BASHO AND THE JAPANESE POETICAL EPIGRAM. By Basti, HALL CHAMBERLAIN. (Read 4th June, 1902.) L All Japanese poems are short, as measured by European standards. But there exists an ultra-short variety con- sisting of only seventeen syllables all told. The poets of Japan have produced thousands of these microscopic compositions, which enjoy a great popularity, have been printed, reprinted, commentated, quoted, copied, in fact have had a remarkable literary success. Their native name is Hokku (also Haiku and Haikai*), which, in default of a better equivalent, I venture to translate by “ Epi- gram,” using that term, not in the modern sense of a pointed saying,—u bon mot de deux rimes orné, as Boileau has it,—but in its earlier acceptation, as denoting any little piece of verse that expresses a delicate or ingenious thought. Before entering into historical details, it may be best to give a few examples, so as to make plain at once the sort of thing to which the student’s attention js invited. For a composition begun, continued, and ended within the limits of seventeen syllables must * See pp. 254 and 260-1 for an explanation of these terms. The Chinese characters serving to write them are $4], SRA» OEPE-244 Basho and the Japanese Poetical Epigram. evidently differ considerably from our ordinary notions of poetry, there being no room in so narrow a space for most of what we commonly look for in verse. Take the following as representative specimens :— (1) 5 Naga-naga to 1747 Kawa hito-swji ya 5 Yuki no hara* A single river, stretching far Across the moorland [swathed] in snow. No assertion, you see, for the logical intellect, but a natural scene outlined in three strokes of the brush for the imagination or the memory. Just so in the next :— * For the sake of those unfamiliar with Japanese prosody, it should be stated that I, This language acknowledges no diphthongs :—what appear to be such in a Romanised transliteration are really two independent , syllables. II. Final always counts as a whole syllable. ‘The reason is a historical one, namely, that this final 2 generally represents the syllable mu in the archaic language, which tolerated no final consonants whatever. Thus the word aruran, probably is,” counts as four syllables, and actually sounds 50 to Japanese ears, The m in such words as ambai, amma, comes under the same rubric, IIL To a similar cause must be ascribed the fact that syllables containing long vowels count double —they all result from the crasis of two original short syllables, as Adri, “ice,” from ko-ho-ri. Some Chinese words with long vowels are written with three Xana letters, for instance $4 chd, “long,” as chiyau $y. As the classical poets «.tmit no Chinese vocables, such cases do not present themselves in their ' compositions, The epigrammatists count all long syllables as equivalent to two short ones, irrespective of derivation and spelling, following in this the modem pronunciation. IV. Such combinations as dvva, gvua, shu, cha, ete. though written with two Kana letters, are also treated by the epigram- matists as monosyllables, because so pronounced. Applying the above rules, it will be seen that such a verse as No. 3 i is perfectly. regular in its prosody, because the long syllable yi of yidachi counts double. So is the following, where a novice might find it more difficult to make the count —Basho and the Japanese Poctical Epigram. 245 7: Vudachi nagara 5 Iru hi-kage How cool the air! and through a shower ‘The radiance of the setting sun. (3) 5 Susushisa yo 17 7 Totsu hito-ha chiru 5 Kaze no ue A leaf whirls down whirls down, alackaday ! A leaf whirls down upon the breeze. This last requires a word of explanation. It is not meant to call up any actual scene:—it is metaphorical. The Japanese poets weré in the habit of composing some lines when taking leave of life—a death-song in fact. The tiny composition here quoted—itself a little leaf fallen two centuries ago—was the death-song of one of the most famous of epigrammatists. The words intimate his re- gret at parting from life, whirled down like an autumn leaf upon the breeze, to perish utterly and pacs out of remembrance. These specimens may serve to show the general character of the Japanese epigram. It is the tiniest of vignettes, a sketch in barest outline, the suggestion, C4) {; Hito-ha chirn 7 (2) $ Gwanjitsn ya 1” | Kind no oni ga 3 Rei mi kuru On New Year's day, yesterday’s dun Comes to present his compliments. On the other hand, No. 17 (ff. p. 265) has a redundant syllable —viz., 8 in the second line instead of 7, because the md of mdshi-aguru counts as two. Such cases of imperfect prosody are, as will be noticed later on, by ‘no means uncommon. * :246 Bashi and the Japanese Poetical Epigram. not the description, of a scene or a circumstance. It is a little dab of colour thrown upon a canvas one inch square, where the spectator is left to guess at the picture as best he may. Often it reminds us less of an actual picture than of the title or legend attached to a picture. Such a verse, for instance, as (5) Ura-kaze ya Tomoe wo kususu Mura-chidori A troop of seagulls, and a gust Off shore that breaks their whirling flight. —might it not, without the alteration of a single word, serve as the title of one or more of the water-colour sketches shown at any of our modern exhibitions? Or take this one by Basho, the greatest of all Japanese epigrammatists ;— (6) Magusa ou Hito wo shiori no Natsu-no kana Over the summer moor,—our guide One shouldering fodder for his horse. Here anyone familiar with Japanese scenery sees mir- rored the lush-green landscape, the sloping moor with its “ giant grass man-high, that obliterates all trace of the narrow winter pathway, while the bundle on some peasant’s shoulder alone emerges far off on the skyline, and shows the wayfarers in which direction to turn their steps. Across a distance of ten thousand miles and an interval of two centuries, the spirit of the seven- teenth century Japanese poet is identical with that whichBasho and the Japanese Poetical Epigram. 247 informs the work of the Western water-colourist of to-day. + It is intensely modern, or at least imbued to the full with that love and knowledge of nature which we are accustomed to consider characteristic of modern times. More rarely figures take the chief place, as when Basho gives us the following (7) Chimaki yuu Kata-de ni hasamu Hitai-gami She wraps up rice-cakes, while one hand Restrains the hair upon her brow. A picture this of a rustic maiden at some village fair, attending to her business of selling cakes and lollipops to the holiday-makers, and at the same time not in- attentive to her personal appearance. Or take an instance from a higher walk in life, from the Samurai caste of feudal days :— (8) Gwanjitsu ya Te ni yusuri no Tachi hakan "Tis New Year's day:—Ill gird me on ‘My sword, the heirloom of my house. This, to be sure, is but a single touch, a mere indica- tion. Nevertheless, as the leading thought, the key- note, so to say, of the subject is struck—for was not the sword called “the living soul of the Samurai? ”—it practically suggests the whole picture. Without any ver- bose addition, there rises up before us the image of the warrior in his stiff-starched robes, ready for elaborate feudal ceremonies, for war, or for harakiri.248 Basho and the Japanese Poctical Epigram. All the specimens hitherto quoted are on subjects com- monly called “poetical.” But the Japanese epigrammatists by no means confine themselves to such. They tum willingly to the homeliest themes. One of them tells us how cold he was in bed last night :— (9) Samukereba Neraresu neneba Nao samushi So cold I cannot sleep; and as T cannot sleep, I'm colder still Another exclaims (10) Yobt-kaesu Funa-uri miem Arare kana ‘The fishmonger,—oh ! call him back? But he has vanished in the hail. It is as if a window-pane had been thrown open, and instantly shut again. We have barely time to catch a passing glimpse of the circumstance hinted at. A third grumbles, for that “the rainy season of June has turned his razor rusty in a single night,” while a poetess, complaining of that same source of trouble, so familiar to us residents in Japan, declares that her “em- broidered gown is spotted before it has even once been worn.” The washing, the yearly house-cleaning, Christmas (or rather December) bills, even chilblains (!), come under the epigrammatist’s ken. In fact, nothing is too trivial or too vulgar for him. Many epigrams have to do with packhorses, inns, and miscellaneous incidents of travel. Some contain historical allusions, or allusions to literature.Basho and the Japanese Poetical Epigram. 249 Some ate “ epigrams” in the exact etymological sénse of the term, being inscriptions on pictures, fans, etc. {, Hard- ly any deal with love, which is surprising, as love takes high rank among the favourite themes in the other sub- divisions of Japanese poetry. » po So much by way of preface and orientation. The Japa- nese epigram has had a long and curious history. When at its zenith, it allied itself with a system of ethical teach- ing; yet its origin can be traced to a paltry game. The thing merits investigation. We find, then, that at the earliest period of which trust- worthy information has survived,—say, the sixth century of the Christian era, *—Japanese verse already consisted of the same extremely simple clements as characterise it at the present day. So simple and scanty, indeed, are these clements that one almost hesitates to employ the term “ prosody” in discussing them, Neither rhyme, quantity, nor accentual stress was regarded, but a mere counting of syllables, eked out in some degree by adhesion to a traditional phraseology, more particularly to certain stock- * The “ Xojidi,” which is the earliest surviving work of Japanese literature, dates only from A. D. 712. But its historical notices begin to be credible when dealing with events of the fifth century, and some of the poems preserved in it may, with a fair degree of probability, be attributed to the sixth century, if not earlier. For a discussion of the whole subject of the credibility of early Japanese history, see the Introduction to the Translation of the “ jiéi,” in the Supplement to Vol. X. of these “Transac- tions ;” also a paper by Mr. Aston in Vol. XVI.250 Bashi and the Japanese Poctical Epigram. epithets (the so-called “ pillow-words” *), The style was naive in the extreme, and expressed the naive sentiments of a primitive people, to whom writing was unknown or at least unfamiliar, and literature not yet thought of as an art. All poems were brief, few extending beyond forty or fifty lines, most to less than half that nimber. The rule determining their construction was that lines of five sylla- bles and seven syllables must alternate, with an extra line of seven syllables at the end, to mark the completion of the poem. But even this simple rule was often violated, especially in eaily times, for no apparent reason unless it were want of skill. Frequently the impression left on the car is that of an almost total absence of metre. Anyhow, the normal form of the Japanese poem became fixed at 5) 71 5) 7s 5» Zyeeeeee 7, the number of lines being thus always odd. From the beginning, there had been an inclination to prefer poems of five lines to those of any larger number. Thus the Zanka, or “ Short Ode,” as it is termed, of 5, 7, 5, 7, 7—or 31 syllables in ali—was established as the favourite vehicle of poetry. It never was what we term a “ stanza:’—no Japanese poet ever employed it as the material out of which to build up longer poems by adding verse to verse, such composite versifica- tion never having approved itself to the simple native taste. When anything longer than thirty-one syllables was wanted, an indefinite series of 5, 7, 5, 7 lines, with one of 7 at the end, was resortcd to, as already indicated. An impulse towards such more ambitious efforts was given in the seventh century, by the sudden advance of civilisation at that period under Chinese and Indian in- * For details of the pillow-words, see Vol. V., Pt. L of these “Trans- actions.”Rashi and the Japanese Poetical Epigram. 251 fluence. The quickening of the national intellect through the advent of a new religion, the remodelling of the govern- ment, the introduction of innumerable new customs, wants, and industries, the general diffusion of the art of writing, and the study of Chinese literature, ended by invigorating even poetry. The years between, say, A.D. 700 and 760, when the first anthology—the well-known “ Man-yos/it”— was compiled by Imperial order, witnessed a veritable out- burst of song. There were ballads, love-poems, elegies, descriptive poems, mythological poems that sometimes rise almost into majesty of expression, occasional poems of various import evidently inspired by genuine sentiment. The foreign influence does not make itself obtrusively felt; it informed, without violently warping, the native taste. What it contributed to the technique of verse was chiefly a knowledge of that system of “ parallelism” which was the rule in Chinese, and which the Japanese poets now adopted as an occasional ornament. Some of these compositions of the golden age ran into as many as s0, 70, or 100 lines. Generally, however, a thirty-one syllable verse on the same subject wis appended, showing how curiously tenacious the Japanese taste was of that diminu- tive form. "Specimens translated literally, both of the longer poems and of the short ones tagged on to them, will be found in Mr. Aston’s ‘Grammar of the Japanese Written Language” and in his “History of Japanese Literature.” A contemporary critic might well have thought that the poetical literature of Japan was marching towards a great future. Unfortunately, such was not the case. The wider in- spiration died out within a single life-time. The next time that an Imperial anthology was called for (the “ Kokin-252 Basho and the Japanese Poetical Epigram. sii,” published A.D. 905), only five poems out of a total of over 1,100 attained to any length, and even these few are universally allowed to lack merit of any kind. All the rest were diminutive pieces each of thirty-one syllables only, and this continued ever after to be the classical form of verse. Very dainty some of these little verses are; for here again Chinese influence had been active, and had introduced numerous themes hitherto unthought of, besides suggesting a far more skilful use of language. The snow, ‘the moon, the plum-blossom, even the cherry-blosson which is nowadays considered the national flower par excellence, the autumn Icaves,—in fact well-nigh all the subjects that have ever since formed the commonplaces of Japanese verse, are Chinese importations of the ninth and tenth centuries. That the native prosody should have survived unchanged under these circumstances, may appear odd. The cause is doubtless to be sought in the profoundly divergent phonetic structure of the two languages, which made the adoption of Chinese metres and rhythms physically impossible. Here is a couple of representative specimens of the thirty-one syllable stanza, as turned out by innumer- able poets from the ninth century down to our own day : Fuyu nagara Sora yori hana no Chiri-kura wa— Kumo no anata wa Haru ni ya aruran When from the skies that winter shrouds The blossoms flutter round my head, Surely the spring its light must shed On lands that lie beyond the clouds. * ‘Dlossoms” are of course the snow-flakes, which, by a likened to the white petals of the cherry-flower. ~* The Chinese conecit, «Bashd and the Japanese Poetical Epigram. 253 Hana mo mitsu Hototogisu wo mo Kiki-hatetsu— Kono yo nochi no yo Omou koto nashi T've seen the flowers bloom and fade, T have heard out the cuckoo’s note :— Neither in this world is there ought Nor in the next to make me sad. That is, the poct—a true Epicurean—has drunk to the full the cup of life, and has no fears for the life to come. A somewhat free translation must be excused, as our English rhymed stanza is not easy to manage. Yet I hold to it, as fairly representative of the Japanese original, with which it agrees in length within one syllable (32 instead of 31), and also because, when halved, it will serve better than aught else to render the epigram.* In the case of the epigrams, which are far easier to translate, all the versions given in this paper are literal,—as literal, that is, as the disparity between English and Japanese idiom * The whole question as to the best equivalents for alien metres is a notoriously difficult one. Some ingenious reader may point out that the Japanese epigram has exactly the same number of syllables (17) as the hexameter, when the latter runs to its full length of five dactyls. Never- theless, T should not select that form as an equivalent in the present case, partly because the hexameter always sounds exotic in English, whereas the Japanese measure to be represented is nothing if not popular and familiar ; but still more because the Greek or Latin hexameter possesses a grand reson. ance, and is in itself a complete unit perfectly rounded off, whereas the form of the Japanese epigram is essentially fragmentary, as will be explain- ed later on, The somewhat jogging form which I have chosen, with its elementary metre and its suggestion of fragmentariness, appears to me to suit the case better.254 Basho and the Japanese Poetical Epigram. will allow. But in the specimen thirty-one syllable odes here quoted it is rather to the form that I would invite attention than to the matter, because in this particular form the epigram had its origin. \It will be noticed that a dash has been placed after the third line of the Japanese original. This is because the voice always pauses in that place, after what is termed the “ upper hemistich” (UJjap. Kami no ku, also Hokku, lit. “initial hemistich ”), consisting of 17 syllables. The “lower hemistich " (Siimo no ku or Ageku,* lit. “raising” that is “finishing hemistich”) consists of 14 syllables. The slight pause made between them for rhythmical purposes causes each to be recognised as a semi-independent entity, cven when the sense flows on without interruption. This fact had an important result _in what came after.” And now the Chinese influence, which so far had acted for good, took a baneful turn, introducing conventionality and frivolity. Poets—shall we rather say poetasters ?— were no longer to draw their inspiration from their own hearts, and from the incidents of their lives :—they were encouraged to write to order. The social state of Japan at that period fostered the evil. There could be no popular or national literature ; for the mass of the nation still lay beyond the pale of the only literary influence then known, —an alien one. The cultivation of letters was accordingly ‘almost confined to Court circles, a Court itself bereft of political power, and where life had sunk into an effem- inate round of ceremonies and diversions alike puerile and tiresome. Poetical tournaments (uéa-awase) became a favourite pastime. In imitation of Chinese usage, themes ~~" The Colloquial expression agetu no hate ni, « the end of it all,” comes from this, being literally “at the end of the hemistich.”Bashi and the Japanese Poetieal Epigram. 255, were set, courtiers’ wits were sharpened against each other, and prizes were adjudged. We even hear of gold dust and of landed estates being bestowed on successful com- petitors ; but real poetry had ceased to live. The next step was the introduction, at these poetry tournaments, of a Chinese game resembling our “ capping verses.” At first, in the ninth and tenth centuries, the lords and ladies of Kydto composed Chinese verses as near- ly as possible after the mode prevalent at the Court of Nanking, on rhymes officially given out, and according to the intricate rules of Chinese prosody. But when, in the eleventh century, their first pro-Chinese ardour had cooled, and the task of writing in a foreign tongue was felt to be too irksome, they fell back on the traditional native stanza of thirty-one syllables. The game, then, in this stage, con sisted in either fitting on a first hemistich to a second, or a second to a first. This was termed Kenga, lit. “linked verses.” Sometimes, supposing a second hemistich to have been given, ingenuity was exercised by the composition of more than one suitable first hemistich, whose merits’ would be discussed, and the palm awarded to the best by an umpire. The independence of each hemistich thus became accentuated ; and if the second and less important half were to fall off, the Hokku or first hemistich would remain ‘as an independent entity. This is what did in fact happen, and the form of the epigram was thus determined. Things, however, did not at first move in that direction. For'a long tima—three or four centuries—the tendency was the other way; and here comes in the most curious part of the story. Instead of producing an ultra-short variety of verse, the new game secmed more likely to lead to a long and intricate variety. It would certainly256 Basho and the Japanese Poetical Epigram. shave done so, had not the bent of the Japanese mind been too decid:dly towards the small, the sketchy, no less in poetry than in painting and carving. The “ linked verses,” which, down at least to the year 1124, had consist- ed of two members only,—one upper and one lower ‘hemistich,—were extended to a larger number, in imitation of Chinese models, This change had taken place by the beginning of the thirteenth century ; and as the Far-Eastem mind habitually submitted all matters—even the most trivial—to rigid rule, a code was drawn up for the guidance of verse-cappers. This code appeared in several recensions, of which the first dates from A. D. 1087, the latest from 1501. According to it, the Iength of a set of “linked verses” was extended to 8, to 50, and ultimately to 100 hemistichs, and a certain order was prescribed for the succession of subjects treated in each set. Thus, if the Hokéu (“initial hemistich”) spoke of the spring with special reference to January, the second hemistich must also refer to January, and end with a full stop. The third hemistich must introduce some idea appropriate, not to January only, but to the whole season of spring, and must end with the particle #, which roughly corresponds to our English participles in ed or ing; but should the second hemi- stich have included a ée, then one of the particles mi or ran, or the phrase so nashi, must be preferred. The fourth hemistich is a “ miscellaneous” one, that is, no mention must be made in it of any of the four seasons. It should end with some such easy, graceful verbal termination as nari or keri. No. 5 is called the “Fixed Seat of the Moon,” because here the moon must in any case be made mention of; and this and Nos. 6 and 7 are termed the “ Three Autumn Hemistichs,—for the moon, which introducesBasho and the Japanese Poetical Epigram. 257 these three, is the special property of autumn. All the hemistichs down to No. 6 inclusive are termed the “ Initial Obverse ” (Sho-omote), because always written on one side of the same sheet of paper; and (according to one authority at least) such subjects as religion, love, the shortness of I'fe, and the expression cf personal sentiments are forbidden therein. Hemistichs 7 to 12 (in some cases 7 to 14) are the “ Initial Reverse" or “ Reverse Corner” (Sho-ura or Ura- kado). No. 7, as already indicated, forms one of the three Autumn Hemistichs; but in No. 8 and those that follow, the | choice of subjects is left free. The final hemistich (Ageku), however, must return to the subject of No. 1. The rules vary somewhat, according to the total number of hemistichs gathered together into a set. For instance, in one variety of 36, whose name and number are derived from the Six- and-Thirty Poetical Geniuses of medizval literature, there is a division into two sets of 18 each; and the first of these is subdivided into an Obverse of 6 and a Reverse of 12 hemi- stichs, while in the second subdivision, technically termed the “Leave-taking,” the order is exactly contrary, the Obverse having 12 and the Reverse 6 hemistichs, while the “ Fixed Places” for the mention of the moon and of the flowers are also exactly contrary, being respectively 5 and 11 in the one, and 11 and § in the other. I have here given only three or four of the technical terms with which the subject bristles, and will not claim your attention for the elaborate rules regarding the collocation of subjects and the ‘choice of words. Their minuteness almost passes belief, as when, for instance, it is ordained that the word ikaga, “ how?” may not be repeated except at an interval of three hemistichs, nor the word dakari, “ about,” save at an interval of seven hemistichs ; Hototogisu, ‘ cuckoo,” only258 Basho and. the Japanese Poctical Epigram. once in a set of 100, but zobe, “‘ moorland,” and matsu koi, “Jove kept waiting,” twice. Additional rules provide for the preferential use of homonyms,—for instance, ka #, “fragrance,” instead of £a ®{, “ mosquito ;” for anagrams of proper names, for alphabetical sequence in the order of the Kana syllabary,—all this in certain fixed places,—as also for the insertion of words upside down, as mifsu, “three,” for ¢sumi, “sin,” and for the introduction, not of actual words themselves, but of certain others with which they may form grammatical compounds. At this point even the Japanese commentator breaks down, confessing that the intricacies of the subject begin to baffle him. In fact, he ventures so far as mildly to suggest that “ these tules, being too mechanical, must have interfered to some extent with the poetical value of the pieces composed.”(!) Easier of comprehension is the classification of all the items allowed to be mentioned under the caption of each month, Thus, under January we find New Year's day, the New Year sky, certain ricc-cakes, a particular kind of wine, ferns, the straw and other emblems used in New Year decorations, various ceremonies, lotteries, gifts, the seven herbs of spring, the plum-blossom, the willow, etc. We alsq understand without difficulty, though perhaps with wonderment, that an elaborate set of rules prescribed the method to be followed in transcribing each set of poems on paper, as some of the pages were to have more written on them, some less. The paper itself, too, had to be folded in a peculiar manner, and the various pages possessed technical names, as already hinted at above. All this is puerile enough. How far more absurd will it not appear, when closer scrutiny reveals the fact that the total of 36, 44, 50, 88, or 100 hemistichs thus tackedBasho and the Japanese Poetical Epigram. "259 on to each other by unalterable rule gave no continuous sense !_;In the Chinese models the sense ran on continu- ously. But either these models were misunderstood, owing to their being read in anthologies which gave only “ elegant extracts” of the chief “ beauties,” or else the Japanese stanza—or perhaps we should rather say the Japanese mind of that age—obstinately refused to lend itself to any but the shortest flights. To be sure, the work was done, or rather the game was played, under circumstances which would have cramped more soaring intellects. Notwith- standing the dominion of Chinese precedents over Japanese literature, which has already been commented on, a rule handed down from time immemorial forbade the use in poetry of any but purely native words. Thus, more than half the vocabulary was excluded ; for half the vocabulary was Chinese, and these Chinese words comprised many of those in most familiar use, besides most of the terms denoting delicate shades of meaning. Their exclusion at once limited the scope of poctical expression, helped to make it artificial, and divorced it ever more and more from real life. In serious poetry the ban placed on all foreign terms proved too strong to break, and has remained in force down to the present day. The result was that this serious poetry soon became fossilised in mannerism and vain re- petitions. But even at Court,—solemn as the Court of Kyoto was,—a revulsion took place. As early as A.D. 908, we find the compilers of the “ Kokin-shz” admitting to a corner of their anthology a small set of stanzas of more or less comic import, or characterised by conceits which overstepped the limits set by the rules of serious poetry. Such comic stanzas were termed Hatkai, and the260 Basho and the Japanese Poctical Epigram. taste for them gradually spread. The subjects might be taken from common life ; and common words—Chinese no less than native—were admitted into their vocabulary,— an innovation of far-reaching effect, for it gave free scope alike to the mind and the tongue, which had hitherto been bound in mediaeval fetters. After some time, it became fashionable to compose “linked verses" in the new comic or colloquial style, which accordingly received the name of Haikai no Renga, that is, “ comic linked verses.” The first extensive collection of these was made by one Yama- zaki Sokan, an ex-Samurai who turned Buddhist priest,—a priest, apparently, of the jovial sort, as he forsook the world less to practise devotion than to be rid of the worries of feudal service. He lived from 1465 to 1553, and is commonly regarded as the father of the Japanese epigram, although another poet-priest, Ségi Hoshi (1421-1502) was his elder by more than forty years. A noticeable feature of this period was the downward spread of the taste for this class of poetry into the inferior ranks of society. Although the custom long persisted—indeed it is not quite dead even in our own day—of linking verses together according to the elaborate and pucrile rules mentioned above, the Hokku, or “initial hemistich,” had gradually come to be considered more important than all those that were tagged on to it. Its composition was habitually en- trusted to the most skilful of the poets present at any poetry mecting, it was repeated from mouth to mouth when the others were forgotten, and many anthologies were devoted to it alone. Thus did it happen that though the word Hokku properly means “initial stanza,” and Haikai no Renga properly means “comic linked verses,” the two terms Hokkw and Haikai have practically run togetherBasho and the Japanese Poetical Epigram. 261 into one signification. They, as well as Haiku (which is a cross between the two), indifferently denote what we have ventured to term the Japanese “epigram.” This epigram may be defined as a half-stanza originally of a comic, or at least a colloquial cast, which in time came to be composed in all moods,—grave as well as jocular, esthetic as well as trivial, classical as well as colloquial. Its permanently distinctive characteristics are two in num- ber :—firstly, it is quite free in its choice whether of subject or of diction ; secondly, it is essentially fragmentary, the fact that it is part only of a complete stanza, and that it is consequently not expected to do more than adumbrate the thought in the writer’s mind, having never been lost sight of. All through its history, inditers of epigrams have devoted no small portion of their time to furbishing up the missing second halves of their staves. A second stave is always there i# posse if not in esse—a fact important to the would-be translator, because it shows him that in selecting a form for his versions, he should prefer one which is calculated to produce on the English ear the impression of fragmentariness. If he omits to notice this, he will fail in his chief duty,~-that of rendering in some sort the movement of the original. The same consideration ex- plains why the grammar of this style of verse is apt to be elliptical to the verge of obscurity,—past that verge indeed, —so that great numbers of verses are unintelligible as they stand. They are not (technically speaking) meant to stand so; it is assumed that something ought to follow. Accordingly, the reader is constantly called upon to supply, not only missing verbs and particles, but whole clauses. The Japanese themselves often grope vainly in the obscur- ity thus caused, as the attempted cxplanations of the262 Bash and the Japanese Poetical Epigram. commentators amusingly testify. L.ittle wonder, then, that the foreign student will be apt to find fully half, perhaps three-quarters, of the epigrams submitted to his notice enigmatical. Take this, for instance, (11) Hatsu-yuki ya Are mo hito no ko Taru-hirot lit, First snow, aye! that too a child of man, picker-up of barrels. Such a collocation of words sounds to us like absolute nonsense. But it is not nonsense; it is only sense over- condensed. The meaning is: ‘“ That poor boy, walking along the streets picking up cast-off barrels in the first winter snow,—he, too, and others like him, miserable though be their lot, yet count among the sons of men, and as such deserve our pity.” The signification is clear to the Japanese without periphrasis or comment, because they are habituated to such elliptical modes of expression. In fact, this verse has passed into a proverb. Or again, (12) Yo no naka wa Mikka minu ma no Sakura kana lit. As for the world, oh! cherry unseen during three days. This, too, is proverbial, being equivalent to some such saying of ours as “The fashion of this world passeth away.” Interpreted more closely, the exact sense conveyed is that “The world changes as rapidly as does a cherry- tree which one should not have visited for the space of three days. He saw it in full bloom; meantime the wind has blown, and left not a single blossom on the branches.”Bashd and the Japanese Poctical Epigram. 263 Here, too, Japanese readers would require no explanation. There are, however, numerous cases in which the process of condensation has been carried so far as to baffle even them. This happens chiefly when the epigram refers to some particular circumstance or event, which has been for- gotten. No ordinary educated Japanese would understand the following without explanation :— (13) Hirosawa ya Hito-shigururu Numataré Hirosawa must probably, says the commentator, be explained as the name of a place,—a large mere in the neighbourhood of Kyéto; the grammar and metre of the second line are both shaky ; and the last word Mumataro has, it would seem, been coined as an equivalent for /és/i- ui, a kind of wild-goose, which is here personified as the eldest son (Zaré) of the marsh (zuma). Thus we arrive at some such sense as “A wild-goose alone in a shower at Hirosawa” which result, to say the least, sounds unattractive and un- comfortable. The impression which the author meant to convey—an impression of grey solitude and dreariness— could have been conveyed with far greater effect in intelligi- ble language,—has in fact been so conveyed by other epigrammatists over and over again, for instance in these closely parallel lines :— (14) Mosu no iru No-naka no kui yo, Kaminazuki Lit. “Oh! the post in the midst of the moor, on which a butcher- bird perches,—November ! ”264 Bash and the Japanese Poetical Epigram. that is, “November, with a butcher-bird Perched on a post on th’ open moor” a graphic suggestion, truly, of a dreary autumn scene. The legitimate use of condensation—legitimate because of the vivid effect produced—is well-exemplified in the following verse by the poetess Chiyo, which ranks among the most famous productions of this Lilliputian literary form :— (15) Asagao ni Tsurube torarete Morai-misu ‘ens alauy Lit. Having had well-bucket taken away tal comrolvai~git-water! The meaning is this :—Chiyo, having gone to her well one morning to draw wafer, found that some tendrils of the convolvulus had twined themselves around the rope. Asa poetess and a woman of taste, she could not bring herself to disturb the dainty blossoms. So, leaving her own well to the convolvuli, she went and begged water of a neighbour, —a pretty little vignette, surely, and expressed in five words. But to return to the historical sketch of our subject, which was interrupted by the need for explanation and comment. It was mentioned a page or two back that the first collectors of “epigrams,” as distinguished from the “linked verses” of which these same epigrams were originally but fragments, was Yamazaki Sdkan, a Buddhist priest whose long life extended from A. D. 1465 to 1553. Great num- bers of priests belonging to the Zen sect of Buddhism devoted themselves at this period, and for a couple of centuries more, to the art of versification and to esthetics generally.Basho and the Japanese Poetical Epigram. 265. Some few Shintoists did likewise. A Shint6 priest of the Sun- Goddess’s temple at Ise, named Arakida Moritake (1472- 1549), a contemporary of the just-named father of epigram- matic poetry, specially distinguished himself; but his compositions, and indeed all those of this early age, retained a strong comic tinge. The composers themselves, despite their ecclesiastical character, were much given to eccentric frolics, and to all the sans-géne of a semi-Bohemian life. To their honour be it added that, while fun’ counted in their eyes for a great deal, money counted for nothing at all. Yamazaki Sdkan is said to have lived on ten cash a day, and to have had no other furniture in his cell than a single kettle. The prettiest of his verses that has survived is the following, which is worthy of the later, classic age :— (16) Koe nakuba Sagi koso yuki no Hito-tsurane But for its voice, the heron were A line of snow, and nothing more, How often has not this subject been treated by the Japanese painter, as a delicate symphony in whité! But, as already remarked, almost all his compositions verge on the comic, for instance this one, comparing, not inaptly, the posture of the frog to that which a Japanese assumes when squatting respectfully, with his hands stretched out on the mats to address a superior :-— (17) Te wo tsuite Uta moshi-aguru* Kawazu kana * Note the polite word misAi-aguru, used in addressing a superior. -266. Basho and the Japanese Poetical Epigram: ‘Oh! the frog, with its hands on the floot, lifting up’ [its voice in] song! Puns were much sought after, as in (18) Vo ni furu wa Sara ni shigure na Yadori kana where fur has a double signification :—firstly, construed with yo, it means “ dwelling in the world,” while secondly construed with shigure, it means ‘a shower falling,” so that the entire sense meant to be conveyed—though the actual words merely adumbrate it—is that ‘‘ Man’s sojourn in this world is as transitory as a shelter to which one may betake oneself during a shower.” But to cap verses cleverly was still the poet’s'chief aim. Some one having proposed as second hemistich the lines Kiritaku mo art Kiritaku mo nashi I want to kill him, and [at the same time] I don't want to kill him,— Yamazaki Sokan immediately added the first hemistich (19) Nusubito wo Toracte mireba Waga ko nari. On looking at the thief whom I have caught, [behold] it is my own child. This epigram has remained proverbial for a wish, which, when fulfilled, turns out to.be anything but pleasant. On another occasion—it was in the tenth month of a certain year—the Shinto priest above mentioned, on enter- ing the apartment where a poetical tournament was to beBashs and the Japanese Foctical Fpigram. 267 held, and perceiving ‘that the whole assemblage consisted of Buddhists, exclaimed in verse (20) O sashiki wo Mireba isure mo Kaminazuki to which Sdgi responded with the second hemistich Hitori shigure no Furi-eboshi kite The task of making this intelligible to any one entirely ignorant of Japan, its language, and customs, might be abandoned as hopeless. Members of the -Asiatic Society will, however, easily perceive that the contrast insisted ort by the two ready wits is that between the shaven pates of the Buddhists and the curious gauze cap worn by Shinto priests over their natural hair. But this is not all :—there are two puns to be taken into account, and Kaminasuki is here the first important word. It signifies literaily “the month without Shint6 gods.”” The tenth month of the year is so styled in Japanese poetical and religious parlance, because of a tradition to the effect that in that month all the Shinto gods and goddesses forsake their other shrines in order to hold a conclave at the great temple of Izumo. The sight ofa party consisting exclusively of Buddhists would naturally remind a Shintoist of the absence of his Shint6 gods, and furthermore, as £ami means “hair” as well as “god,” the syllables kami na[shi] ‘suggest “no hair,” in allusion to the Buddhist shaven heads, so that the upper hemistich comes to mean “On looking round the apartment, I see none but Buddhists.” In the second hemistich the word shigure, “ shower,” which has nothing to do with the matter in hand, forms *268 Basho and the Japanese Poetical Epigram. a sort of punning “ pillow-word ” to introduce fui, which has the sense of “raining,” and at the same time recalls Surui, “old,” thus giving the sense of “ Yes, but there is one Shintoist among us in his old gauze cap.” Both hemistichs are decidedly clever in the original, though the sparkle is of course lost and the point blunted by the laborious process of elucidation in a foreign tongue. A few more examples of the compositions of this, the earliest, age of Japanese epigram will be found at the end-of the present essay. The authors above mentioned each had numerous pupils, by whom their tradition was continued: But no eminent names are recorded till the close of the sixteenth century, when a Samurai called Matsunaga Teitoku (1571-1653) became the legislator for epigrammatic poetry by the publication of a work entitled “ 0-Garagasa,” in which its rules were detailed apart from those that had so long guided the composers of “linked verses.” Of the latter, too, he was the acknowledged master in his day, and was accordingly nominated by Imperial decree to the post of Hana-no-moto, which may be rendered “the Flowery Seat,’—a laureateship which carried with it the control over all minor teachers and pupils in the poetry schools by the granting or withholding of diplomas, ctc.; for in the Japan of that age everything was legislated for—even verse and versifiers. This par- ticular poet, though highly eccentric and finally blind, left a flourishing school, from which shone out with parti- cular lustre five disciples known to fame as the “ Five Stars” (3 A). Even such a Confucian scholar as Hayashi Razan, even so eminent a Japanologue as Kitamura Kigin, did not disdain to take lessons from him in epigram; and the great Bashd himself was, poetically speaking, his descend-Basho and the Japanese Poetical Epigram. 269 ant in the second generation. His verses appear to me" somewhat formal ; but he had the merit of avoiding vulgar- ity. Teishitsu (1608-1671), one of the “Five Stars,” equalled, if he did not surpass, his master, though it is related that he had so poor an opinion of his own pro- ductions that he considered only three worth preservation, and committed all the rest to the flames. One of these three has been held by the best judges * to be the finest epigram ever written. It runs as follows :— (22) Kore wa kore wa To bakari hana no Yoshino-yama The verse resists all attempts at adequate representation in English ; but the gist of it is that the mountains of Yoshino, when covered with the cherry-blossom, baffle description by their loveliness, and leave the beholder nothing but inarticulate exclamations of wonder and delight. This poet also had five specially eminent pupils, known in literary history as “ The Two Guests and the Three Men” (3% * By such men, for instance, as Bashé. But Aeba Késon, an ingenious modern critic, has pointed out a flaw in the verse :—it is not characteristic enough. . Mulatis mutandis, the same words might be applied to other unique scenes, as Nore toa kore wa—To bukari yuki no—Fuyji no yama, substituting Fuji with its snows for Yoshino with “its flowers. Among epigrams on Yoshino, this critic would award the palm to the following (by the poct Ryéta), which could not be transferred to any other scene :— (21) Shira-kumo ya Chiru toki hana no Yoshinoyama - Its purport is to liken the falling petals of the cherry-blossoms of Yoshino to a white cloud. Perhaps one might render it thus: “A white dloud,—nay! the blossoms on Mount Yoshino as they flutter down.”270 = Basho and the Japanese Poetical Epigram. =A). With them the first or introductory period of the Japanese epigram, as cultivated at Kydto, may be said to close. Its latest members were contemporary with the rise of two other schools,—the Danrin Ha at Yedo, which plunged into intricacy, mannerism, and exaggeration, and Basho's school which finally led Japanese poetry back into the paths of good taste and good morals. The origin of the Danrin School was on this wise. A Samurai from the province of Higo, named Nishiyama Soin (1605-1682), whose lord had been cashiered, wandered off to Osaka and Kyéto, where he shaved his head as a Buddhist priest and prayed for poetical inspiration to the god Temmangii, at whose shrine each of his compositions was successively offered up. Such pious preparation would lead the European student to expect some grave and serious result; but in Japan they manage these matters differently. The result in this case was that the poet went in for every kind of verbal jugglery and ingenious conceit! Meantime, at the then recently founded and luxuri- ous city of Yedo, a similar meretricious taste had found a home in a little coterie of versifiers who were weary of the simplicity of the carlicr Kyéto school. Their club, which was known by the title of Danrin (@R#k), or “The Forest of Consultation,” warmly welcomed Nishi- yama to Yedo in 1664. He became its leader, and, by roving all over the country from Nagasaki to the extreme North, where one of the local Daimyés enrolled himsclf among his pupils, he spread the new mode far and wide, assisted therein by his contemporary Saikaku, the favourite novelist of the day, who may be best described as a Japanese Zola, as his stories are alike admirable in style and abominable in matter. His cpigrams, fortunately—atBasho and the Japanese Poetical Fpigram. 271 least those that I have seen quoted—do not appear to have shared in this coarseness. Tradition credits him with having composed twenty thousand of them in a single day. Here are a few examples of the verses of the Danrin School :— (23) Naga-mochi ni Haru kakure-yuku Koromo-gac A change of garments, and the spring Goes into hiding in the chest that is to say, “When we stow away our heavier gar- ments on the approach of summer, spring hides itself in . our trunks or closets till next year,’—a conceit which it doubtless cost the composer some trouble to excogitate. (24) Kumo no mine ya Yama minu kuni no Hiroi-mono A lucky find,—the peaks of cloud,— For countries that no mountains see that is, “In flat countries, how glad the natives must be to see mountainous masses of cloud !”—another conceit of like calibre to the first. (25) Moshi nakaba Chachd kago no Ku wo uken. Did it but sing, the butterfly Might have to suffer in a cage in other words, “’Tis fortunate for the butterfly that its voice is not as beautiful as its wings; for in that272 Basho and the Japanese Poetical Epigram. case it would run the risk of being shut up in a cage by those who would fain hear it sing.” (26) Tsuki-yo yoshi Tachitsu itsu netsu Mitsu-no-hama The actual sense here conveyed is, ‘ Beauteous is the moonlight night at Mitsu-no-hama, whether one stand up, or sit, or lie down.” But the real point must be sought in the sound of the words,—the three ‘su’s of Tachitsu itsu netsu, resumed in the word mitsu, which it- self signifies “ three.” : (27) Sarcha aki To misu tware no Nobe sor Here again the matter signifies little; it is the manner that amuses. The meaning, so far as there is any, is merely that the aspect of the moor proclaims the autumn season. But, apart from a pun on the word node, which may mean either “to proclaim” or “a moor-side,” an irresistibly droll effect is produced by the employment of the stiff epistolary style, than which nothing can be further from the spirit of poetry. One poetess even composed her death-song in this mock epistolary style :— (28) Tsuki mo mite Ware wa kono yo wo Kashiku kana which may be rendered into fairly equivalent English thus : ‘And having seen the moon, T now To this world have the honour to beBashi and the Japanese Poetical Epigram. 273 that is to say, “ Having enjoyed the world, its beauties and its glories, I now have the honour to remain your humble servant, etc., etc., and to depart this life.” It seems a poor joke to die with. Literary conceits are, of all things, the hardest to transfer from one language to another. Still, even the slight indications here given may suffice to show how naturally and inevitably the fireworks of the Danrin School would eclipse the productions of the earlier epigrammatists, with their quiet prettinesses and their innocent little puns. For a whole generation this sort of thing hit the public taste, just as “smart” writing has done in our own day among Anglo-Saxons. The only question was as to who should express the most far-fetched ideas in the most unexpected words. Some- times it was a clever literary allusion,—a Confucian maxim, perhaps, masquerading in modern Japanese guise ;—some- times an astounding exaggeration ; at others something new in the mere phrasing,—a horribly vulgar word, or else a solemnly classical one,—anything in short, provided that the effect was warranted to startle. As for the matter, that was a guantité négligeable. m1. Such was the state of Japanese poetry—for the epigram was the only species of poetry that retained any life—when a man appeared, named Basho, who was destined to infuse into it a totally new spirit, This remarkable person was born in the year 1644 at Ueno, in the province of Iga.274 Basho and the Japanese Poctical Epigram. He came of ancient Samurai lineage, and from boyhood had been the favourite companion of his Daimys’s son. This accomplished youth, himself no mean scholar and poet, was at once Bashé’s feudal lord, his teacher, and his friend. When death prematurely removed him, Basho, then a boy of sixteen, was so distraught with grief that home and the ordinary avocations of a Samurai could no longer restrain him. Despite the Daimy6’s injunctions, he fled privately, carrying with him a lock of his dead young lord’s hair to the great Buddhist monastery of Koya-san, and leaving behind him a very pretty verse of adieu to the comrades of his youth :— (29) Kumo to hedatsu Tomo ka ya kari no Tki-wakare The words are not susceptible of exact translation into Eng- lish; but their drift is that the writer is now severed for life from his former friends, as the soaring wild-geese are from each other by the clouds of heaven. In the au‘umn of the same year he abandoned the world, in order to throw himself into the arms of poverty and mysticism. Many contradictory versions are given of the exact reasons for his retirement. One, for which there is no shadow of proof, but’ which has been made the theme of a popular drama, implicates his moral character, telling of an intrigue with his lord’s wife. But the simplest explanation is to be found in that pessimistic and ascetic tinge, which, though dead in the Japan of the twentieth century, had been ‘impressed on the national mind during the mediaeval period of civil war and misery, and which, long before Basho’s time, had driven. warriors and nobles innumerable,Basho and the Japanese loetical Epigram. 275 to lay aside worldly dignities. After the final pacification of the country about the year 1600, under the sway of the Tokugawa Shdguns, the same causes no longer operated. But in their place, for all members of the Samurai caste or military gentry, there came a grinding, omnipresent routine, a ceaseless round of minute ceremonial observances, which made life a burden to any but the most prosaic spirits. Little wonder that heads of families be- came inkyo, as it was called,—that is, retired from active life, as early as possible, as the only escape from official tyranny, the only means of following their own tastes,— while others, more impatient still, threw over the traces even in youth by sheltering themselves under the shadow of the Buddhist profession, whose power in the land was still a mighty one. Many became Buddhist priests in form only, renouncing their hereditary names and titles, shaving their heads, and donning priestly robes, but devot- ing themselves to pleasure, nowise to religion. Such were the esthetes who, as playmates of Shdguns and other exalted personages, developed the tea ceremonies, planned most of the beautiful gardens at Kysto, and helped to advance all the fine arts. Others were genuine converts; many seem to have stood half-way between mystic fervour and artistic or literary culture. Bashd’s position was peculiar. Genuinely converted, a mystic of the Zen sect to the tip of his fingers, his aim was yet strictly practical ; he wished to turn men’s lives and thoughts in a better and higher direction, and he employed one branch of art, namely poetry, as the vehicle for the ethical influ- ence to ‘whose exercise he had devoted his life. The very word “poetry” (at least Aaikai, which we must here perforce translate by “ poctry’’ rather than by