Chapter 7

Translated, this would appear to mean only,—“_Two butterflies!… Last year my dear wife died!_” Unless you happen to know the pretty Japanese symbolism of the butterfly in relation to happy marriage, and the old custom of sending with the wedding-gift a large pair of paper-butterflies (_ochō-mechō_), the verse might well seem to be less than commonplace. Or take this recent composition, by a University student, which has been praised by good judges:—

Furusato ni Fubo ari—mushi no Koë-goë![1]

—“_In my native place the old folks [or, my parents] are—clamor of insect-voices!_”

[1] I must observe, however, that the praise was especially evoked by the use of the term _koë-goë_—(literally meaning “voice after voice” or a crying of many voices);—and the special value of the syllables here can be appreciated only by a Japanese poet.

The poet here is a country-lad. In unfamiliar fields he listens to the great autumn chorus of insects; and the sound revives for him the memory of his far-off home and of his parents. But here is something incomparably more touching,—though in literal translation probably more obscure,—than either of the preceding specimens;—

Mi ni shimiru Kazé ya! Shōji ni Yubi no ato!

—“_Oh, body-piercing wind!—that work of little fingers in the shōji!_”[2]…. What does this mean? It means the sorrowing of a mother for her dead child. _Shōji_ is the name given to those light white-paper screens which in a Japanese house serve both as windows and doors, admitting plenty of light, but concealing, like frosted glass, the interior from outer observation, and excluding the wind. Infants delight to break these by poking their fingers through the soft paper: then the wind blows through the holes. In this case the wind blows very cold indeed,—into the mother’s very heart;—for it comes through the little holes that were made by the fingers of her dead child.

[2] More literally:—“body-through-pierce wind—ah!—_shōji_ in the traces of [viz.: holes made by] fingers!”

The impossibility of preserving the inner quality of such poems in a literal rendering, will now be obvious. Whatever I attempt in this direction must of necessity be _ittakkiri;_—for the unspoken has to be expressed; and what the Japanese poet is able to say in seventeen or twenty-one syllables may need in English more than double that number of words. But perhaps this fact will lend additional interest to the following atoms of emotional expression:—

A MOTHER’S REMEMBRANCE

_Sweet and clear in the night, the voice of a boy at study, Reading out of a book…. I also once had a boy!_

A MEMORY IN SPRING

_She, who, departing hence, left to the flowers of the plum-tree, Blooming beside our eaves, the charm of her youth and beauty, And maiden pureness of heart, to quicken their flush and fragrance,— Ah! where does she dwell to-day, our dear little vanished sister?_

FANCIES OF ANOTHER FAITH

_(1) I sought in the place of graves the tomb of my vanished friend: From ancient cedars above there rippled a wild doves cry._

_(2) Perhaps a freak of the wind-yet perhaps a sign of remembrance,— This fall of a single leaf on the water I pour for the dead._

_(3)I whispered a prayer at the grave: a butterfly rose and fluttered— Thy spirit, perhaps, dear friend!…_

IN A CEMETERY AT NIGHT

_This light of the moon that plays on the water I pour for the dead, Differs nothing at all from the moonlight of other years._

AFTER LONG ABSENCE

_The garden that once I loved, and even the hedge of the garden,— All is changed and strange: the moonlight only is faithful;— The moon alone remembers the charm of the time gone by!_

MOONLIGHT ON THE SEA

_O vapory moon of spring!—would that one plunge into ocean Could win me renewal of life as a part of thy light on the waters!_

AFTER FAREWELL

_Whither now should! look?—where is the place of parting? Boundaries all have vanished;—nothing tells of direction: Only the waste of sea under the shining moon!_

HAPPY POVERTY

_Wafted into my room, the scent of the flowers of the plum-tree Changes my broken window into a source of delight._

AUTUMN FANCIES

_(1) Faded the clover now;—sere and withered the grasses: What dreams the matsumushi_[3] _in the desolate autumn-fields?_

_(2) Strangely sad, I thought, sounded the bell of evening;— Haply that tone proclaimed the night in which autumn dies!_

_(3) Viewing this autumn-moon, I dream of my native village Under the same soft light,—and the shadows about my home._

[3] A musical cricket—_calyptotryphus marmoratus_.

IN TIME OF GRIEF, HEARING A SÉMI (CICADA)

_Only “I,” “I,”—the cry of the foolish semi! Any one knows that the world is void as its cast-off shell._

ON THE CAST-OFF SHELL OF A SÉMI

_Only the pitiful husk!… O poor singer of summer, Wherefore thus consume all thy body in song?_

SUBLIMITY OF INTELLECTUAL POWER

_The mind that, undimmed, absorbs the foul and the pure together— Call it rather a sea one thousand fathoms deep!_[4]

[4] This is quite novel in its way,—a product of the University: the original runs thus:—

Nigoréru mo Suméru mo tomo ni Iruru koso Chi-hiro no umi no Kokoro nari-keré!

SHINTŌ REVERY

_Mad waves devour The rocks: I ask myself in the darkness, “Have I become a god?” Dim is The night and wild!_

“Have I become a god?”—that is to say, “Have I died?—am I only a ghost in this desolation?” The dead, becoming _kami_ or gods, are thought to haunt wild solitudes by preference.

IV

The poems above rendered are more than pictorial: they suggest something of emotion or sentiment. But there are thousands of pictorial poems that do not; and these would seem mere insipidities to a reader ignorant of their true purpose. When you learn that some exquisite text of gold means only, “_Evening-sunlight on the wings of the water-fowl_,”—or,”_Now in my garden the flowers bloom, and the butterflies dance_,”—then your first interest in decorative poetry is apt to wither away. Yet these little texts have a very real merit of their own, and an intimate relation to Japanese aesthetic feeling and experience. Like the pictures upon screens and fans and cups, they give pleasure by recalling impressions of nature, by reviving happy incidents of travel or pilgrimage, by evoking the memory of beautiful days. And when this plain fact is fully understood, the persistent attachment of modern Japanese poets—notwithstanding their University training—to the ancient poetical methods, will be found reasonable enough.

I need offer only a very few specimens of the purely pictorial poetry. The following—mere thumb-nail sketches in verse—are of recent date.

LONESOMENESS

Furu-dera ya: Kané mono iwazu; Sakura chiru.

—“_Old temple: bell voiceless; cherry-flowers fall_.”

MORNING AWAKENING AFTER A NIGHT’S REST IN A TEMPLE

Yamadera no Shichō akéyuku: Taki no oto.

—“_In the mountain-temple the paper mosquito-curtain is lighted by the dawn: sound of water-fall_.”

WINTER-SCENE

Yuki no mura; Niwatori naité; Aké shiroshi.

“_Snow-village;—cocks crowing;—white dawn_.”

Let me conclude this gossip on poetry by citing from another group of verses—also pictorial, in a certain sense, but chiefly remarkable for ingenuity—two curiosities of impromptu. The first is old, and is attributed to the famous poetess Chiyo. Having been challenged to make a poem of seventeen syllables referring to a square, a triangle, and a circle, she is said to have immediately responded,—

Kaya no té wo Hitotsu hazushité, Tsuki-mi kana!

—“_Detaching one corner of the mosquito-net, lo! I behold the moon!_” The top of the mosquito-net, suspended by cords at each of its four corners, represents the square;—letting down the net at one corner converts the square into a triangle;—and the moon represents the circle.

The other curiosity is a recent impromptu effort to portray, in one verse of seventeen syllables, the last degree of devil-may-care-poverty,—perhaps the brave misery of the wandering student;—and I very much doubt whether the effort could be improved upon:—

Nusundaru Kagashi no kasa ni Amé kyū nari.

—“_Heavily pours the rain on the hat that I stole from the scarecrow!_”

Japanese Buddhist Proverbs

As representing that general quality of moral experience which remains almost unaffected by social modifications of any sort, the proverbial sayings of a people must always possess a special psychological interest for thinkers. In this kind of folklore the oral and the written literature of Japan is rich to a degree that would require a large book to exemplify. To the subject as a whole no justice could be done within the limits of a single essay. But for certain classes of proverbs and proverbial phrases something can be done within even a few pages; and sayings related to Buddhism, either by allusion or derivation, form a class which seems to me particularly worthy of study. Accordingly, with the help of a Japanese friend, I have selected and translated the following series of examples,—choosing the more simple and familiar where choice was possible, and placing the originals in alphabetical order to facilitate reference. Of course the selection is imperfectly representative; but it will serve to illustrate certain effects of Buddhist teaching upon popular thought and speech.

1.—_Akuji mi ni tomaru._ All evil done clings to the body.[1]

[1] The consequence of any evil act or thought never,—so long as karma endures,—will cease to act upon the existence of the person guilty of it.

2.—_Atama soru yori kokoro wo soré._ Better to shave the heart than to shave the head.[2]

[2] Buddhist nuns and priests have their heads completely shaven. The proverb signifies that it is better to correct the heart,—to conquer all vain regrets and desires,—than to become a religious. In common parlance the phrase “to shave the head” means to become a monk or a nun.

3.—_Au wa wakaré no hajimé._ Meeting is only the beginning of separation.[3]

[3] Regret and desire are equally vain in this world of impermanency; for all joy is the beginning of an experience that must have its pain. This proverb refers directly to the sutra-text,—_Shōja hitsumetsu é-sha-jori_,—” All that live must surely die; and all that meet will surely part.”

4.—_Banji wa yumé._ All things[4] are merely dreams.

[4] Literally, “ten thousand things.”

5.—_Bonbu mo satoréba hotoké nari._ Even a common man by obtaining knowledge becomes a Buddha.[5]

[5] The only real differences of condition are differences in knowledge of the highest truth.

6.—_Bonnō kunō._ All lust is grief.[6]

[6] All sensual desire invariably brings sorrow.

7—_Buppō to wara-ya no amé, dété kiké._ One must go outside to hear Buddhist doctrine or the sound of rain on a straw roof.[7]

[7] There is an allusion here to the condition of the _shukké_ (priest): literally, “one who has left his house.” The proverb suggests that the higher truths of Buddhism cannot be acquired by those who continue to live in the world of follies and desires.

8.—_Busshō en yori okoru._ Out of karma-relation even the divine nature itself grows.[8]

[8] There is good as well as bad karma. Whatever hap-piness we enjoy is not less a consequence of the acts and thoughts of previous lives, than is any misfortune that comes to us. Every good thought and act contributes to the evolution of the Buddha-nature within each of us. Another proverb [No. 10],—_En naki shujō wa doshi gatashi_,—further illustrates the meaning of this one.

9.—_Enkō ga tsuki wo toran to suru ga gotoshi._ Like monkeys trying to snatch the moon’s reflection on water.[9]

[9] Allusion to a parable, said to have been related by the Buddha himself, about some monkeys who found a well under a tree, and mistook for reality the image of the moon in the water. They resolved to seize the bright apparition. One monkey suspended himself by the tail from a branch overhanging the well, a second monkey clung to the first, a third to the second, a fourth to the third, and so on,—till the long chain of bodies had almost reached the water. Suddenly the branch broke under the unaccustomed weight; and all the monkeys were drowned.

10.—_En naki shujō wa doshi gatashi._ To save folk having no karma-relation would be difficult indeed![10]

[10] No karma-relation would mean an utter absence of merit as well as of demerit.

11.—_Fujō seppō suru hōshi wa, birataké ni umaru._ The priest who preaches foul doctrine shall be reborn as a fungus.

12.—_Gaki mo ninzu._ Even gaki (_prêtas_) can make a crowd.[11]

[11] Literally: “Even gaki are a multitude (or, ‘population’).” This is a popular saying used in a variety of ways. The ordinary meaning is to the effect that no matter how poor or miserable the individuals composing a multitude, they collectively represent a respectable force. Jocosely the saying is sometimes used of a crowd of wretched or tired-looking people,—sometimes of an assembly of weak boys desiring to make some demonstration,—sometimes of a miserable-looking company of soldiers.—Among the lowest classes of the people it is not uncommon to call a deformed or greedy person a “gaki.”

13.—_Gaki no mé ni midzu miézu._ To the eyes of gaki water is viewless.[12]

[12] Some authorities state that those _prêtas_ who suffer especially from thirst, as a consequence of faults committed in former lives, are unable to see water.—This proverb is used in speaking of persons too stupid or vicious to perceive a moral truth.

14.—_Goshō wa daiji._ The future life is the all-important thing.[13]

[13] The common people often use the curious expression “_gosho-daiji_” as an equivalent for “extremely important.”

15.—_Gun-mō no tai-zō wo saguru ga gotoshi._ Like a lot of blind men feeling a great elephant.[14]

[14] Said of those who ignorantly criticise the doctrines of Buddhism.—The proverb alludes to a celebrated fable in the _Avadânas_, about a number of blind men who tried to decide the form of an elephant by feeling the animal. One, feeling the leg, declared the elephant to be like a tree; another, feeling the trunk only, declared the elephant to be like a serpent; a third, who felt only the side, said that the elephant was like a wall; a fourth, grasping the tail, said that the elephant was like a rope, etc.

16.—_Gwai-men nyo-Bosatsu; nai shin nyo-Yasha._ In outward aspect a Bodhisattva; at innermost heart a demon.[15]

[15] _Yasha_ (Sanscrit _Yaksha_), a man-devouring demon.

17.—_Hana wa né ni kaeru._ The flower goes back to its root.[16]

[16] This proverb is most often used in reference to death,—signifying that all forms go back into the nothingness out of which they spring. But it may also be used in relation to the law of cause-and-effect.

18.—_Hibiki no koë ni ozuru ga gotoshi._ Even as the echo answers to the voice.[17]

[17] Referring to the doctrine of cause-and-effect. The philosophical beauty of the comparison will be appreciated only if we bear in mind that even the _tone_ of the echo repeats the tone of the voice.

19.—_Hito wo tasukéru ga shukhé no yuku._ The task of the priest is to save mankind.

20.—_Hi wa kiyurédomo tō-shin wa kiyédzu._ Though the flame be put out, the wick remains.[18]

[18] Although the passions may be temporarily overcome, their sources remain. A proverb of like meaning is, _Bonnō no inu oëdomo sarazu:_ “Though driven away, the Dog of Lust cannot be kept from coming back again.”

21.—_Hotoké mo motowa bonbu._ Even the Buddha was originally but a common man.

22.—_Hotoké ni naru mo shami wo beru._ Even to become a Buddha one must first become a novice.

23.—_Hotoké no kao mo sando._ Even a Buddha’s face,—only three times.[19]

[19] This is a short popular form of the longer proverb, _Hotoké no kao mo sando nazuréba, hara wo tatsu:_ “Stroke even the face of a Buddha three times, and his anger will be roused.”

24.—_Hotoké tanondé Jigoku é yuku._ Praying to Buddha one goes to hell.[20]

[20] The popular saying, _Oni no Nembutsu_,—“a devil’s praying,”—has a similar meaning.

25.—_Hotoké tsukutté tamashii irédzu._ Making a Buddha without putting in the soul.[21]

[21] That is to say, making an image of the Buddha without giving it a soul. This proverb is used in reference to the conduct of those who undertake to do some work, and leave the most essential part of the work unfinished. It contains an allusion to the curious ceremony called _Kai-gen_, or “Eye-Opening.” This _Kai-gen_ is a kind of consecration, by virtue of which a newly-made image is supposed to become animated by the real presence of the divinity represented.

26.—_Ichi-ju no kagé, ichi-ga no nagaré, tashō no en._ Even [the experience of] a single shadow or a single flowing of water, is [made by] the karma-relations of a former life.[22]

[22] Even so trifling an occurrence as that of resting with another person under the shadow of a tree, or drinking from the same spring with another person, is caused by the karma-relations of some previous existence.

27.—_Ichi-mō shū-mō wo hiku._ One blind man leads many blind men.[23]

[23] From the Buddhist work _Dai-chi-dō-ron_.—The reader will find a similar proverb in Rhys-David’s “_Buddhist Suttas_” (Sacred Books of the East), p. 173,—together with a very curious parable, cited in a footnote, which an Indian commentator gives in explanation.

28.—_Ingwa na ko._ A karma-child.[24]

[24] A common saying among the lower classes in reference to an unfortunate or crippled child. Here the word _ingwa_ is used especially in the retributive sense. It usually signifies evil karma; _kwahō_ being the term used in speaking of meritorious karma and its results. While an unfortunate child is spoken of as “a child of _ingwa_,” a very lucky person is called a “_kwahō-mono_,”—that is to say, an instance, or example of _kwahō_.

29.—_Ingwa wa, kuruma no wa._ Cause-and-effect is like a wheel.[25]

[25] The comparison of _karma_ to the wheel of a wagon will be familiar to students of Buddhism. The meaning of this proverb is identical with that of the _Dhammapada_ verse:—“If a man speaks or acts with an evil thought, pain follows him as the wheel follows the foot of the ox that draws the carriage.”

30.—_Innen ga fukai._ The karma-relation is deep.[26]

[26] A saying very commonly used in speaking of the attachment of lovers, or of the unfortunate results of any close relation between two persons.

31.—_Inochi wa fū-zen no tomoshibi._ Life is a lamp-flame before a wind.[27]

[27] Or, “like the flame of a lamp exposed to the wind.” A frequent expression in Buddhist literature is “the Wind of Death.”

32.—_Issun no mushi ni mo, gobu no tamashii._ Even a worm an inch long has a soul half-an-inch long.[28]

[28] Literally, “has a soul of five _bu_,”—five _bu_ being equal to half of the Japanese inch. Buddhism forbids all taking of life, and classes as _living_ things (_Ujō_) all forms having sentiency. The proverb, however,—as the use of the word “soul” (_tamashii_) implies,—reflects popular belief rather than Buddhist philosophy. It signifies that any life, however small or mean, is entitled to mercy.

33.—_Iwashi[29] no atama mo shinjin kara._ Even the head of an _iwashi_, by virtue of faith, [will have power to save, or heal].

[29] The _iwashi_ is a very small fish, much resembling a sardine. The proverb implies that the object of worship signifies little, so long as the prayer is made with perfect faith and pure intention.

34.—_Jigō-jitoku._[30] The fruit of ones own deeds [in a previous state of existence].

[30] Few popular Buddhist phrases are more often used than this. _Jigō_ signifies ones own acts or thoughts; _jitoku_, to bring upon oneself,—nearly always in the sense of misfortune, when the word is used in the Buddhist way. “Well, it is a matter of _Jigō-jitoku_,” people will observe on seeing a man being taken to prison; meaning, “He is reaping the consequence of his own faults.”

35.—_Jigoku dé hotoké._ Like meeting with a Buddha in hell.[31]

[31] Refers to the joy of meeting a good friend in time of misfortune. The above is an abbreviation. The full proverb is, _Jigoku dé hotoké hotoke ni ōta yo da_.

36.—_Jigoku Gokuraku wa kokoro ni ari._ Hell and Heaven are in the hearts of men.[32]

[32] A proverb in perfect accord with the higher Buddhism.

37.—_Jigoku mo sumika._ Even Hell itself is a dwelling-place.[33]

[33] Meaning that even those obliged to live in hell must learn to accommodate themselves to the situation. One should always try to make the best of circumstances. A proverb of kindred signification is, _Sumeba, Miyako:_ “Wheresoever ones home is, that is the Capital [or, imperial City].”

38.—_Jigoku ni mo shiru bito._ Even in hell old acquaintances are welcome.

39.—_Kagé no katachi ni shitagau gotoshi._ Even as the shadow follows the shape.[34]

[34] Referring to the doctrine of cause-and-effect. Compare with verse 2 of the _Dhammapada_.

40.—_Kané wa Amida yori bikaru._ Money shines even more brightly than Amida.[35]

[35] Amitâbha, the Buddha of Immeasurable Light. His image in the temples is usually gilded from head to foot.—There are many other ironical proverbs about the power of wealth,—such as _Jigoku no sata mo kané shidai:_ “Even the Judgments of Hell may be influenced by money.”

41.—_Karu-toki no Jizō-gao; nasu-toki no Emma-gao._ Borrowing-time, the face of Jizō; repaying-time, the face of Emma.[36]

[36] Emma is the Chinese and Japanese Yama,—in Buddhism the Lord of Hell, and the Judge of the Dead. The proverb is best explained by the accompanying drawings, which will serve to give an idea of the commoner representations of both divinities.

42.—_Kiité Gokuraku, mité Jigoku._ Heard of only, it is Paradise; seen, it is Hell.[37]

[37] Rumor is never trustworthy.

43.—_Kōji mon wo idézu: akuji sen ni wo hashiru._ Good actions go not outside of the gate: bad deeds travel a thousand _ri_.

44.—_Kokoro no koma ni tadzuna wo yuru-suna._ Never let go the reins of the wild colt of the heart.

45.—_Kokoro no oni ga mi wo séméru._ The body is tortured only by the demon of the heart.[38]

[38] Or “mind.” That is to say that we suffer only from the consequences of our own faults.—The demon-torturer in the Buddhist hell says to his victim:—“Blame not me!—I am only the creation of your own deeds and thoughts: you made me for this!”—Compare with No. 36.

46.—_Kokoro no shi to wa naré; kokoro wo shi to sezaré._ Be the teacher of your heart: do not allow your heart to become your teacher.

47.—_Kono yo wa kari no yado._ This world is only a resting-place.[39]

[39] “This world is but a travellers’ inn,” would be an almost equally correct translation. _Yado_ literally means a lodging, shelter, inn; and the word is applied often to those wayside resting-houses at which Japanese travellers halt during a journey. _Kari_ signifies temporary, transient, fleeting,—as in the common Buddhist saying, _Kono yo kari no yo:_ “This world is a fleeting world.” Even Heaven and Hell represent to the Buddhist only halting places upon the journey to Nirvâna.

48.—_Kori wo chiribamé; midzu ni égaku._ To inlay ice; to paint upon water.[40]

[40] Refers to the vanity of selfish effort for some merely temporary end.

49.—_Korokoro to Naku wa yamada no Hototogisu, Chichi nitéya aran, Haha nitéya aran._ The bird that cries _korokoro_ in the mountain rice-field I know to be a _hototogisu;_—yet it may have been my father; it may have been my mother.[41]

[41] This verse-proverb is cited in the Buddhist work _Wōjō Yōshū_, with the following comment:—“Who knows whether the animal in the field, or the bird in the mountain-wood, has not been either his father or his mother in some former state of existence?”—The _hototogisu_ is a kind of cuckoo.

50.—_Ko wa Sangai no kubikase._ A child is a neck-shackle for the Three States of Existence.[42]