21. “linking stanza” (tsukeku): in renga (linked-verse), a tsukeku is a stanza that links with the preceding stanza. Renga poets had to observe strict rules.
22. This stanza, presumably composed by Akinari, evokes the image of a goma ritual, common in Shingon Buddhism, in which a priest chants spells and incantations while burning poppy seeds and slips of wood on a dais, to symbolize the flames of wisdom extinguishing bad karma. Reference to the goma ritual echoes “secret mountain” (Mount Kōya) in the first stanza, in that both allude to esoteric Buddhism. In other ways, too, the linking stanza conforms to the rules of renga:
“dais”: the gomadan in the Goma Hall (Gomadō), one of the buildings in the Inner Sanctuary at Kōya.
“till dawn”: recalls the cry of the buppōsō at dawn in the first stanza.
“short night”: like “lush foliage,” in the first stanza, alludes to summer.
23. Ishida Mitsunari (1560–1600) and Masuda Nagamori (1545–1615), close retainers of Toyotomi Hideyoshi, were said to have conspired to turn Hideyoshi against Hidetsugu in the first place and were among those who signed the order for Hidetsugu’s suicide.
24. That is, they chanted Namu Daishi Henjō Kongō.
25. On the grounds of the Buddhist temple Zuisenji, southeast of the bridge spanning the Takase River at Sanjō, in Kyoto, stands the Hidetsugu Brutality Mound (Hidetsugu Akugyakuzuka), in which are buried Hidetsugu’s head and the remains of his wife, concubines, and children—some thirty people in all—who were executed on Hideyoshi’s orders.
* * *
Tsukushi: an old name for the island of Kyushu.
“unknown fires” (shiranuhi): a pillow-word that conventionally modifies Tsukushi.
“heads on rudders” (kajimakura): refers to a journey by ship.
“shaved his head”: signifies the taking of Buddhist vows.
Muzen: a Buddhist name meaning, literally, “dreamlike.”
“incantations” (J. darani, Skt. dhāraṇi): Sanskrit phrases—the “true words” of Shingon—believed to have mystical power.
“ringing-staffs” (shaku[jō): wooden staffs with brass heads, decorated with metal loops that ring when moved. Originally used by itinerant holy men in India to frighten off snakes, they evolved into ceremonial staffs carried by priests.
“gāthā poem” (shige): praise (Skt. gāthā) for the Buddha’s virtue and an explanation of his teachings, in the form of a Chinese poem.
“clogs” (asagutsu): made of black-lacquered paulownia and lined with silk, worn by court nobles.
“court robes and cap” (eboshi nōshi): the everyday wear of nobles.
“how about it”: the nobleman is asking Jōha for a verse.
“asura” (J. ashura or shura): in Buddhism, former human beings reborn as demons in the asura realm, which among the Six Realms is the one reserved for those who have been arrogant and jealous or have indulged in dissipation and fighting. The cruel and dissolute Hidetsugu has been reborn in the asura realm, where he and the other inhabitants are condemned to constant fighting.
THE KIBITSU CAULDRON
TITLE
The title, “Kibitsu no kama,” refers to the rice-cauldron oracle at the Kibitsu Shrine, in Okayama Prefecture.
CHARACTERS
All the characters in “The Kibitsu Cauldron” are fictional. The protagonists are Shōtarō, a farmer; his wife, Isora, the daughter of a Shinto priest; his lover, Sode, a prostitute; and Hikoroku, Sode’s cousin.
PLACES
“The Kibitsu Cauldron” begins in the Kibi region, in the village of Niise, now called Niwase, Okayama Prefecture. Kibi consisted of the provinces of Bizen, Bitchū, Mimasaka, and Bingo, corresponding to Okayama Prefecture and part of Hiroshima Prefecture. The nearby Kibitsu Shrine, a major Shinto shrine in western Japan, is located in the town of Magane, Okayama Prefecture. It enshrines Ōkibitsuhiko-no-mikoto, son of Emperor Kōrei (legendary dates, 290–215 B.C.E.).
The rest of the story takes place in the village of Arai, now part of the city of Takasago, Hyōgo Prefecture, about fifty miles east of Niise/Niwase on the road to the capital.
TIME
Autumn, around 1500, or three generations from 1441 (the year of the Kakitsu Incident).
BACKGROUND
The Cauldron Purification ritual (Mikamabarai) is held in a small building on the grounds of the Kibitsu Shrine. Inside, a large iron rice cauldron rests on a clay hearth. When the water boils, fueled by burning pine needles, the cauldron makes a rumbling sound, the volume of which is taken to indicate good or bad fortune.
In “The Kibutsu Cauldron,” Isora is depicted as the ideal wife of the time, as prescribed in such books as Onna daigaku (The Great Learning for Women, 1716), attributed to Kaibara Ekiken (1630–1714): she rises early, retires late, faithfully serves her husband and parents-in-law, and secretly empathizes with her husband’s concubine. The most dramatic example in Japanese literature of a wife’s concern for her husband’s lover is in Chikamatsu Monzaemon’s play Shinjū Ten no Amijima (Love Suicides at Amijima, 1720), in which the wife overcomes her jealousy and secretly corresponds with the mistress. The tradition of the good wife who supports an unfaithful husband goes back at least as far as section 23 of Ise monogatari (Tales of Ise, ca. 947). The husband of the lady in Ise is so moved by her loyalty that he stops visiting the other woman.1 Shōtarō pretends to be moved by his wife’s devotion, but soon proves to be unworthy of her.
AFFINITIES
There is a long history of tales similar to “The Kibitsu Cauldron” in China and Japan. Commentators have identified a number of sources on which Akinari drew in writing this story, including, especially, Qu You’s “Mudan deng ji” (Peony Lantern), in Jiandeng xinhua (New Tales After Trimming the Lamp, 1378), and its Japanese adaptation, Asai Ryōi’s “Botan no tōrō” (The Peony Lantern), in Otogibōko (Talisman Dolls, 1666);2 “Onna no ichinen kite otto no mi o hikisoite torite kaeru koto” (A Woman’s Vindictive Spirit Comes, Draws near Her Husband, and Takes Him Away with Her), in Zenaku mukui hanashi (Stories of Karmic Retribution, Good and Evil, ca. 1700?), which combines tales 27:20 and 24:20 of the late-Heian setsuwa collection Konjaku monogatari shū (Tales of Times Now Past, ca. 1120); and Hayashi Razan’s Honchō jinja kō (Studies of Japanese Shrines). Some of the details in the opening paragraph are derived from book 8 of Xie Zhaozhe’s Wuzazu (Five Miscellanies, 1618).
A jealous wife is intractable, but with age one knows her-merits.” Alas! Whose words are these? Even if the harm she does is mild, she interferes with making a living and ruins everything, and the neighbors’ censure is hard to escape; and when the harm is severe, she loses her family, brings down the realm, and everywhere becomes a laughingstock. There is no telling how many people since ancient times have suffered this poison. The kind who, after death, vents her wrath by turning into a serpent or a violent thunderbolt will never rest, though her flesh be pickled in salt. But such cases are rare. The husband who behaves uprightly and instructs his wife carefully can surely escape this affliction; and yet with some trivial thing, he will incite her perverse nature and bring grief upon himself. It is said that “what controls a bird is the human will; what controls a wife is her husband’s manliness.” Truly, this is so.
In the province of Kibi, county of Kaya, village of Niise lived a man named Izawa Shōdayū. His grandfather served the Akamatsu clan in Harima, but left their mansion at the time of the Kakitsu Incident and came here, where the three generations down to Shōdayū prospered, plowing in the spring and harvesting in the fall.3 Shōdayū’s only son, Shōtarō, disliked farming and disobeyed his father’s precepts, indulging in saké and sensual pleasure. Lamenting this, his parents held secret conversations: “If we could only find a pretty girl from a good family for him to marry, he would behave himself.” They searched tirelessly throughout the province, until, happily, a matchmaker said, “The daughter of Kasada Miki, the head priest at Kibitsu, has an elegant, refined nature and is devoted to her parents; moreover, she c
omposes poetry and plays the koto masterfully. Since the family is a good one, descended from Kibi no Kamowake, this would be a splendid match for your family. I would hope that a marriage could be arranged. What do you think?” Shōdayū was delighted: “You have brought wonderful news. This could be the means to a thousand years of good fortune for my family; but the Kasadas are a noble house in this province, while we are nameless peasants. We cannot compare in social standing; I fear that they would not accept a proposal from us.” The old matchmaker smiled: “You are far too modest. I will be congratulating you soon, without a doubt.” He went to speak with Kasada, who was delighted as well; and when Kasada talked with his wife, she said, in high spirits, “Our daughter is already seventeen, and my heart has had no rest, night or day, wishing that we might find a good man for her to marry. Choose a date quickly, and exchange the betrothal gifts.” Since she was so enthusiastic, they soon agreed to the engagement and reported to Izawa. The families exchanged generous gifts, chose a propitious day, and prepared for the wedding ceremony.
Further, in order to pray to the god for happiness, Kasada assembled shrine maidens and priests to make an offering of hot water. It has long been the custom for worshippers at the Kibitsu Shrine to make abundant offerings, present hot water to the god, and seek a divination of good or bad fortune. When the maidens complete their ritual prayers and the water comes to a boil, the cauldron will, if the prospects are good, produce a sound like the lowing of cattle. If the prospects are bad, the cauldron will make no sound. This is called the Kibitsu Cauldron Purification. In the matter concerning the Kasada family, however, there was no sound, not even the feeble chirping of insects in the autumn grass. Could it be that the god would not accept their prayers? This awakened misgivings in Kasada, who consulted his wife about the oracle. She had no doubts whatever: “It is because the priests’ bodies were impure that the cauldron made no sound. Do they not say that, once betrothal gifts have been exchanged, the red cord is tied and the engagement must not be broken, even if the families are enemies or come from different lands? And especially in the case of the Izawas—I hear that they are a strict family, descended from men who knew one end of a bow from the other; surely they would not accept a refusal from us now. And our daughter is counting the days, having somehow learned that her fiancé is very good looking. There is no telling what she might do if she heard this inauspicious talk. If it came to that, our regrets would be futile.” Her use of every argument to remonstrate with her husband no doubt resulted from her disposition as a woman. Kasada did not pursue his doubts any further, because he favored the match, and he went along with his wife. Having completed their preparations, the two families assembled and congratulated the bride and groom, singing of the crane’s one thousand years, the tortoise’s ten thousand.
After Isora, Kasada’s daughter, went to live with the Izawas, she served them with all her heart, rising early, retiring late, always ready to help her parents-in-law, and accommodating to her husband’s nature, so that the older Izawas were overjoyed at her admirable devotion and fidelity. Shōtarō, too, was moved by her sincerity, and their life as husband and wife was happy. And yet, there was no getting around his willful, dissolute nature. At some point, he grew close to a woman of pleasure named Sode, at Tomonotsu;4 finally, he redeemed her contract and installed her in a house at a nearby village, where he would spend days at a time without returning home. Resentful of this, Isora remonstrated with him, sometimes using her in-laws’ anger as an excuse, sometimes lamenting her husband’s fickleness; but he paid no attention and stayed away for more than a month. Shodayū, unable to stand idly by in the face of Isora’s devotion, reprimanded Shōtarō and confined him in a room. This saddened Isora, who behaved more steadfastly than ever, waiting on her husband faithfully morning and night and sending things secretly to Sode.
One day, when his father was away from home, Shōtarō appealed to Isora, saying, “When I see how truly faithful you are, I feel nothing but remorse for my misdeeds. I shall send that woman back to her home village and assuage Father’s anger. She is from the Inami Plain, in Harima. It made me sad to see her in that wretched position, without parents, and I took pity on her. If I abandon her, she will surely go back to entertaining men at some port again. I have heard that people are more compassionate in the capital, and so I want to take her there and help her find service with a man of substance, even if it means that she continues in the same wretched status. She must be in terrible straits now, with me shut up like this. Who will see to her expenses on the road and her clothing? Could you manage these things and help her?” Isora responded joyfully to his courteously phrased entreaties. “Put your mind at rest,” she said. Secretly exchanging her own clothing and accessories for cash and using some pretense to plead for money from her mother, she gave everything to Shōtarō. Once he had the money, he slipped out of the house and fled with Sode toward the capital. Isora, having been so cruelly deceived, now was overwhelmed by resentment and distress and took to her bed, seriously ill. The Izawas and Kasadas hated him and pitied her, and fervently hoped that medical treatment would effect her recovery; but even porridge was more than she could swallow, and she weakened day by day, until finally there was no hope.
In Harima Province, district of Inami, village of Arai, there was a man called Hikoroku. Because he was her cousin, Sode and Shōtarō called on him first and stopped to rest their feet for a while. Hikoroku said to Shōtarō, “Even in the capital, not everyone is trustworthy. Stay here. We will share our rice and find a way to make a living together.” Relieved to hear these welcome words, Shōtarō decided that he and Sode would live here. Hikoroku, delighted to have new companions, rented the run-down house adjoining his for them to occupy. Sode, however, seemed to come down with a cold; she began to be vaguely unwell and then appeared to have lost her mind, as though possessed by some malign spirit. In his distress that this disaster had befallen them, and only a few days after their arrival, Shōtarō forgot even to eat as he looked after her. Sode only wailed, apparently feeling an unbearable pressure on her chest,5 and then, whenever the fever subsided, she would seem the same as always. Could it be an angry spirit? Had something happened to her whom he had abandoned in his village? Shōtarō’s heart ached. Hikoroku encouraged him: “How could that be? I have seen many cases of people suffering from an ague. When the fever goes down a little, you will forget all about it, as though it had been a dream.” His easy manner was reassuring. Their care, however, had not the slightest effect, and on the seventh day Sode passed away. Looking up at the sky and stamping his feet on the ground, Shōtarō wailed with grief like one insane, saying that he wanted to accompany her in death. Hikoroku tried to comfort him. “Nothing more can be done,” he said, and finally they turned her into smoke on a remote field. Gathering the bones, they constructed a grave, erected memorial tablets, and, summoning a priest, prayed earnestly for her enlightenment in the next life.
Now Shōtarō, lying prostrate, longed for the Land of the Dead, but he could not employ the Way of Calling Back the Spirit;6 looking up, he thought of his home, but it seemed even more distant than the Underworld: there was no ferry before him, and he had lost the road that would take him back; all day he lay in bed, and each evening he visited the grave, where the grass had already grown thick and the voices of the insects were vaguely forlorn. As he was telling himself that the loneliness of autumn was for him alone,7 he saw the same grief elsewhere under the clouds in the sky,8 for there was a new grave near this one and a sorrowful woman making an offering of flowers and water. “How sad for a young woman like you to be wandering on this desolate field,” he said. She turned to look at him and said, “I come every evening, but you are always here before me. You must have parted from someone very dear to you. It makes me sad to think how you must feel.” Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Shōtarō said, “Yes, ten days ago I lost my beloved wife, and I feel helpless and alone. Coming here is my only consolation. I suppose it is the same for
you.” The woman said, “This is my master’s grave; we buried him here some days ago. I bring incense and flowers in place of my widowed mistress, who is so heartbroken that she has taken seriously ill.” Shōtarō said, “It is only natural that she should fall ill. Who was the deceased, and where do you live?” The woman said, “My master was from a prominent family in this province, but he lost his holdings because of slander and came to live miserably on the edge of this field. My mistress is known as a great beauty, even in neighboring provinces; it was because of her that my master lost his house and land.“9 His heart stirred by this account, Shōtarō said, “Then, is your mistress’s lonely dwelling close by? Perhaps I should visit her, so that we can comfort each other by expressing the sadness we share. Please take me with you.” “The house is a little way off the road by which you came. She has no one to turn to; please visit her often. She must be waiting anxiously.“10 With this, she stood and led the way.
Walking about 250 yards, they came to a little path. Another 100 yards brought them to a small, thatched house in a gloomy wood. Light from the moon, past its first quarter, streamed brightly through a dreary bamboo gate, illuminating a meager, neglected garden.11 The feeble light of a candle shone desolately through a paper window. “Please wait here,” she said, and went inside. Standing next to a moss-covered well, he peered into the house. Through the narrow space where a sliding door had been left open, he saw the glow of elegant, black-lacquered shelves as the flame wavered in a draft, exciting his curiosity. The woman came out: “When I told my mistress of your visit, she said, ‘Please come in; I will speak with you from behind a screen,’ and she has crept to the edge.12 Please come inside.” She led him in through the garden. The door to a twelve-foot-wide reception room was open just enough for a person to enter; inside stood a low folding screen, from which protruded the edge of some old bedding; apparently, the lady of the house lay there. Facing the screen, Shōtarō said, “I have heard that you not only suffered a bereavement, but also have fallen ill—I, too, have lost my precious wife, and so, thinking that we might call on each other in our mutual grief, I have presumed to visit you.” The lady pushed aside the folding screen a little. “So we meet again, after all this time,” she said. “Let me show how I repay your cruelty.” Astonished, he looked closely. It was Isora, whom he had left behind in his home village. Her face was ghastly pale, the bleary, tired eyes appalling, and a pale, wasted hand pointed horribly this way. Crying out, he collapsed and lost consciousness.
Tales of Moonlight and Rain Page 14