boy-actors) masks are not worn. The reproduction of a female mask will be found on Plate I. The masks are of wood. Many of those still in use are of great antiquity and rank as important specimens of Japanese sculpture.
PROPERTIES
The properties of the Noh stage are of a highly conventionalized kind. An open frame-work represents a boat; another differing little from it denotes a chariot. Palace, house, cottage, hovel are all represented by four posts covered with a roof. The fan which the actor usually carries often does duty as a knife, brush or the like. Weapons are more realistically represented. The shortsword, beltsword, pike, spear, and Chinese broad-sword are carried; also bows and arrows.
DANCING AND ACTING
Every Noh play (with, I think, the sole exception of
Hachi no Ki,
translated on p. 71) includes a
mai
or dance, consisting usually of slow steps and solemn gestures, often bearing little resemblance to what is in America associated with the word "dance." When the
shite
dances, his dance consists of five "movements" or parts; a "subordinate's" dance consists of three. Both in the actors' miming and in the dancing an important element is the stamping of beats with the shoeless foot.
THE PLAYS
The plays are written partly in prose, partly in verse. The prose portions serve much the same purpose as the iambics in a Greek play. They are in the Court or upper-class colloquial of the 14th century, a language not wholly dead today, as it is still the language in which people write formal letters.
The chanting of these portions is far removed from singing; yet they are not "spoken." The voice falls at the end of each sentence in a monotonous cadence.
A prose passage often gradually heightens into verse. The chanting, which has hitherto resembled the intoning of a Roman Catholic priest, takes on more of the character of "recitativo" in opera, occasionally attaining to actual song. The verse of these portions is sometimes irregular, but on the whole tends to an alternation of lines of five and seven syllables.
The verse of the lyric portions is marked by frequent use of pivot-words
*
and puns, particularly puns on place-names. The 14th century Noh-writer, Seami, insists that pivot-words should be used sparingly and with discretion. Many Noh-writers did not follow this advice; but the use of pivot-words is not in itself a decoration more artificial than rhyme, and I cannot agree with those European writers to whom this device appears puerile and degraded. Each language must use such embellishments as suit its genius.
Another characteristic of the texts is the use of earlier literary material. Many of the plays were adapted from dance-ballads already existing and even new plays made use of such poems as were associated in the minds of the audience with the places or persons named in the play. Often a play is written round a poem or series of poems, as will be seen in the course of this book.
This use of existing material exceeds the practice of Western dramatists; but it must be remembered that if we were to read Webster, for example, in editions annotated as minutely as the Noh-plays, we should discover that he was far more addicted to borrowing than we had been aware. It seems to me that in the finest plays this use of existing material is made with magnificent effect and fully justifies itself.
The reference which I have just made to dance-ballads brings us to another question. What did the Noh-plays grow out of?
ORIGINS
Noh as we have it today dates from about the middle of the 14th century. It was a combination of many elements. These were:
(1) Sarugaku, a masquerade which relieved the solemnity of Shinto ceremonies. What we call Noh was at first called Sarugiaku no Noh.
(2) Dengaku, at first a rustic exhibition of acrobatics and jugglery; later, a kind of opera in which performers alternately danced and recited.
(3) Various sorts of recitation, ballad-singing, etc.
(4) The Chinese dances practiced at the Japanese Court.
Noh owes its present form to the genius of two men. Kwanami Kiyotsugu (1333-1384
A.D.
)
and his son Seami Motokiyo (13631444
A.D.
).
*
Kwanami was a priest of the Kasuga Temple near Nara. About 1375 the Shogun Yoshimitsu saw him performing in a Sarugaku no Noh at the New Temple (one of the three great temples of Ku-mano) and immediately took him under his protection.
This Yoshimitsu had become ruler of Japan in 1367 at the age of ten. His family had seized the Shogunate in 1338 and wielded absolute power at Kyoto, while two rival Mikados, one in the north and one in the south, held impotent and dwindling courts.
The young Shogun distinguished himself by patronage of art and letters; and by his devotion to the religion of the Zen Sect.
â
' It is probable that when he first saw Kwanami he also became acquainted with the son Seami, then a boy of twelve.
A diary of the period has the following entry for the 7th day of the 6th month, 1368:
For some while Yoshimitsu has been making a favorite of a Sarugaku-boy from Yamato, sharing the same meat and eating from the same vessels. These Sarugaku people are mere mendicants, but he treats them as if they were Privy Counsellors.
From this friendship sprang the art of Noh as it exists today. Of Seami we know far more than of his father Kwanami. For Seami left behind him a considerable number of treatises and autobiographical fragments.
*
These were not published till 1908 and have not yet been properly edited. They establish, among other things, the fact that Seami wrote both words and music for most of the plays in which he performed. It had before been supposed that the texts were supplied by the Zen
â
priests. For other information brought to light by the discovery of Seami's
Works
see Appendix II.
Y
Ū
GEN
It is obvious that Seami was deeply imbued with the teachings of Zen, in which cult his patron Yoshimitsu may have been his master. The difficult term
y
Å«
gen
which occurs constantly in the
Works
is derived from Zen literature. It means "what lies beneath the surface"; the subtle as opposed to the obvious; the hint, as opposed to the statement. It is applied to the natural grace of a boy's movements, to the restraint of a nobleman's speech and bearing. "When notes fall sweetly and flutter delicately to the ear," that is the
y
Å«
gen
of music. The symbol of
y
Å«
gen
is "a white bird with a flower in its beak." "To watch the sun sink behind a flower-clad hill, to wander on and on in a huge forest with no thought of return, to stand upon the shore and gaze after a boat that goes hid by far-off islands, to ponder on the journey of wild-geese seen and lost among the clouds"âsuch are the gates to
y
Å«
gen.
I will give a few specimens of Seami's advice to his pupils:
PATRONS
The actor should not stare straight into the faces of the audience, but look between them. When he looks in the direction of the Daimy
Å
s he must not let his eyes meet theirs, but must slightly avert his gaze.
At Palace-performances or when acting at a banquet, he must not let his eyes meet those of the Sh
Å
gun or stare straight into the Honorable Face. When playing in a large enclosure he must take care to keep as close as possible to the side where the Nobles are sitting; if in a small enclosure, as far off as possible. But particularly in Palace-performances and the like he must take the greatest pains to keep as far away as he possibly can from the August Presence.
Again, when the recitations are given at the Palace it is equally essential to begin at the right moment. It is bad to begin too soon and fatal to delay too long.
It sometimes happens that the "noble gentlemen" do not arrive at the theatre until the play has already reached its Development and Climax. In such cases the play is at its climax, but the noble gentlemen's hearts are ripe only for Introduction. If they, ready only for Introduction, are forced to witness a Climax, they are not likely to get pleasure from it. Finally even the spectators who were there before, awed by the entry of the "exalted ones," become so quiet that you would not know they were there, so that the whole audience ends by returning to the Introductory mood. At such a moment the Noh cannot possibly be a success. In such circumstances it is best to take Development-Noh and give it a slightly "introductory" turn. Then, if it is played gently, it may win the August Attention.