by Donald Keene
The "Masukagami"—variously translated as "Mirror of Increase" or "Mirror of Clarity"—is an historical romance based on events which took place between 1184 and It begins with the accession of the Emperor Gotoba (1180-1239) and ends with the return from exile of the Emperor Godaigo (1288-1339). These were two of the most energetic and literarily gifted of the Japanese emperors. Both attempted to assert themselves against the military class, and both were defeated and sent to exile on the remote island of Oki.
The selection given here covers Godaigo's journey from Kyoto to 0ki, and the life he led in lonely exile. Godaigo was more fortunate than Gotoba (who is the "former emperor" of the translation) in that he was able to return from exile thanks to his supporters. Once back in power, however, he continued to make the mistakes that had caused his first exile, and it was not long before his forces were driven from Kyoto again, this time to the mountains of Yoshino where for some sixty years the "Southern Court" held sway.
Neither the date nor the author of the "Masukagami" is known, but it is believed to have been written about 1370, possibly by Nijd Yoshimoto (1320-1388) the famous poet of linked-verse.
The spring of 1332 had come. The beginning of the first year of the new reign was surprisingly festive. The new Emperor, being young and handsome, lent a special brilliance to everything, and the palace ceremonies were performed in exact observance of tradition. On the occasions of official functions, and even on quite ordinary days, there was so dense a press of carriages before the palace and the residences of the cloistered sovereigns,1 which were situated within the same area, that it was scarcely possible to move, but among all those who thronged to the court, there was not a single familiar face.
The Emperor Godaigo was still held captive at Rokuhara. Along about the second moon, when the skies were serene and lightly veiled in mist, and the gendy blowing spring breezes brought from the eaves the nostalgic fragrance of plum blossoms, so melancholy was his cast of mind that even the clear notes of the thrush sounded harshly in his ears. Their situations were different, of course, but one could not help thinking of some neglected court lady in the women's palace at the Chinese court. Perhaps it was with the intent of consoling him, now that the lengthening of the days made it all the harder for him to pass his time, that the Empress sent him his lute, together with this poem written on a scrap of paper:
omoiyare Turn your thoughts to me,
chiri no mi tsumoru And behold these, my tears,
yotsu no 0 ni Too thick to brush away;
harai mo aezu They fell on the strings of the lute
bakaru numida wo When I saw how thick the dust lay.
The Emperor, understanding that these must have been her actual feelings, was deeply saddened, and the tears coursed down his face like raindrops. He wrote in reply:
kakitateshi When I plucked the notes
ne wo tachihatete After many months of silence,
kimi kpuru I yearned for you,
numida no tama no And the notes became cords
o to zo narikeru On which to thread my tears.
Just at this time there arrived in Kyoto an emissary from Kamakura named Nagai Takafuyu. His family had been important samurai in Kamakura since the days of General Yoshitomo, and although he was still young he was chosen for the important mission of informing the Emperor that the time had at last come for him to remove to Oki; on the seventh day of the third moon he must depart from the capital. It may well be imagined how great was the Emperor's consternation when he learned that the dreaded moment was now at hand. Great were the lamentations also of the Empress and the princes, and those who were in attendance on him could not control their grief. He attempted to keep others from seeing how greatly distressed he was, but in spite of himself tears welled up, which he concealed as best he could. Whenever he recollected what had happened to that former emperor, he realized how unlikely it was that he himself would ever return to govern the country again. He lived in the conviction that everything had now come to an end, and he ceaselessly lamented that his sorrows were due not to the wickedness of others, but had all been imposed on him from a previous existence.
tsui ni kaku If it is my fate
shizumihatsubeki To terminate thus my days,
mukui araba In the depths of ruin,
ue naki mi to wa Why was I ever born
nani umarekemu Sovereign supreme of men?
The Emperor set out about ten o'clock in the morning. He rode in the split-bamboo Imperial carriage. The outriders consisted of all those still alive who had served at the court since the reign of the late Emperor Go-uda.2 The Middle Counselor Saionji served as carriage attendant. The Emperor wore the Imperial crown, an ordinary court robe and trousers, and an unlined cloak of white damask. He recalled with sorrow that on the same day a year before he had held a cherry-blossom party in the northern hills, and one after another of the happy events of that day came back to him. The robes which he then had presented to the different gentlemen to celebrate the occasion were today altered into traveling garments, and this thought made him lament all the more bitterly the fickle usages of the world. Just before he left his prison to enter the carriage, he wrote on the paper-door beside which he always used to sit:
isa shirazu I do not know—
nao ukikata no If I go from here to some
mata mo araba Yet more hateful place,
kono yado totemo Perhaps even these lodgings
shinobare ya semu Will stir nostalgic regret.
He was accompanied by several court dames and by just two men, Yukifusa and Tadaaki. No words could express the sorrow that each one felt as the moment of departure approached. The officers who were selected to escort him from Rokuhara, or who were engaged in other duties commensurate with their great fame, included ten of the most distinguished men of the realm. They were attired in magnificent brocade cloaks and robes of various hues, woven and dyed in contrasting patterns, and presented a rare and splendid sight even in these unhappy circumstances. From Rokuhara they proceeded westward along the Seventh Ward, and then turned southward at Omiya. The Imperial carriage halted in front of the Eastern Temple, apparently to permit the Emperor a brief moment of prayer. The carriages of spectators jammed the streets. Even ladies of quality, in wide-brimmed hats and turned-up robes, mingled with the pedestrians. Young and old, nuns, priests, and even wretched wood-cutters and hunters from the mountains thronged the place, as thick as bamboos in a forest. Just to see them all wiping their eyes and sniffling made one feel that no worse calamity could occur in this sorrowful world. It must have been thus when the Emperor Gotoba was exiled to Oki, but of that event I know only by report, not having witnessed it myself. It seemed to me then that so appalling a moment had never before been known. Even the insignificant or base people who normally could never have approached the Imperial presence were bewildered and dumbfounded by the pathos of today's leave-taking. The Emperor lifted the blinds of his carriage a little and gazed around him as though not to let a blade of grass or a tree escape his eyes. The soldiers of the escort, not being made of stone or wood, could be seen to wet the sleeves of their armor with their tears. The Emperor looked back until the treetops of the capital disappeared from sight. He still wondered if it might after all be just a dream.
When they arrived at the Toba Palace, His Majesty changed his apparel, and for appearance's sake partook of lunch, although he barely touched the food. From this place onward he was to travel by palanquin. The outriders and other courtiers wept as they returned to the capital with the empty carriage, and he was most touched by their distraction. In this manner the Emperor departed for his distant destination.
At the crossing of the Yodo River he recalled how when, long ago, he had paid a state visit to the Hachiman Shrine, his commissioner at the bridge-crossing had been Sasaki, the Lord of Sado, who had since entered the priesthood and was this day serving as one of his escorts. The recollection was difficult to bear.
shirube suru Although this road
michi koso arazu On which you are guiding me
narinu tomo Is not the one of old,
Yodo no watari wa At the Yodo crossing
wasureshi mo seji I do not forget the past. . . .
The Emperor next crossed the Cape of Wada and the Karumo River, and was approaching the Barrier of Suma. The place "where the wind from the bay blows across the pass," of Yukihira's poem, must have been far inland from the bay which now the Emperor gazed on, lost in emotion. He felt as if even now the waves of which Genji had said, "they are lost in the sound of my weeping," were splashing on his sleeves, and they brought tears for many things. The Emperor next came to the province of Harima. Struck by the charm of the villages he saw, he asked what they were called, and they told him "Salt-House" and "Dripping Brine." "Just to ask the names makes the journey all the more bitter," he said. When he lifted the blinds of his palanquin and looked out, his face was young and handsome, so that all who were in attendance thought how splendid he looked. Just beyond the valley of Okura was the tomb of Hitomaro. And when he passed the bay of Akashi, how moving it was.3
mizu no awa no I who must journey
kiete ukise wo Across a world vanishing
wataru mi ni Like foam on the waves,
urayamashiki wa What I long for most of all
ama no tsuribune Is a little fishing boat.
When he looked on the Springs of Nonaka, the Bay of Futami, and the Pine of Takasago, all celebrated in poetry, he thought how delighted he would be were it not this sort of journey, but in his present distraught frame of mind, which everything served only to deepen, he could only shut his eyes to them. "I must be in a terrible state," he thought. Clustered cherry trees were in blossom on a lofty peak, and he felt as though he were making his way through white clouds. But the very charm of the scene brought up memory on memory of the capital.
hana wa nao The cherry blossoms
ufase mo wakazu Unmindful of the sad world,
sakitekeri Have burst into bloom.
miyaka mo ima ya And in the capital too
sakari naruramu Now must be their glory.
On the twelfth, when he was stopping at a place on the Kako River, he was informed that his son, the Prince Soncho, about to sail for exile in Sanuki, had arrived at Noguchi, east of the river, although the route he had taken differed somewhat from the Emperor's. Much moved by the news, the Emperor asked to meet his son, but his escorts refused permission, and the Prince passed on without a glimpse of him. What unbearable agitation must he have experienced then! It hardly need be stated here, but there is no man but would feel unspeakable bitterness and rancor toward a world where even so small a thing could not be granted.
On the seventeenth he reached the province of Mimasaka where he rested for two or three days on account of an indisposition. Since his lodgings here were only temporary, they were not very spacious, and the soldiers on duty were all able to see him from quite close up. His majestic appearance stirred them profoundly, and he looked at them filled with many thoughts.
aware to wa My miserable state
nare mo miruramu Is apparent even to you—
wa ga tami wo Know that my concern
omou kokoro wa For my beloved people
ima mo kawarazu Even now remains unchanged,
At the sight of smoke rising from the eaves of the house adjoining his, the Emperor recited the verse, "Brushwood burning in a mountain hut" in a touching way.
yoso ni no mi I had always thought it
omoi zo yarishi Something quite remote from me.—
omoiki ya Did ever I think
tami no kamado wo Thus to see, so close at hand,
kakute mimu to wa The kitchen fires of my people?
They continued on their journey. The Emperor, noticing that the direction from which they had come was now veiled over in mist, thought, "How great a distance I have come!" Each day that elapsed took him farther from the capital and increased his melancholy. Even the branches of cherry, which he had seen in their first faint bloom, with the passage of the days and the miles had lost their color more and more, and now lay scattered whitely on the twisting roads that led up and down through the mountains. He felt as though he were passing over patches of melting snow.
hana no haru wa How hard it will be
mita mimu koto no Once again to see the spring
kataki ka na And cherry blossoms,
onaji michi wo ba Even if perchance I travel
ikikaeru tomo Back along this very road.
Yes, it would be extremely difficult but, he consoled himself, if he managed to keep alive he might yet be able to carry through his plans, though this was not to be depended on. . . .
At Nakayama of the Three-day Moon he recalled the poem that long ago the Emperor Gotoba had written about the place. How sad those times had been!
tsutaekiku When I hear them tell
mukashigatari zo Those stories of days gone by
ukarikeru I am filled with grief.
sono na furinuru O name that I long have known,
minazuki no mori Forest of the Three-day Moon!
They were now half-way to their destination. The soldiers of the escort, high and low alike, changed to costumes of a style even gayer and more fashionable than those in which they had left the capital. Although in most respects it was paltry and strange for an Imperial procession, the evidence of the care which had been taken for their entertainment all along the way was such that the procession did not seem so wretched after all; the Emperor's reception was in fact most courteous. He was now an exile, but there seemed still to be a lingering respect for one who had been a sovereign and had ruled his country with majesty. He was treated everywhere with the greatest deference. Those who knew about ancient matters declared that on that procession to exile of former days no such courtesies had been shown.
About the first day of the fourth moon, recalling his life at the palace, the Emperor wrote:
samo koso wa Indeed it is true
tsukihi mo shiranu That I have quite forgotten
ware narame The passage of time.
koromogae seshi Is it not today that I was wont
kefu ni ya wa aranu To change to summer clothes?
At the port of Yasuki in the province of Izumo he boarded ship. Twenty-four large and innumerable small vessels followed his. As the boats were rowed far out to sea and the way back was obscured by ever thickening mist, his spirits sank, and he felt that he understood for the first time what it meant to be "separated by two thousand leagues."4 Thus he arrived in Oki.
Nothing remained in the way of relics of that former exile. There was a handful of houses and, in the distance, only a shed where the fishermen burnt salt. When he cast his eyes on this most miserable view, all thoughts of himself left his mind, and he recalled instead the events of the past. With sorrow and humility he tried to imagine what it must have been like for that other Emperor to have ended his days in such a place, and he realized that his present exile stemmed from his desire to fulfill the aspirations of his ancestor. Countless thoughts pursued him: he wondered whether the former Emperor in his grave was now taking pity on him.
The Emperor fixed upon a temple called Kokubunji, which was situated somewhat inland from the coast, as his residence, and had it renovated suitably. Now that he had definitely entered upon the life he was henceforth to lead, he felt calmed, but he still experienced an indescribable sensation of unreality. When all the soldiers who had escorted him to Oki withdrew, a terrible silence fell over the place, which made him feel all the more depressed. . . .
On the twenty-second day of the third moon the coronation procession took place in the capital, dazzling everyone by its splendor. The cloistered sovereigns, Gofushimi and Hanazono, who rode together, stopped their carriage by the eastern gate of the palace to watch the procession. Everything had been arranged with the greatest care and went off beautifully.
But, alas, the Emperor Godaigo's consort was wrapped in g
rief, as she had been since their parting, and never raised her head. Her sorrow was understandable: added to the unhappiness caused by a distant separation, there were the pangs in her heart that gave her no surcease. Without emotion, as if it were happening to someone quite remote, she received the news that her title of Empress had been taken from her, and a name as a nun bestowed. It was now for her a world bereft of joy. In days past she had grieved because she had been mocked at and made the object of universal gossip,5 and the Emperor had shared her distress, but now she gave no thought at all to such matters. The various altars that had been erected for prayers for her safe delivery had been damaged beyond recognition and forgotten. Her days were now given over entirely to confused thoughts about the sadness of the world. As time went on without her even taking the necessary medicines, she fell insensibly into a decline, and it did not seem that she could long survive. From Oki there came only very infrequent messages, all of which contributed to her anxiety and depression. There was no certainty that they would meet again, and they were both exceedingly unhappy at the thought that, the uncertain world being what it is, they might soon end their lives still thus separated.
Naiji no Sammi, who accompanied the Emperor to Oki, had given birth to several of his children. Because of their tender years they were not sent to exile, but their guardian was changed, and they moved to a house in the northern hills. Although they were still small, they were aware of what had happened and often, when no one could see them, they would burst into tears of longing for their parents. The eldest of the children was seven years old. In his new surroundings the sky was dismal, and the fiercely blowing mountain winds made him sadder than before. He recited verses in Chinese and in Japanese:
The garden pines are dark with age, the autumn wind is cold;
The bamboo leaves grow thick, white snow now covers all.
tsukazuka to Having spent the day
nagamekurashite In quiet meditation,
iriai no Just to hear the sound
kane no oto ni mo Of the evening temple bell
kimi zo koishiki Makes me long for you, my lord,
