People from Japanese Lore: Yamato Takeru
12 minutes read
Very little is factually known about the people who governed the Yamato kingdom during its early expansion. The only remaining witnesses of those times are the impressive burials mounds that this civilisation left behind as well as a series of stories later compiled as national myths – some may say historical records – during the 8th century CE. Among the many legendary figures who led to the affirmation of a central political power in the Japanese archipelago, there is one man whose tragedy moved to tears many throughout the centuries: Yamato Takeru, the brave prince of Yamato.
The figure of Yamato Takeru emerged at a time when the edges between myth, legend and history were still blurred – records of the 1st century CE recount emperors living well over a century. The mythological flavour of such narrations is also suggested by the epithets used to describe the figures. Yamato Takeru, for example, is often introduced to the readers as mikoto, a deity who fought other deities, thus placing him on the edge between the time of gods and that of humans. If we compare him to similar figures from Western mythologies, the first two who come to mind are the Celtic King Arthur, because many themes and details are shared by both legends, as well as the Greek Heracles, for he is a strong demi-god living in a time inhabited both by gods and humans. For the moment, we will dedicate this article entirely to the tragic story of Yamato Takeru. A following article will present an example of comparative mythology between this Japanese myth and some possible alter-egos found in Indian and Celtic lore.
Tsukioka Yoshitoshi (1839–1892), Yamato-Takeru-no-mikoto from the series ‘Concise Illustrated History of Imperial Japan’ (Dai Nihon shi ryaku zue 大日本史略図会). © The Trustees of the British Museum
The Challenge of Recording an Oral Tradition
The legend of Yamato Takeru, like many other narratives from Japanese mythology, have only been written down in the 8th century CE. It is very likely that many stories had existed in oral traditions for several centuries, spawning regional variations of similar stories, the spectrum of these differences ranging from minor details to important omissions. Conscious of this multitude of sources, we decided to present this article as a summary of Yamato Takeru’s story resulting from a comparison between the two principal chronicles of Japanese myths and early history: the Kojiki (712 CE) and the Nihon Shoki (720 CE). The former, which is said to be a compilation of older versions of myths and legends in a lyrical fashion, focuses its chronicle of the time solely on Yamato Takeru’s actions and narrates the story of a hero disowned by his own kinship. The latter, which recorded the genealogy of the Japanese emperors to portray them as equal – if not superior – to the Chinese emperors, depicts a valiant and beloved prince, but reduces him to the role of a supporting character of the ruling emperor.
Empress Genmei (660–721) requested the first compilation of myths, later known as Kojiki.
Author Unknown, 1894. © San’ei-sha
Ō no Yasumaro (???–723), one of the compilers of the Kojiki whose name can be found in the incipit: ‘I Yasumaro say…’
Kikuchi Yōsai (1788–1878) Ō no Yasumaro in Zenken kojitsu vol. 2.
The Tragic Story of Yamato Takeru
Yamato Takeru was born as Wo-Usu no Mikoto in 72 CE[i], youngest son of Emperor Keikō and his main consort and empress, the elder lady of Inabi. The Kojiki depicts Wo-Usu as an ambiguous character: his passion and love for his country are praised as much as his unpredictability instils a sense of unease.
Emperor Keikō was forever scared of his son when, at a young age, the prince Wo-Usu was tasked to reprimand his older brother’s disrespectful attitude, but instead killed him by tearing apart his limbs. Grave was the sin of the kinship slayer, whose punishment met the cruelty of his deeds, as he was sent far from the capital to a remote province in the western borders of the kingdom. Officially, he was charged to subdue a rebellion led by the Kumaso people, whose chiefs were feared for their strength. The young prince was not even sixteen of age and already thrown into battle. Meanwhile, the Nihon Shoki presents this episode in a different light: according to this source, Yamato Takeru volunteered to appease a rebellion sparked in a region already under the influence of emperor Keikō.
However, both accounts narrate how this feat was not accomplished through military skirmishes but rather through Wo-Usu’s intellect. His young face, the beauty of which was praised by many, allowed him to pass as a lady when he borrowed apparel of his aunt, princess Yamato, maiden of the Ise shrine. Under disguise, the brave prince infiltrated a banquet held by his foes and waited for everyone to be drunk before striking. With a sword – or a knife, according to different sources – concealed in his dress, he mortally wounded the enemy leader, who barely had time to acknowledge his opponent’s cunning before dying. Thus, a slain foe gave the young prince his famous epithet: Yamato Takeru, the brave of Yamato.
Tsukioka Yoshitoshi (1839–1892), Moon over the bandits’ lair - Prince Ousu (Zokuso no tsuki – Ousu no miko 賊巣の月 小碓皇子) from the series ‘One Hundred Aspects of the Moon’ (tsuki no hyakushi 月百姿). © The Trustees of the British Museum
Tsukioka Yoshitoshi (1839–1892), Prince Yamato Takeru (Yamato Takeru 日本武尊) from the series ‘Yoshitoshi’s Courageous Warriors’ (Yoshitoshi Musha Burui 芳年武者旡類). © Library of Congress
Victorious, the prince returned home, slaying on his path several deities hostile to the Yamato rule. However, tragic was his story, as even his valiant feats in the West were not enough to appease his father’s wrath and dispel his fear. Soon, Yamato was once again sent far away to subdue a rebellion of the vicious Emishi[ii] people at the eastern boarders of the kingdom, since they did not recognize the emperor as their sovereign. Needless to say, the Nihon Shoki again turns this episode into an occasion to celebrate Yamato Takeru’s love for his country, as it is said that he volunteered to replace one of his brothers who shied away from the task. While this source shines with its richness in details, it is probably within the Kojiki version that we meet a more human-like Yamato Takeru, as his thoughts are conveyed to the readers. In the Kojiki, the valiant hero is aware of his tragic destiny, and it is with words filled with sorrow that he bids farewell to his aunt, the only member of his family who treated him as such.
‘It must surely be that the Heavenly Sovereign wishes I may dye quickly; I am no sooner come up again to the capital than, without bestowing on me an army, he now sends me off afresh to pacify the wicked people of the twelve circuits of the East. I think that he certainly wishes I shall die quickly’
Moved by this grievous goodbye, the maiden of Ise bestowed upon her nephew the legendary sword Kusanagi[iii], a ward that would protect him in his many endeavours in the East.
Ogata Gekkō (1859–1920), Kusanagi no tsurugi, Yamato takeru no mikoto (草薙剣 日本武尊) from the series ‘Gekko zuihitsu’ (月耕随筆). © The Trustees of the British Museum
We do not have the space here to praise all the feats of the valiant prince of Yamato, as not only did he subdue the Emishi people but also proceeded to consolidate the kingdom’s grasp over the land by slaying several nefarious deities. All his brave acts fed his vanity until one fateful day when, while preparing to fight yet another foe, he boasted:
‘As for the deity of this mountain, I will simply take him empty-handed’
With these foolish words the prince left his precious ward behind at the bed of one of his lovers and headed towards his doom. He was indeed unwise and did not recognize threat in crossing his path with a white boar – or a white snake according to others – on his way to the mountain.
‘This creature that is transformed into a white boar must be a messenger from the deity, I will slay it when I return’
The prince was thus deceived by the deity who did not let the occasion to waste and promptly unleashed a tempest of ice upon the oblivious hero and mortally wounding – or poisoning – him. It was not until his legs gave out that Yamato Takeru realized where his vanity had led him: to die alone and far from home. He barely managed to retrieve his beloved sword before becoming bedridden and awaiting his death with the following lamentations:
‘How sweet! Ah! From the direction of home clouds are rising and coming! The sword which I placed at the maiden’s bedside alas! That sword!’
Yamato Takeru’s story is that of a disowned child whose love for his country led him to certain death. In this tragic legend, not even in his last breath was he allowed to see a glimpse of his beloved capital. As he died, full of sorrow and conscious of his foolish impetuosity, his soul transformed into a white bird and flew to his kin. Finally, the prince of Yamato was accepted by his own father, now that he was harmless. A mausoleum was erected for the valiant prince who consolidated the might Yamato kingdom and songs of sorrow resonated through the land.
Statue of Yamato Takeru in Kenroku-en gardens, Kanazawa, Ishikawa prefecture. © 漱石の猫
Yamato Takeru as Inspiration for a New Genre of ‘Super’ Kabuki Play
The legend of Yamato Takeru carries several themes that have been particularly appreciated in Japanese narratives throughout the ages: love, tragedy and an unavoidable destiny. Therefore, it should not come in as a surprise that this tragic story became a source of inspiration for one of the most eccentric figures in the world of Kabuki theatre: Ichikawa Ennosuke the third. This actor polarized Kabuki for his progressive thought and his desire to modernize the medium, which he felt was being fossilized into a few orthodox styles praised by the critiques. The ambition to revamp Kabuki – to appeal to new audiences – led to the creation of a piece whose intensity was unprecedented: ‘Yamato Takeru’. In 1986, this innovative piece captivated Kabuki enthusiasts and sparked a whole new genre, later referred to as ‘Super-Kabuki’, defined by its fast pace, sharp and fast delivery of lines as well as for its modern sets, costumes, and lighting. It was a true revolution of the medium, which aimed to impress the audience with tricks and special effects such as quick costume changes and wired stunts. Needless to say, critics of the time were not pleased with this new take on Kabuki, but the popular success seemed to confirm Ennosuke’s intuition. Moreover, Ennosuke marked his generation in being the first to hire a woman to design costumes, breaking the code of a male-only artistic environment of Kabuki.
Thus, ‘Yamato Takeru’ became a milestone in Kabuki history. It seems almost ironic that a new genre of Kabuki theatre was born through an adaptation of one of the oldest Japanese histories, or was it maybe artistic acumen?
Either way, what better note to conclude this article on than sharing an extract of such an eccentric and innovative piece. Unfortunately, little footage is available online, so we are bound to present only a short trailer for the cinematic release of this Kabuki piece. The supporting soundtrack – Giuseppe Verdi’s ‘Dies Irae’ – might seem like a jarring fit for the cinematic release of a Kabuki play; however, it definitely highlights the piece’s pompousness.
Trailer for the ‘Cinema Kabuki Yamato Takeru’. © Shochiku
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[i] The Nihon Shoki provided dates for many members of the imperial family; however, they cannot be regarded as historically accurate until the 6th century, as earlier happenings have been described with a more mythical and legendary blur.
[ii] Emishi was the name of one of the most notorious indigenous populations of the Japanese archipelago. Historically, they have always refused to subdue to the central political powers of the Yamato kingdom first, the Heian imperial court and the warriors’ shogunate after. Their resistance led them to be progressively pushed to the north of the archipelago, until being almost confined to the Hokkaidō Island by the 19th century.
[ii] Kusanagi was one of the three regalia attesting the legitimacy of the imperial dynasty. According to the myth, it was given by the god of tempest Susanoo to his sister, the great deity Amaterasu. The sword was later given to the first mythical emperor of Japan, Ninigi no Mikoto, as a ward and powerful weapon. This sword was supposedly lost during one of the many internal conflicts that tore apart the archipelago over the centuries, namely the great fight between the Taira and Minamoto clans, but this is a story for another time.
Written by Marty Borsotti