the star lovers
one of the most romantic of the old japanese festivals is the festival of tanabata, the weaving lady. it takes place on the seventh day of the seventh month, and on this occasion it was customary to place freshly cut bamboos either on the roofs of houses or to fix them in the ground close beside them. coloured strips of paper were attached to these bamboos, and upon every strip of paper was a poem in praise of tanabata and her husband hikoboshi, such as: "as tanabata slumbers with her long sleeves rolled up, until the reddening of the dawn, do not, o storks of the river-shallows, awaken her by your cries." this festival will more readily be understood when we have described the legend in connection with it.
the god of the firmament had a lovely daughter, by name, and she spent her time in weaving for her august father. one day, while she sat at her loom, she chanced to see a handsome lad leading an ox, and she immediately fell in love with him. tanabata's father, reading her secret thoughts, speedily consented to their marriage. unfortunately, however, they loved "not wisely, but too well," with the result that tanabata neglected her weaving, and hikoboshi's ox was allowed to wander at large over the high plain of heaven. the god of the firmament became extremely angry, and commanded that these too ardent lovers should henceforth be separated by the celestial river. on the seventh night of the seventh month, provided the weather was favourable, a great company of birds formed a bridge across the[pg 127] river, and by this means the lovers were able to meet. their all too brief visit was not even a certainty, for if there were rain the celestial river would become too wide for even a great bridge of magpies to span, and the lovers would be compelled to wait another weary year before there was even a chance of meeting each other again.
no wonder that on the festival of the weaving maiden little children should sing, "tenki ni nari" ("oh, weather, be clear!"). love laughs at locksmiths in our own country, but the celestial river in flood is another matter. when the weather is fine and the star lovers meet each other after a weary year's waiting it is said that the stars, possibly lyra and aquila, shine with five different colours—blue, green, red, yellow, and white—and that is why the poems are written on paper of these colours.
the robe of feathers[1]
"oh, magic strains that fill our ravish'd ears!
the fairy sings, and from the cloudy spheres,
chiming in unison, the angels' lutes,
tabrets, and cymbals, and sweet silv'ry flutes,
ring through the heav'n that glows with purple hues,
as when someiro's western slope endues
the tints of sunset, while the azure wave
from isle to isle the pine-clad shores doth lave.
from yukishima's slope—a beauteous storm—
whirl down the flow'rs: and still that magic form,
those snowy pinions, flutt'ring in the light,
ravish our souls with wonder and delight."
ha-goromo. (trans. by b. h. chamberlain.)
it was spring-time, and along mio's pine-clad shore there came a sound of birds. the blue sea danced and[pg 128] sparkled in the sunshine, and hairukoo, a fisherman, sat down to enjoy the scene. as he did so he chanced to see, hanging on a pine-tree, a beautiful robe of pure white feathers.
as hairukoo was about to take down the robe he saw coming toward him from the sea an extremely lovely maiden, who requested that the fisherman would restore the robe to her.
hairukoo gazed upon the lady with considerable admiration. said he: "i found this robe, and i mean to keep it, for it is a marvel to be placed among the treasures of japan. no, i cannot possibly give it to you."
"oh," cried the maiden pitifully, "i cannot go soaring into the sky without my robe of feathers, for if you persist in keeping it i can never more return to my celestial home. oh, good fisherman, i beg of you to restore my robe!"
the fisherman, who must have been a hard-hearted fellow, refused to relent. "the more you plead," said he, "the more determined i am to keep what i have found."
thus the maiden made answer:
"speak not, dear fisherman! speak not that word!
ah! know'st thou not that, like the hapless bird
whose wings are broke, i seek, but seek in vain,
reft of my wings, to soar to heav'n's blue plain?"
trans. by b. h. chamberlain.
after further argument on the subject the fisherman's heart softened a little. "i will restore your robe of feathers," said he, "if you will at once dance before me."
then the maiden replied: "i will dance it here—the dance that makes the palace of the moon turn round, so that even poor transitory man may learn its mysteries. but i cannot dance without my feathers."
[pg 129]
"no," said the fisherman suspiciously. "if i give you this robe you will fly away without dancing before me."
this remark made the maiden extremely angry. "the pledge of mortals may be broken," said she, "but there is no falsehood among the heavenly beings."
these words put the fisherman to shame, and, without more ado, he gave the maiden her robe of feathers.
the moon-lady's song
when the maiden had put on her pure white garment she struck a musical instrument and began to dance, and while she danced and played she sang of many strange and beautiful things concerning her far-away home in the moon. she sang of the mighty palace of the moon, where thirty monarchs ruled, fifteen in robes of white when that shining orb was full, and fifteen robed in black when the moon was waning. as she sang and played and danced she blessed japan, "that earth may still her proper increase yield!"
the fisherman did not long enjoy this kindly exhibition of the moon-lady's skill, for very soon her dainty feet ceased to tap upon the sand. she rose into the air, the white feathers of her robe gleaming against the pine-trees or against the blue sky itself. up, up she went, still playing and singing, past the summits of the mountains, higher and higher, until her song was hushed, until she reached the glorious palace of the moon.
[1] the subject of this story resembles a certain norse legend. see william morris's the land east of the sun and west of the moon.
