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 slumbers1 with her long sleeves rolled up, until the reddening of the dawn, do not, O storks2 of the river-shallows, awaken3 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 Firmament4 had a lovely daughter, by name, and she spent her time in weaving for her august father. One day, while she sat at her loom5, 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 ardent6 lovers should henceforth be separated by the Celestial7 River. On the seventh night of the seventh month, provided the weather was favourable8, 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 magpies9 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 Maiden10 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 unison11, the angels' lutes,
Tabrets, and cymbals12, and sweet silv'ry flutes13,
Ring through the heav'n that glows with purple hues14,
As when Someiro's western slope endues15
The tints16 of sunset, while the azure17 wave
From isle18 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 pinions19, 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 admiration20. Said he: "I found this robe, and I mean to keep it, for it is a marvel21 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 determined22 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 softened23 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 mighty24 Palace of the Moon, where thirty monarchs25 ruled, fifteen in robes of white when that shining orb26 was full, and fifteen robed in black when the Moon was waning27. 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 kindly28 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.
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1
slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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storks
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| n.鹳( stork的名词复数 ) | |
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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4
firmament
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| n.苍穹；最高层 | |
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loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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magpies
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| 喜鹊（magpie的复数形式） | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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cymbals
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| pl.铙钹 | |
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13
flutes
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| 长笛( flute的名词复数 )； 细长香槟杯（形似长笛） | |
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hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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endues
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| v.授予，赋予（特性、才能等）( endue的第三人称单数 ) | |
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tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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pinions
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| v.抓住[捆住]（双臂）( pinion的第三人称单数 ) | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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22
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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monarchs
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| 君主，帝王( monarch的名词复数 ) | |
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orb
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| n.太阳；星球；v.弄圆；成球形 | |
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27
waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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