小泉八雲 落合貞三郎他訳 「知られぬ日本の面影」 第二十二章 舞妓について （一）

　　　　　　　一

　今も猶、さうであるが、昔は日本の若い畫家は、全國各地を徒歩で旅行する風があつた。それは名所を見たり、寫したり、且つまた多くは非常に風致に富める地にある寺院に藏せらるゝ名畫宍佳什を研究するためであつた。主もにかゝる遍歷の結果として、今日非常に珍重せられるゝかの風景畫や、風俗畫の美麗な書籍が出來たのだ。それによると、日本人のみが日本の風景を描き得ることを最もよく示してゐる。讀者が日本畫家の日本の自然を解釋する技巧に昵じんでくると、同じ方面に於ける外國人の試作は、妙に平凡無氣力と見えてくるだらう。外國の畫家は、彼の見るものの寫實的映像を與へる。しかしそれ以上の何をも與へない。日本の畫家は彼の感じたもの――季節の氣分、正しくその時間、その場所の精確なる感じを與へる。彼の作品は西洋の藝術には滅多にない暗示力の特質を有する。西洋の畫家は緻密なる細部を現はし、彼の惹き起こす想像力を滿足させる。が、東洋の彼の同胞畫家は、細部を抑へてしまうか、または理想化する――遠いものを霧に浸したり、風景に雲を纏はせたりして、彼の經驗を單に奇異なもの、美しいもののみが、其感覺と共に殘つてゐる記憶となすのである。彼は想像力に超越し、それを興奮させ、それをしてただ瞥見の中に認めた美を、慕ひに慕はしめるまゝにしておく。それにも係らず彼はかゝる瞥見に於ても、一種の殆ど魔法と思はるゝやうな方式で、ある時の感じ、ある場所の感じを表現することが出來る。彼はさつぱりした現實よりは、寧ろ回想と感覺の畫家だ。して、こゝに彼の驚くべき力の祕訣が存してゐる――この力は彼が感興を得た場面を未だ嘗て見ざる人では、味到し得られない。就中彼は非個人的だ。彼の描ける人物の形は、すべての個人性を缺いてゐる。しかもある階級の特徴を示す類型として無比の價値を有する――百姓の子供らしい好奇心、少女の羞恥、女郎の媚態、武士の自己意識、子供の可笑しげに、落付いた可愛らしさ、老人の諦め悟つた温和。放行と觀察によつてこの藝術は、發達させられた。それは決して畫房の所産ではなかつた。

　餘程のこと、繪書修業の一靑年が、京都から江戸へ山を越えて、徒歩で旅をしてゐた。當時は道路の數は乏しく、また惡路であつたので、旅行は、今と比ぶれば非常に困難で『可愛い子には旅をさせ』、といふ諺も行はれてゐた。しかし土地は今とは異らなかつた。今と同じやうな杉や松の森、竹藪、草葺の屋根を有する尖つた村落があつた。泥濘の中に腰を曲げた百姓の大きな黃色の藁笠が、段々をなして相連る稻田の中に點綴せる光景も同じであつた。路傍からは今と同じ地藏の像が、今と同じ寺へと辿つて行く巡禮者に笑顏を向けてゐた。して、今と同じく、夏の日には、すべての淺い川の中には褐色の裸の子供が笑つてゐて、すべての川は太陽に向つて笑つてゐた。

　が、繪畫修業の靑年は、「可愛い子」でも何でもなかつた。彼は從來幾多の旅をして、粗食と荒々しい宿に馴れ、あらゆる難境をも堪へて利用してきた。しかし今度の旅には、あい夕方既に暗くなつてから、食物も宿も獲られさうにない、田や畠の見えない地方に入込んだ。或る村へ達しようと、山を越えて捷徑を求めた際、道に迷つたのであつた。

　月はなく、松の蔭のため、その邊は眞暗であつた。彼の迷い込んだ處は、全く荒涼たる土地のやうに思はれた。ただ松風の音と鈴蟲の絶え間なく鳴く聲ばかりであつた。彼は躓きながら進むで行つた。どこかの川の堤へ達すれば、それに隨ひて村落へ出られるものと思つてゐた。たうとう一本の川が突然彼の道を遮つたが、それは絶壁の峽間に注ぐ急流であつた。止むを得ず後戻りをして、最も近い絶頂へ登つて、そこから人里の徴候を認めようと決心した。が、そこへ達してみると、’見渡す處、たゞ山岳重疊であつた。

　彼が丁度星の下で、その夜を過ごさうと覺悟してゐると、登つてきた山の向うの方の坂の下に、まさしく或る人家から洩れ出る一つの細い黃色の燈光を認めた。彼はその方へ足を進めて、やがて百姓の家らしい一軒の小屋を發見した。先きに見た燈光は、まだその鎖せる雨戸の隙から流れてゐた。彼は急いで行つて、戸を叩いた。

［やぶちゃん注：……ハーン先生……今に日本ではもう……先生が微笑しながらおっしゃられたように、「しかし土地は今とは異らなかつた。今と同じやうな杉や松の森、竹藪、草葺の屋根を有する尖つた村落があつた。泥濘の中に腰を曲げた百姓の大きな黃色の藁笠が、段々をなして相連る稻田の中に點綴せる光景も同じであつた。路傍からは今と同じ地藏の像が、今と同じ寺へと辿つて行く巡禮者に笑顏を向けてゐた。して、今と同じく、夏の日には、すべての淺い川の中には褐色の裸の子供が笑つてゐて、すべての川は太陽に向つて笑つてゐた。」と語ることは出来ぬようになってしまいました……

「昵じんで」老婆心乍ら、「なじんで」と読む。対象に対して馴れ親しむと、の意。昵懇（じっこん）の「昵」。

「捷徑」老婆心乍ら、「せふけい（しょうけい）」と読む。敏捷のの熟語から判る通り、「捷」は早いの意、「徑」は小道で、近道のこと。］

Ⅰ.

   It was formerly, and indeed still is, a custom with young Japanese artists to travel on foot through various parts of the empire, in order to see and sketch the most celebrated scenery as well as to study famous art objects preserved in Buddhist temples, many of which occupy sites of extraordinary picturesqueness. It is to such wanderings, chiefly, that we owe the existence of those beautiful books of landscape views and life studies which are now so curious and rare, and which teach better than aught else that only the Japanese can paint Japanese scenery. After you have become acquainted with their methods of interpreting their own nature, foreign attempts in the same line will seem to you strangely flat and soulless. The foreign artist will give you realistic reflections of what he sees; but he will give you nothing more. The Japanese artist gives you that which he feels,— the mood of a season, the precise sensation of an hour and place; his work is qualified by a power of suggestiveness rarely found in the art of the West. The Occidental painter renders minute detail; he satisfies the imagination he evokes. But his Oriental brother either suppresses or idealizes detail,— steeps his distances in mist, bands his landscapes with cloud, makes of his experience a memory in which only the strange and the beautiful survive, with their sensations. He surpasses imagination, excites it, leaves it hungry with the hunger of charm perceived in glimpses only. Nevertheless, in such glimpses he is able to convey the feeling of a time, the character of a place, after a fashion that seems magical. He is a painter of recollections and of sensations rather than of clear-cut realities; and in this lies the secret of his amazing power,— a power not to be appreciated by those who have never witnessed the scenes of his inspiration. He is above all things impersonal. His human figures are devoid of all individuality; yet they have inimitable merit as types embodying the characteristics of a class: the childish curiosity of the peasant, the shyness of the maiden, the fascination of the jorō the self-consciousness of the samurai, the funny, placid prettiness of the child, the resigned gentleness of age. Travel and observation were the influences which developed this art; it was never a growth of studios.

   A great many years ago, a young art student was travelling on foot from Kyōto to Yedo, over the mountains The roads then were few and bad, and travel was so difficult compared to what it is now that a proverb was current, Kawai ko wa tabi wo sase (A pet child should be made to travel). But the land was what it is to-day. There were the same forests of cedar and of pine, the same groves of bamboo, the same peaked villages with roofs of thatch, the same terraced rice-fields dotted with the great yellow straw hats of peasants bending in the slime. From the wayside, the same statues of Jizō smiled upon the same pilgrim figures passing to the same temples; and then, as now, of summer days, one might see naked brown children laughing in all the shallow rivers, and all the rivers laughing to the sun.

   The young art student, however, was no kawai ko: he had already travelled a great deal, was inured to hard fare and rough lodging, and accustomed to make the best of every situation. But upon this journey he found himself, one evening after sunset, in a region where it seemed possible to obtain neither fare nor lodging of any sort,— out of sight of cultivated land. While attempting a short cut over a range to reach some village, he had lost his way.

   There was no moon, and pine shadows made blackness all around him. The district into which he had wandered seemed utterly wild; there were no sounds but the humming of the wind in the pine-needles, and an infinite tinkling of bell-insects. He stumbled on, hoping to gain some river bank, which he could follow to a settlement. At last a stream abruptly crossed his way; but it proved to be a swift torrent pouring into a gorge between precipices. Obliged to retrace his steps, he resolved to climb to the nearest summit, whence he might be able to discern some sign of human life; but on reaching it he could see about him only a heaping of hills.

   He had almost resigned himself to passing the night under the stars, when he perceived, at some distance down the farther slope of the hill he had ascended, a single thin yellow ray of light, evidently issuing from some dwelling. He made his way towards it, and soon discerned a small cottage, apparently a peasant's home. The light he had seen still streamed from it, through a chink in the closed storm-doors. He hastened forward, and knocked at the entrance.