3. “for a time”: reflects a legend that Murasaki Shikibu was rescued by memorial services sponsored by her admirers.
“dreadful realm” (akushu): in Buddhism, people who had committed bad actions were thought to be reborn in one of the three most undesirable realms of the Six Realms: hell, the lowest (jigoku); the realm of hungry ghosts; and the realm of beasts.
4. “silences and songs”: style, rhythm, and tone.
5. “A pheasant cries, dragons fight”: examples of exceptionally strange stories, drawn from the Confucian classics Shu Jing (Book of Documents) and I Jing (Book of Changes), respectively.
6. That is, “I do not expect my descendants to suffer deformities in retribution, since I admit that my stories are weird and baseless and so will not deceive anyone, as Luo’s and Murasaki Shikibu’s writings have done.
BOOK ONE
SHIRAMINE
TITLE
The title, “Shiramine” (White Peak), refers to a mountain in the coastal village of Matsuyama, now part of the city of Sakade, Kagawa Prefecture (formerly, Sanuki Province), on the island of Shikoku. To a knowledgeable reader, it evokes the tragic story of Emperor Sutoku, who was banished to Shiramine, where he died, was buried, and finally was enshrined.
CHARACTERS
There are only two characters in “Shiramine,” both men who are important historical figures.
The first is the revered poet-monk Saigyō (1118–1190), born Satō Norikiyo. In his youth, he served Emperors Toba and Sutoku as a palace guard, but he took Buddhist vows and became a monk in 1140, initially with the name En’i. He is remembered for his extensive travels in Japan and, especially, for his remarkable poetry. His work appears in his personal collection, Sankashū (Poems of a Mountain Home),1 and in imperial anthologies, especially the great Shinkokinshū (New Collection of Ancient and Modern Poems, early thirteenth century). Many stories and legends have accrued to his name over the years.
The second character is the abdicated, exiled emperor Sutoku (1119–1164, r. 1123–1141). After his abdication, he was referred to as the new retired emperor (shin’in), to distinguish him from his father, Retired Emperor Toba (1103–1156, r. 1107–1123).
PLACES
On Shiramine, see “Title.”
“Shiramine” begins with a michiyuki (going on the road), in which a journey is evoked with familiar place-names, most of which had acquired the status of utamakura (poetic sites)—place-names used frequently in poetry and listed in handbooks of poetic composition. The michiyuki begins with Ōsaka Barrier, situated on Mount Ōsaka, between Yamashiro and Ōmi Provinces (Kyoto and Shiga Prefectures). It was the first barrier to be encountered by a traveler heading east from Kyoto, the capital. Mention of the Ōsaka Barrier signals to the reader that the world of the story lies in the provinces, far from the familiar, civilized capital. The route progresses to the east and north of Kyoto, along the Tōkaidō (highway along the Pacific coast between Kyoto and Edo) and beyond, and then doubles back and heads to the west of the capital, to Shikoku. All the place-names are utamakura:
Narumi Shore: coastline, now swallowed up by the southeastern part of the city of Nagoya.
Mount Fuji: although now dormant, an active volcano through much of history.
Ukishimagahara: marsh in Suruga Province (Shizuoka Prefecture).
Kiyomi Barrier: in Suruga Province.
Ōiso and Koiso: towns in Sagami Province (Kanagawa Prefecture).
Musashino: plain on which greater Tokyo stands. I have followed Edward G. Seidensticker’s example in translating murasaki (a gromwell [Lithospermum erythrorhizon]) as “lavender.“2
Shiogama: in Rikuzen Province (Miyagi Prefecture), near Matsushima, which is said to be one of the three most beautiful spots in Japan.
Kisagata: inlet on the Sea of Japan, in Ugo Province (Akita Prefecture).
Sano: in Ueno Province (Gumma Prefecture). A funabashi (boat bridge) was constructed by tying boats together, side by side, across a river, and laying planks on top of them.
Kiso: in Shinano Province (Nagano Prefecture).
Naniwa: old name for Settsu Province, the area around what are now the cities of Osaka and Kobe.
Suma: in Settsu Province, in what is now the city of Kobe.
Akashi: west of Suma, in Harima Province (Hyōgo Prefecture). Suma and Akashi are famous as the settings and titles of chapters 12 and 13 of The Tale of Genji.
Mio Hill (Miozaka): in the northern part of the city of Sakade, now called Mizuozaka.
TIME
Autumn of 1168 (Ninnan 3).
BACKGROUND
The dramatic historical events in the background of “Shiramine” would have been familiar to Akinari’s readers through the chronicle Hōgen monogatari (Tale of the Disorder in Hōgen, 1219–1220?) and many other sources, including plays and legends; but the events are complicated and perhaps hard to follow for contemporary readers, whether Japanese or Western. The disorder began in 1141, with the decision by Retired Emperor Toba to force Emperor Sutoku, his eldest son and successor, to abdicate in favor of another son, Sutoku’s half brother Narihito (whom Akinari mistakenly calls Toshihito). According to Tale of the Disorder in Hōgen, “It was shocking to force the previous emperor to retire, although he had no special incapacity… . In truth, he left the Throne against his will.“3 Narihito became Emperor Konoe at the age of three, with Toba governing on his behalf. When Konoe died in 1155, a disagreement arose over the succession. New Retired Emperor Sutoku—and many others at court—assumed that Sutoku’s son Shigehito would succeed Konoe as emperor, but instead Toba unexpectedly elevated his own fourth son, Masahito, to become Emperor Go-Shirakawa (1127–1192, r. 1155–1158). It was rumored that Bifukumon’in, Toba’s consort and Konoe’s mother, suspected that her son had died because of a curse from Sutoku and persuaded Toba to bypass Shigehito in favor of Masahito.
When Toba died in 1156, the first year of Hōgen, Sutoku thought that he saw his opportunity. Resentful that he and his line had been shut out of the imperial succession, he led a revolt, known as the Hōgen Insurrection, against Go-Shirakawa; but his uprising was quickly suppressed, and he was banished to Matsuyama, where he died in exile eight years later. In “Shiramine,” Sutoku takes credit for two other conflicts as well. He looks back to the first of these, which occurred during his exile, and he predicts the second, which began twelve years after Saigyō’s visit in 1168 to Sutoku’s grave.
The first conflict is the Heiji Insurrection, a brief war that began and ended in the last month of lunar 1159, the first year of Heiji (January 1160 in the Gregorian calendar). Fujiwara Nobuyori (1133–1159), a favorite of Go-Shirakawa, had been promoted repeatedly, despite his mediocrity, and aspired to the high position of major captain of the imperial bodyguard (konoe no taishō); but he was thwarted by Fujiwara Shinzei, whose lay name was Michinori (1106–1159), a scholarly, unscrupulous official who served Emperors Toba, Sutoku, Konoe, and Nijō (r. 1158–1165) and who was especially close to Go-Shirakawa. Nobuyori responded by conspiring with Minamoto no Yoshitomo (1123–1160), who had supported Go-Shirakawa during the Hōgen Insurrection, in a plot to seize power. Although Nobuyori succeeded in killing his nemesis Shinzei, the coup failed, Nobuyori was executed, and Taira no Kiyomori (1133–1181) emerged as the most powerful figure in Japan. According to legend, the Heiji Insurrection was caused by Sutoku’s vengeful spirit. In 1191 Go-Shirakawa ordered that a shrine be built next to Sutoku’s grave in order to placate his spirit. A branch of the Shiramine Shrine stands in Kyoto.
The second conflict is the epochal Gempei (Minamoto–Taira) War of 1180 to 1185. Minamoto no Yoritomo (1147–1199), the third son of Yoshitomo, had been spared after the Heiji Insurrection and, in 1180, raised an army in eastern Japan to attack the rival Taira clan, headed by Kiyomori. At the same time, Yoritomo’s cousin Minamoto (Kiso) no Yoshinaka (1154–1184) raised an army in northern Japan. In 1183 Yoshinaka succeeded in driving the Taira from the capital. They fled west toward their power base in the Inl
and Sea, but suffered a devastating defeat at Yashima, not far from Sutoku’s grave, and on the nearby waters of Shido. Finally, in 1185, the Taira met with complete defeat at Dannoura, in the straits near Akamagaseki (modern Shimonoseki). Emperor Antoku (1178–1185, r. 1180–1185) was drowned during the battle. This pivotal conflict, which led to the establishment of military rule under a shogun, is the subject of Heike monogatari (The Tale of the Heike, mid-thirteenth century) and many other works in every genre.
AFFINITIES
The principal sources from which Akinari adapted material for “Shiramine” are the military chronicles Tale of the Disorder in Hōgen, Heiji monogatari (Tale of the Heiji Insurrection, 1221?), The Tale of the Heike, Genpei jōsuiki (or seisuiki; Record of the Rise and Fall of the Minamoto and Taira, thirteenth century), and Taiheiki (Record of Great Peace, fourteenth century); the setsuwa collection Senjūshō (Selected Stories, mid-thirteenth century), formerly attributed to Saigyō; Saigyō’s Poems of a Mountain Home; the nō play Matsuyama tengu (Goblin of Matsuyama, late fourteenth-early fifteenth centuries); Tsuga Teishō’s Hanabusa sōshi (A Garland of Heroes, 1749), which includes a story about a debate between Emperor Go-Daigo and one of his ministers; the jōruri play Sutoku-in Sanuki denki (Biography of Retired Emperor Sutoku at Sanuki, 1756); and Honchō jinja kō (Studies of Japanese Shrines), by Hayashi Razan (1583–1657). It is notable that all these sources are Japanese, except for the Chinese tale from which the story in A Garland of Heroes was derived.
In addition, the text quotes from or refers to Confucius; Mencius; Wuzazu (Five Miscellanies, 1618), by the late-Ming official Xie Zhaozhe (1567–1624), which was reprinted and widely read in Japan from the 1660s on; Shi jing (The Book of Songs, eleventh–sixth centuries B.C.E.); Laozi’s Daodejing (Classic of the Way and Its Power, fourth or third century B.C.E.); and the Diamond Sutra. Other sources and related works listed by Uzuki Hiroshi include Nihon shoki (Chronicles of Japan, 720), Shiramineji engi (History of Shiramine Temple, 1406), and several Chinese works.4
OTHER OBSERVATIONS
Mishima Yukio considered “Shiramine” to be “a perfect masterpiece” and wrote that, with “The Carp of My Dreams,” it was his favorite story in the collection.5 Tanizaki Jun’ichirō singled out the opening of “Shiramine” as “a masterpiece of classical style,” “an exemplary piece of Japanese prose, employing the special strengths of our language.“6 He did so in part because Akinari provides no subject in the opening paragraphs, even though the knowledgeable reader will guess that the subject is Saigyō. (Indeed, Saigyō is not clearly identified until the end of the fourth paragraph, and then only indirectly, by his lesser-known name of En’i.) As Tanizaki points out, the original reads smoothly without subjects, but English requires the use at least of pronouns.7 “Shiramine” can even be read as a first-person narrative, and has been translated as such by Leon M. Zolbrod.8 Thus it is impossible to capture in translation the “special strengths,” and particularly the ambiguity, of the language of “Shiramine.”
Allowed by the guards to pass through the Ōsaka Barrier, he found it hard to look away from the mountain’s autumn leaves, but he traveled on to Narumi Shore, where plovers leave tracks in the sand; to the high peak of Fuji, with its constant smoke; to Ukishimagahara, Kiyomi Barrier, the rocky shores of Ōiso and Koiso, the lavender-rich plains of Musashino, the tranquil morning landscape at Shiogama, the fishermen’s thatched huts at Kisagata, the boat-bridge at Sano, the suspended bridges of Kiso—none of these places failed to move him, but, wanting also to see poetic sites in the western provinces, he went in the autumn of Ninnan 3 past the reeds that shed their blooms at Naniwa, felt the piercing winds on the shores of Suma and Akashi, and finally arrived at Sanuki, where, in the woods at a place called Mio Hill, he rested his staff for a time. Here he built a hut, not for comfort after pillows of grass on the long road, but as a way to practice contemplation and self-discipline.9
He learned that, near this village, at a place called Shiramine, was the grave of the New Retired Emperor, and wishing to pay his respects he climbed the mountain early in the Tenth Month. Pines and cypress grew so thickly together that a misty rain seemed to fall even on a fine day when white clouds trailed across the sky. A steep hill called Chigogadake towered behind the site, while clouds and mist rose from the depths of the valley, blurring even objects close at hand. In a small opening among the trees, soil had been piled high with three stones laid on top, and the whole was overgrown with wild roses and vines. This melancholy mound must be the imperial grave, he thought, as a shadow fell on his heart and he could barely distinguish dream from reality.
When he had seen him in person, the emperor had conducted the business of the court from the Royal Seats in the Shishinden and Seiryōden, while the one hundred officials had listened in awe and obeyed his commands, exclaiming at the wisdom of their lord.10 Even after abdicating in favor of Emperor Konoe, he had occupied a jeweled forest on Mount Hakoya—and to think that now he lay dead beneath this wild mountain thicket where no attendants could be seen, only the tracks of passing deer! Emperor though he was, the karma of former lives clung fearsomely to him, and he could not evade his wrongdoing. From this came thoughts of mutability, and no doubt tears began to flow.
Wishing to hold a memorial service through the night, he sat on a flat stone before the grave and, while quietly chanting a sutra, composed this poem as an offering:
“The view of the waves at Matsuyama may not have changed,
but like the tidelands, traces of my lord have gradually disappeared.“11
He continued tirelessly chanting the sutra. How damp with dew his sleeves must have grown! As the sun set, the night was menacing here, deep in the mountains. He was cold with his bed of stone and fallen leaves for nightclothes; his mind clear and his body chilled to the bone, he began to sense something bleak and awful. The moon rose, but the thick woods allowed no light to penetrate. In the darkness, his heart grew weary and he began to doze, when a voice called unmistakably, “En’i, En’i.”
Opening his eyes and peering into the darkness, he saw the strange form of a person, tall and haggard, but could make out neither the face nor the color or pattern of the robes on the figure that stood facing him. Saigyō was, of course, a monk with a strong faith in the Buddhist Way, and so fearlessly he replied, “Who is there?” The other said, “I have appeared because I wish to reply to the verse you have recited:
The ship that drifted here on Matsuyama’s waves
has quickly faded into nothingness.12
I am glad that you have come.”
Realizing that this was the ghost of the New Retired Emperor, he pressed his forehead to the ground and said, with tears in his eyes, “But why do you wander like this, Your Majesty? It was because I envied your having shunned this degenerate world that I have tried to draw closer to the Buddha’s Way through my observances tonight; but for you to appear here, while it is more than I deserve, is surely very sad for you. You must set your mind on leaving this world behind, quickly forgetting its attachments, and rise, through your good karma, to the level of a perfect Buddha.” Thus he remonstrated with all his heart.
The New Retired Emperor gave a great laugh: “You do not know. The recent turmoil in the land has been of my doing. While I was still alive I devoted myself to the Tengu Way and caused the insurrection of the Heiji era, and since my death I have placed a curse on the imperial family. Watch! Soon I will bring about a great war in the land.”
Hearing these words, Saigyō checked his tears: “I am astonished to hear these ill-considered, woeful sentiments from you. You were always known for your wisdom, and you understand the nature of the Royal Way. Let me ask you a question. Did you decide upon the Hōgen Insurrection believing that it was in accord with the Heavenly Deity’s oracle? Or did you plan it out of selfishness? Please explain this to me in detail.”
The Retired Emperor’s expression changed: “Listen. The status of emperor is the highest among men. When an emperor cor
rupts morality, then one must follow the Mandate of Heaven, respond to the people’s wishes, and strike.13 No one can say that I was motivated by selfishness when, long ago in the Eiji era, I humbly acceded to my imperial father’s command and, though innocent of any crime, relinquished the throne to the three-year-old Toshihito. When Toshihito died in his youth, I and others assumed that naturally my son Shigehito would rule the country next, but we were thwarted by the jealousy of Bifukumon’in, and the throne was seized by the Fourth Prince, Masahito. This caused deep bitterness, did it not? Shigehito would be an able ruler. What talent does Masahito possess? Ignoring a person’s virtues and consulting a consort about the future of the realm were my imperial father’s crimes. Nevertheless, as long as he lived, I maintained my sincere devotion to him and gave no sign of discontent; but when he died, I asked myself how long matters could go on like this, and summoned my courage. A mere vassal’s striking down his king led to eight hundred years of the Zhou,14 because the vassal had followed Heaven and responded to the people’s wishes; and so no one can call it unreasonable that men who have the status to govern should try to replace a reign in which hens announce the dawn. You took your vows and became infatuated with the Buddha in a selfish desire to escape earthly passions and achieve nirvana in the next life. Now are you trying to sway me by forcing morality into the law of cause and effect, and mixing the teachings of Yao and Shun with Buddhism?” He spoke harshly.
Showing no fear, Saigyō moved forward and spoke: “In what you have just said, you have applied the principles of morality but have not escaped from desire and contamination.15 There is no need to speak of distant China. In our own country, long ago, Emperor Ōjin passed over an older son, Prince Ōsasagi, to make his youngest son, Prince Uji, the Heir Apparent. When the emperor died, each brother yielded to the other and neither would ascend to the throne. Prince Uji grew deeply concerned when this situation continued for three years, and, asking himself why he should go on living and causing trouble for the people, took his own life, whereupon his older brother had no choice but to become emperor.16 He did so because he revered the position of emperor, observed filial and fraternal devotion, was utterly sincere, and had no personal desires.17 Surely this is what is meant by ‘the Way of Yao and Shun.’ In our country, esteem for Confucianism, and its position as the sole basis of the Royal Way, began when Prince Uji summoned Wani of Paekche as his tutor,18 and so we can say that the spirit of these princely brothers was precisely the spirit of the Chinese sages.
Tales of Moonlight and Rain Page 6
