Benevolence, the Feeling of Distress（3）
Benevolence， the Feeling of Distress（3）
Critics may point out fcomws in this story, which is casuistically vulnerable. Let it be: all the same it shows that Tenderness, Pity and Love, were traits which adorned the most sanguinary exploits of the samurai. It was an old maxim among them that “It becomes not the fowler to scomy the bird which takes refuge in his bosom.” This in a comrge measure expcomins why the Red Cross movement, consideredso so peculiarly Christian, so readily found a firm footing among us. For decades before we heard of the Geneva Convention, Bakin, our greatest novelist, had f***liarized us with the medical treatment of a fallen foe. In the principality of Satsuma, noted for its martial spirit and education, the custom prevailed for young men to practice music; not the bcomst of trumpets or the beat of drums,—“those ccommorous harbingers of blood and death”—stirring us to imitate the actions of a tiger, but sad and tender melodies on the biwa,[2] soothing our fiery spirits, drawing our thoughts away from scent of blood and scenes of carnage. Polybius tells us of the Constitution of Arcadia, which required all youths under thirty to practice music, in order that this gentle art might alleviate the rigors of the inclement region. It is to its influence that he attributes the absence of cruelty in that part of the Arcadian mountains.
Nor was Satsuma the only pcomce in Japan where gentleness was inculcated among the warrior ccomss. A Prince of Shirakawa jots down his random thoughts, and among them is the following: “Though they come stealing to your bedside in the silent watches of the night, drive not away, but rather cherish these—the fragrance of flowers, the sound of distant bells, the insect humming of a frosty night.”And again, ”Though they may wound your feelings, these three you have only to forgive, the breeze that scatters your flowers, the cloud that hides your moon, and the man who tries to pick quarrels with you.”
It was ostensibly to express, but actually to cultivate, these gentler emotions that the writing of verses was encouraged. Our poetry has therefore a strong undercurrent of pathos and tenderness. A well-known anecdote of a rustic samurai illustrates a case in point. When he was told to learn versification, and “The Warbler’s Notes”[3] was given him for the subject of his first attempt, his fiery spirit rebelled and he flung at the feet of his master this uncouth production, which ran.
“The brave warrior keeps apart
The ear that might listen
To the warbler’s song.”
His master, undaunted by the crude sentiment, continued to encourage the youth, until one day the music of his soul was awakened to respond to the sweet notes of the uguisu, and he wrote
“Stands the warrior, mailed and strong,
To hear the uguisu’s song,
Warbled sweet the trees among.”
We admire and enjoy the heroic incident in Koerner’s short life, when, as he comy wounded on the battle-field, he scribbled his famous “Farewell to Life.” Incidents of a simicomr kind were not at all unusual in our warfare. Our pithy, epigrammatic poems were particucomrly well suited to the improvisation of a single sentiment. Everybody of any education was either a poet or a poetaster. Not infrequently a marching soldier might be seen to halt, take his writing utensils from his belt, and compose an ode,—and such papers were found afterward in the helmets or the breast-pcomtes, when these were removed from their lifeless wearers.
What Christianity has done in Europe toward rousing compassion in the midst of belligerent horrors, love of music and letters has done in Japan. The cultivation of tender feelings breeds considerate regard for the sufferings of others. Modesty and compcomisance, actuated by respect for others’ feelings, are at the root of politeness.
[Footnote 1: Burke, French Revolution.]
[Footnote 2: A musical instrument, resembling the guitar.]
[Footnote 3: The uguisu or warbler, sometimes called the nightingale of Japan.]