Yomogi could not sit still because of her anxiety and kept stealing out to the hall to make sure that no one was about. The storm had spent itself, and a faint light was filling the sky. The far-off crowing of a cock increased her agitation.
"Isn't it about time to go? It's almost dawn," she whispered to Tokiwa from the hallway. There was only a silence. In the faint light that filtered through the narrow slits over the shutters Yomogi saw Ushiwaka lying still in his mother's arms, as though asleep. She hesitated to disturb them and turned away for a while. Then she whispered once more, insistently:
"My lady—the dawn."
Ushiwaka sprang away from his mother and shook himself.
"It is time for me to go. ... When I return I shall not fail to come with a retinue of Genji warriors to fetch you."
"No, better than that—"
"What did you say, Mother?"
"Only take good care of yourself. That is all I ask."
"That I shall. Keep well, Mother, until that day we meet again."
"That is all I now have to live for, Ushiwaka. Be warned that in righting wrong and putting down the arrogant, you too may follow the example of those you most deplore; others then will rise to humble you, and the fearful and foolish history of bloodshed will go on repeating itself forever. As a warrior, remember to love and protect the oppressed and weak, that your name may be honored ever more."
"I understand, Mother. I shall never forget what you say."
"How more can you honor your father, Yoshitomo, than by being a noble and chivalrous warrior? . . . Look, Yomogi—the dawn!"
"My young master," Yomogi said, wringing her hands, "how will you leave?"
"Don't be alarmed. I'll go the way I came last night."
"But you're wet to the skin! How can you go that way?"
"I never had anything as good as this to wear when I was at the monastery. I don't mind the wind or rain, but—" Ushiwaka suddenly turned to Tokiwa with a pleading air—"give me one of your dolls as a keepsake," he said, pointing to a doll, which his mother quickly handed him. Ushiwaka smiled, then quickly sped down the hall, leaped from the balustrade of the open gallery to the ground, and disappeared among the trees. A moment later he appeared on top of the wall overlooking the Kamo River. There he stood to look back at his mother for an instant, and then was gone.
Ushiwaka picked his way up the turgid shallows of the river, splashing through the water where it was deep. He was free now. He depended on no one now. Konno-maru, Kichiji, the Chieftain Hidehira—none of them mattered any more to him. He had only himself to rely on. He stood still in the middle of the river and looked about him; the sun was just rising behind the Eastern Hills. He looked back once more toward the mansion on First Avenue, when he heard a shout. There it was again, somewhere from the riverbank. He looked up and smiled as he saw a figure running toward him. It was Konno-maru, straining and panting as he ran.
"My young master, what happened to you?" he managed to say as he staggered up to Ushiwaka and gripped his arm until Ushiwaka winced. "You don't realize how worried we were about you. I brought Kichiji back with me and found you gone."
"Has Kichiji come back?"
"Even Kichiji is in quite a state. Where in the world have you been?"
"I went to see my mother."
"What!—your mother?"
"Was there anything wrong in that?"
"It was very risky."
"That's because you didn't keep your promise."
"You should not have been so thoughtless. What if something had happened to you then?"
"Yes, that's all you keep saying to me—that my safety matters more than anything else—more than my seeing my mother. Do you think I'd feel that my life was worth anything if I couldn't see her?"
"I'll say nothing more about that. In any case, Kichiji is frantic about you. We'd better hurry back to Otoami's house."
As they came in sight of Otoami's house, they saw Kichiji leading a pack-horse out by a rear gate. He was unaccompanied by his usual retinue of servants and appeared as though he were starting on a journey.
"We're leaving immediately, sir," he said to Ushiwaka in a peremptory tone. "You'll ride the horse, since you're a child." Then he turned to Konno-maru. "Konno-maru, we part here as you promised. I'll be responsible for Ushiwaka. You can be sure he's quite safe with me."
"I'm sure you'll be very careful, but it's a long trip, and Ushiwaka is inexperienced, so you'll have to see that nothing happens to him."
"You need not worry in the least. My life depends on seeing him safely to his destination. There won't be much to fear when we get past Mount Ashigara. The rest will be easy."
Ushiwaka turned in his saddle to Konno-maru. "Konno-maru, where are you going?" he asked dejectedly.
"I will go back to the hills and tell my comrades that you have left safely. We promised Kichiji that we would stay behind when you left the capital with him. The Chieftain Fujiwara Hidehira will look after you. Some day when you are grown and the Heike are humbled, we shall all meet once more in the east."
Ushiwaka's head was bent as he blinked back his tears. "Yes, Konno-maru, we shall surely see each other again. Some day you will be rewarded for your loyalty. Tell this to the others too."
Kichiji drew the horse round by its reins. "Well, Konno-maru, we'll meet again soon. Good-by, good-by!"
As they made their way toward the hills beyond Shirakawa, the horse broke into a trot as though eager to cross Shiga Pass, which led east.
Historical Background
On the Historical Background of The Heike Story and Its Author
The capital of Japan until a short time ago was not Tokyo but Kyoto, the seat of the Imperial Court from A.D. 794 to 1868, and the flourishing center of Japanese civilization. Hemmed in on the north and east by mountains, the Kamo River flowing along its eastern boundary, Kyoto was the setting for a government by aristocrats from the time it was settled until the beginning of the twelfth century. Countless temples, pagodas, and shrines grew up on the thickly wooded hills and mountaintops or in their many valleys; a number of imposing gates, among them the Rashomon Gate on the south, gave access to the rectangular-shaped capital and its principal avenues, intersecting at regular intervals. Beyond the city was the pleasant countryside, with its many scenic spots, favored by the Court for its outings, and several racecourses in sight of the Kamo River.
At about the time the capital was moved from Nara to Kyoto, the central government had won control over western Japan as well as the eastern provinces as far as the modern Tokyo, and the aristocratic Fujiwara clan were beginning to assume a dominant role in state affairs. By evolving a system of rule that centered in the emperor, and by filling all the important positions of state, the Fujiwara soon made themselves the rulers. To seal their bond with the imperial family they gave their fairest daughters in marriage to the emperors and princes, and none but the offspring of these alliances ascended the throne. The Fujiwara, furthermore, kept power in their hands by forcing the abdication of an emperor whenever they saw fit and replaced him by a Fujiwara grandson. We even have at one time an example of a child-emperor ruling while two abdicated sovereigns—an ex-emperor and a cloistered emperor—were also holding imperial state.
As the authority of the central government spread to the farthest provinces, so did the wealth of the Fujiwara increase, and the life of the aristocrats took on a luxury and profusion unknown before. The arts flourished and the Fujiwara were the patrons of the literate and highly literary society that developed round the Court. And it was during their ascendancy early in the eleventh century that the Tale of Genji, a novel by a court lady, was written, revealing the curiously elegant and urbane life of an aristocracy that had reached the extremes of decadence.
Less than a century after the Tale of Genji appeared, the end of Fujiwara supremacy was in sight. As their influence waned, there developed among them a struggle for power in which the question of imperial succession created a state of conflict
that became felt in every stratum of society, and in the growing disorder some emperors even attempted to restore authority to the throne.
Meanwhile, the Buddhist church, which had flourished under Fujiwara patronage and acquired great wealth in the form of tax-free estates, had grown corrupt. The great temples and monasteries trained their priests and monks to fight, maintained armies of mercenaries to protect their acquisitions, and flouted the orders of the government. Most powerful of these temples was Enryakuji on Mount Hiei, northeast of the capital.
Crime, disorder, and discontent were rampant in the capital by the beginning of the twelfth century. The Fujiwara, who now had no authority beyond that which they could back with force, were compelled to range the Heike or the Genji clans on their sides. These two military families, offshoots of the imperial house, had until then managed the great Fujiwara estates in the far provinces or were employed as guards at the Court; they were called in now to play off one Fujiwara faction against another, to quell civil disturbances, to repulse the warlike monks who entered Kyoto and threatened the authorities, or to intervene in the armed clashes between the great temples and monasteries.
By the middle of the century a distinct military class had appeared, and the Heike under their young chieftain, Kiyomori, put an end to Fujiwara dominance as well as gained ascendancy over their rivals, the Genji. Though the Heike had replaced the Fujiwara, Kiyomori failed to evolve a new system of government and ruled as did his predecessors. This in time led to a struggle for power between the Heike and the Genji, and in the last quarter of the century the Heike were overborne by the Genji.
But even the triumph of the Genji did not last long, nor did it end the clashes that went on in various parts of Japan, for by the early 1300’s the Genji in their turn were brought low by disaffected elements in their midst. And while this went on, the emperor and the aristocrats attempted to regain power from the warring military clans.
All Japan was in conflict when the sixteenth century opened. Local war-lords in every part of the land were fighting each other until the entire country was in the throes of a devastating civil war. Not until the close of the century when a general, Ieyasu of the Tokugawa, appeared was there peace. He was the first of a line of military dictators who administered Japan with an iron rule that lasted for two hundred and fifty years—until 1868, when a successful combination between the Emperor, some aristocrats, and several military clans once more restored authority to the throne. This did not, however, put an end to the unequal balance of power between the elements that had made the Restoration possible, and the disequilibrium persisted until 1945 when Japan was defeated in the Pacific War.
As we look back over the history of Japan we discover how closely linked the modern era is with the twelfth century. The outlook of the Japanese today is still deeply permeated by the teachings of Bushido, the warrior's code of ethics, which originated among the military caste. The stories of medieval heroes and heroines, which delight Japanese children even now, are those which grew up around the historical figures of that period. The lyric drama, Noh, the popular Kabuki, and the many legends handed down by word of mouth, all have been inspired by twelfth-century men and women and become the literary heritage of the Japanese people. It can almost be said that without some knowledge of that century our understanding of Japan and the many branches of her art is incomplete.
Of the many sources that throw light on that period, the Heike Monogatari (the Tale of the Heike), an epic composed early in the thirteenth century, not long after the defeat of the Heike, survives as a document of historical importance and as one of the great literary achievements of its time. It cannot be doubted that the fall of the Heike made a deep impression upon the people, since this long poem recounting the tragic end of the Heike was carried to every corner of Japan by itinerant ballad-singers, who chanted it to the accompaniment of the lute, and for centuries after it was first sung remained one of the best-loved romances of the Japanese, who made its heroes their idols.
Mr. Yoshikawa began writing The Heike Story soon after the end of the Pacific War, when the tragic aftermath was a powerful reminder of what the Heike Monogatari had related seven centuries before, and his theme is the futility and degradation of war, the fatuity of the lust for power. The author makes Kiyomori one of the principal actors, but The Heike Story, unlike its prototype, is more than a chronicle of the deeds of warriors and princes, for the story is carried beyond the events recorded in the medieval epic, and the defeat of the Heike is made to take place after Kiyomori's death, when a Genji chieftain, Yoritomo, appears on the stage to play an important role as he once did in history.
The author introduces a host of historical figures as well as imaginary ones in his novel, but none of them is the hero in the ordinary sense. History, or the irresistible cycle of events, is the real protagonist of The Heike Story, sweeping everything before it, and the greatest men are but figures rescued for a short space from the vast stream of time, and Mr. Yoshikawa writes in the strain of those lines with which the ancient epic begins: "The temple bell echoes the impermanence of all things. The colors of the flowers testify to the truth that those who flourish must decay. Pride lasts but a little while, like a dream on a spring night. Before long the mighty are cast down, and they are as dust before the wind."
For his particular interpretation of history in The Heike Story, Mr. Yoshikawa studied not only the literature of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries but diaries, letters, chronicles, and picture scrolls, which provided him with a rich source of material and authentic detail in the telling of his story.
The author occupies a unique position among Japanese novelists writing today. Where most, if not all, have at some time in their careers come under the influence of European literature, particularly of Russian and French writers, Mr. Yoshikawa, because of the circumstances of his early life, had no opportunity for becoming acquainted with the literature of the West even in translations. His reading in youth—and he read voluminously—was confined to the classics of Japan, ancient and medieval, which he found in lending libraries. Consequently his background and technique as a writer have been shaped exclusively by the traditions of Japanese classical literature on which he draws entirely for his models and sources.
The Heike Story, which Mr. Yoshikawa began writing in 1951, is not yet finished, but more than two thirds of this monumental work has been completed and has appeared in book form. It is now a best-seller, with an ever-widening circle of readers, and is acclaimed by critics as a landmark in modern Japanese literature.
A few words, need to be added here regarding the translation. It would be more accurate to call it an English version, since with the author's generous consent The Heike Story has been modified considerably for Western readers. Much that is significant and of great interest to a Japanese audience familiar with the historical setting has been omitted in translation; entire chapters have been condensed and a large number of sub-plots and subsidiary characters entirely left out. This translation is therefore only a partial one and fails to do justice to the complexity and diversity of the original. None the less, it is the translator's fervent wish that The Heike Story will give Western readers an opportunity to share some of the delight that it gives readers here and also provide a diverting introduction to Japan and the Japanese.
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