Akira Kurosawa’s (1910-1998)
RASHOMON
1950
Starring Takashi Shimura (the woodcutter), Toshiro Mifune (the bandit Taromaru), Masayuki Mori (the samurai Takehiro), Machiko Kyo (the samurai’s wife Masago), Minoru Chiaki (the priest), Kichijiro Ueda (the commoner), Daisuke Kato (the policeman), Fumiko Homma (the medium)
Produced for Daiei Studios by Jingo Minoura
Screenplay by Akira Kurosawa and Shinobu Hashimoto based on the stories "Rashomon" and "In a Grove" by Ryunosuke Akutagawa
Cinematography by Kazuo Miyagawa
Music composed by Fumio Hayasaka
Rashomon is based on two famous stories by Ryunosuke
Akutagawa (1892-1927), “In a Grove,” and “Rashomon.” Rashomon is a
corruption of the Japanese word Rajomon, the main
gate to the outer precincts of a fortress. The gate in question was the
main gate to the city of
The rival Genji
and Heiki clans are battling for supremacy, a
struggle which will culminate in the Gempei War
(1180-1185). When the head of the Genji clan Minamoto Yoritomo achieved final
victory over the Heiki, he was appointed Shogun and
moved the seat of government to his home town
Kurosawa made Rashomon for Daiei Studios while on several years hiatus from the larger Toho Studios. Daiei had been considering a project based on Akutagawa’s famous story “In a Grove” for several years, and Kurosawa realized that combined with “Rashomon,” the intertwined narrative would lend itself particularly well to presentation as a film.
While waiting for the
go-ahead from the studio, Kurosawa engaged in a study of classical Japanese
architecture, visiting several medieval gates and temples. The cultural
significance of the Rashomon gate can be likened to
both the Parthenon, because of its reputed beauty and excellence of proportion,
and the
The longer Kurosawa had to
wait to begin production, the larger his plans for the gate set became.
The film was sold to Daiei management as a prestigious historical production
that would be inexpensive to film on a tight schedule. It required only
two sets – the Rashomon gate itself, and the
courtyard of the magistrate’s residence, and only eight characters. It
was clear the Rashomon set would be large and
elaborate, but the set Kurosawa built was gigantic. If the gate had been
built complete, the heavy, two-tiered ceramic roof would have crushed the
elephantine support columns. Because it was depicted as a ruin, only
about half of the structure was completed. Kurosawa said afterwards that
Daiei could have built one hundred ordinary sets for the cost of the Rashomon gate. The film nearly bankrupted
Daiei. Daiei management could not understand the finished film, delaying
its release, though it was an immensely profitable film when finally released
in
Kazuo Miyagawa contributed exceptionally innovative and noteworthy cinematography. He points his camera directly at the sun, before this film something it was assumed could never be done. All of the enactments of the witnesses’ testimony were filmed on location. The cast and crew had to smear their bodies with salt every morning as protection against mountain leaches infesting the forest where filming took place. Trees had to be cut down to allow enough light for the location scenes and many setups required light reflectors, often screened with foliage to cast realistic shadows. Rain had to be dyed black with ink so it would show up against the sky, and also mixed with milk so it would photograph well against the dark Rashomon gate set. The producer and production executives were both demoted and Kurosawa was effectively blacklisted by Daiei, eventually returning to Toho, but Rashomon became one of the Daiei’s biggest money makers and most prestigious films, winning numerous critical awards.
Kurosawa often sets his
action in or around ruined structures to suggest parallels between historical
action and modern
Plot Synopsis
Civilization and human culture are in eclipse, as demonstrated by the ruined city gate under which three strangers take refuge from a torrential thunderstorm. Two of the strangers, a woodcutter (Takashi Shimura) and a Buddhist priest (Minoru Chiaki) have recently given testimony in a murder investigation. They express disillusion that such an evil event could occur, and that no two witnesses agree on what happened. Each witness has different views of the facts as well as the underlying morality of what happened. The bandit (Toshiro Mifune) claims he seduced the wife (Machiko Kyo) and then killed the samurai (Masayuke Mori) in a duel. He praises the samurai’s courage and skill with the sword. As he will be executed in any event, he might not have an incentive to lie, but it may also be that he tells the story, or understands what happed, in a manner most flattering to himself. The wife claims she was raped and that her husband then rejected her. Afterward she intended to commit suicide, but fainted, and when she awoke, found her dagger plunged into her husband’s heart. She does not deny that she killed her husband, but presents herself as the miserable victim of the demented, lust-crazed bandit and the unfeeling husband who rejects her. The samurai gives testimony through a medium. In his version the bandit asks the woman to come away with him. She agrees, but insists the bandit kill her husband. The bandit is so repulsed by her disloyalty, he offers to kill her. She runs away and the bandit releases the samurai, who commits suicide. The samurai presents himself as the innocent victim of the bandit and his hatefully disloyal wife. Finally the woodcutter gives a newer, different, and more complete, yet still unreliable, version of events. He lied to the magistrate, possibly to conceal his theft of the wife’s valuable dagger. In his new version, the wife goads the two men into their duel, offering to go with the winner. The two men are terrified of death and their combat is a parody of the duel depicted in the bandit’s testimony. The woman runs off while they fight. It remains unclear if the woodcutter has told, or even understands, the whole truth of what transpired. The woodcutter deplores the deception and self-deception exhibited by each of the witnesses, including himself. As the third stranger concludes that these events merely demonstrate the futility of human existence, an abandoned baby is discovered in the gate building. The third stranger steals a kimono and some protective amulets the parents left for the baby, but the woodcutter tells the priest he will adopt the child. The sun appears through the clouds as he carries his new son home.
The Cast
Toshiro Mifune [1920-1997] (Tajomaru the bandit) starred in many of Kurosawa's films, including Drunken Angel (1948) as a gangster, The Quiet Duel (1949) as Takashi Shimura's son, Stray Dog (1949) as the police officer who loses his gun, an artist in Scandal (1950), Seven Samurai (1954) as a farmer who impersonates a samurai, Record of a Living Being (I Live in Fear) (1955) as a man motivated by fear of nuclear war, The Throne of Blood (1957) as the Macbeth character, The Lower Depths (1957), The Hidden Fortress (1958) as the samurai general which inspired Han Solo in Star Wars, The Bad Sleep Well (1960) as the hero, Yojimbo (1961), its sequel Sanjuro (1962) as a character inspiring Clint Eastwood's character in a series of Westerns, High and Low (1963), and Red Beard (1965). An international star, he has been in many English-language films, including Storm over the Pacific (1960), Retreat from Kiska (1964), Those Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines (1965), Grand Prix (1967), Midway (1976) as Admiral Yamamoto, and 1941 (1980). He normally played vigorous, morally-driven heroes, but could also play complex villains, as in The Throne of Blood. Tajomaru was a breakout role for Mifune and established him as a big star as well as an exceptional actor. By the late fifties he had largely supplanted the older Takashi Shimura as the performer on which Kurosawa most depended. Mifune and Kurosowa fell out during the two-year long production of Red Beard, where Mifune played the wise elder doctor role, a type often depicted by Takashi Shimura in the early fifties. Kurosawa and Mifune never spoke again. The great director also fired composer Masaro Sato after this film. Kurosawa retired from filmmaking after Red Beard and attempted suicide, but recovered and made two of his finest and most spectacular films without Mifune, Kagemusha (1980) and the Shakespearean Ran (1985), based on King Lear, as well as the more intimate Dreams (1990) and Rhapsody in August (1991) with Richard Gere. Kagemusha in particular proved to be nearly as troublesome for Kurosawa as Red Beard. Though production was not unduly extended, the director was forced to replace his lead performer on the first day of shooting.
Takashi Shimura [1905-1982] (the woodcutter), one of the greatest actors of the twentieth century, starred in Kurosawa's The Men Who Tread on the Tiger's Tail (1945) (remade first by Kurosawa as The Hidden Fortress, and later by George Lucas as Star Wars), Those Who Make Tomorrow (1946), No Regrets for Our Youth (1946), Drunken Angel (1948) as a doctor who tries to reform yakuza Toshiro Mifune, The Quiet Duel (1949), Stray Dog (1949) as Mifune's boss, Scandal (1950) as Mifune's lawyer, The Idiot (1951) from the novel by Fyodor Dosoevsky, Ikiru (1952), his lifetime performance, as the bureaucrat dying of stomach cancer, Seven Samurai (1954) as the head samurai, Record of a Living Being (1955), The Throne of Blood (1957) as the character corresponding to Macduff, The Hidden Fortress (1958), The Bad Sleep Well (1960) as the second villain, Yojimbo (1961), Sanjuro (1962), High and Low (1963), Red Beard (1965), and finally, in Kagemusha (1980). A Toho contract actor, Rashomon was one of his few films for another studio and he notably starred as Dr Yamane the paleontologist in Godzilla (1954) and Godzilla's Counterattack (1955), as well as appearing in The Mysterians (Earth Defense Forces) (1957), Mothra (1961), Ghidorah the Three-Headed Monster (1964), and most kaiju eigan films until his death. He also had a small role as a priest in Masaki Kobayashi’s Kwaidan (1964), based on short stories by Lafcadio Hearn. Shimura’s characters are generally the moral center of the Kurosawan universe, often providing guidance to the less experienced character played by Mifune. After 1957, when Shimura played a supporting role in The Throne of Blood, a retelling of Macbeth, his parts became increasingly brief but continued to be highly memorable.
Masayuke Mori [-1973] (the samurai) starred in Kurosawa's Those Who Make Tomorrow (1946), his film debut, The Idiot (1951), and played the principal villain in The Bad Sleep Well (1960), a profoundly memorable performance. He also starred in Mikio Naruse's Ukigummo (Floating Clouds) (1955) as a faithless lover, and played the magical potter in Kenjii Mizoguchi's highly regarded Ugetsu (1953). He was the biggest star in Rashomon when it was made, but his career was soon surpassed by those of Shimura and Mifune.
Minoru Chiaki [-1999] (the priest) debuted in Kurosawa’s Stray Dog (1949) and starred as one of the samurai in Seven Samurai (1954). He also appeared with Takashi Shimura in Ikiru (1952), and Record of a Living Being (I Live in Fear) (1955), and played the character corresponding to Banquo in The Throne of Blood (1957). His performance in The Hidden Fortress (1958) inspired the character of R2D2 in Star Wars. He also starred in Godzilla’s Counterattack (1955).
Machiko Kyo (the samurai’s wife) debuted in Rashomon.
She also appeared in Kenjii Mizoguchi's
Ugetsu (1953) and Teinosuke
Kinugasa’s Gate of Hell (1953), though she is
best known in
In a Grove
By Ryunosuke Akutagawa
Translated by Takashi Kojima
The Testimony of a Woodcutter
Questioned by a High Police Commissioner
Yes, sir. Certainly, it was I who found the body. This morning, as usual, I went to cut my daily quota of cedars, when I found the body in a grove in a hollow in the mountains. The exact location? About 150 meters off the Yamashina stage road. It's an out-of-the-way grove of bamboo and cedars.
The body was lying flat on its back dressed in a bluish silk kimono and a wrinkled head-dress of the Kyoto style. A single sword-stroke had pierced the breast. The fallen bamboo-blades around it were stained with bloody blossoms. No, the blood was no longer running. The wound had dried up, I believe. And also, a gad-fly was stuck fast there, hardly noticing my footsteps.
You ask me if I saw a sword or any such thing? No, nothing, sir. I found only a rope at the root of a cedar near by. And . . . well, in addition to a rope, I found a comb. That was all. Apparently he must have made a battle of it before he was murdered, because the grass and fallen bamboo-blades had been trampled down all around.
A horse was near by? No, sir. It's hard enough for a man to enter, let alone a horse.
The Testimony of a Traveling Buddhist Priest
Questioned by a High Police Commissioner
The time? Certainly, it was about noon yesterday, sir. The unfortunate man was on the road from Sekiyama to Yamashina. He was walking toward Sekiyama with a woman accompanying him on horseback, who I have since learned was his wife. A scarf hanging from her head hid her face from view. All I saw was the color of her clothes, a lilac-colored suit. Her horse was a sorrel with a fine mane. The lady's height? Oh, about four feet five inches. Since I am a Buddhist priest, I took little notice about her details. Well, the man was armed with a sword as well as a bow and arrows. And I remember that he carried some twenty odd arrows in his quiver.
Little did I expect that he would meet such a fate. Truly human life is as evanescent as the morning dew or a flash of lightning. My words are inadequate to express my sympathy for him.
The Testimony of a Policeman
Questioned by a High Police Commissioner
The man that I arrested? He is a notorious brigand called Tajomaru. When I arrested him, he had fallen off his horse. He was groaning on the bridge at Awataguchi. The time? It was in the early hours of last night. For the record, I might say that the other day I tried to arrest him, but unfortunately he escaped. He was wearing a dark blue silk kimono and a large plain sword. And, as you see, he got a bow and arrows somewhere. You say that this bow and these arrows look like the ones owned by the dead man? Then Tajomaru must be the murderer. The bow wound with leather strips, the black lacquered quiver, the seventeen arrows with hawk feathers—these were all in his possession I believe. Yes, Sir, the horse is, as you say, a sorrel with a fine mane. A little beyond the stone bridge I found the horse grazing by the roadside, with his long rein dangling. Surely there is some providence in his having been thrown by the horse.
Of all the robbers prowling around Kyoto, this Tajomaru has given the most grief to the women in town. Last autumn a wife who came to the mountain back of the Pindora of the Toribe Temple, presumably to pay a visit, was murdered, along with a girl. It has been suspected that it was his doing. If this criminal murdered the man, you cannot tell what he may have done with the man's wife. May it please your honor to look into this problem as well.
The Testimony of an Old Woman
Questioned by a High Police Commissioner
Yes, sir, that corpse is the man who married my daughter. He does not come from Kyoto. He was a samurai in the town of Kokufu in the province of Wakasa. His name was Kanazawa no Takehiko, and his age was twenty-six. He was of a gentle disposition, so I am sure he did nothing to provoke the anger of others.
My daughter? Her name is Masago, and her age is nineteen. She is a spirited, fun-loving girl, but I am sure she has never known any man except Takehiko. She has a small, oval, dark-complected face with a mole at the corner of her left eye.
Yesterday Takehiko left for Wakasa with my daughter. What bad luck it is that things should have come to such a sad end! What has become of my daughter? I am resigned to giving up my son-in-law as lost, but the fate of my daughter worries me sick. For heaven's sake leave no stone unturned to find her. I hate that robber Tajomaru, or whatever his name is. Not only my son-in-law, but my daughter….(Her later words were drowned in tears.)
Tajomaru's Confession
I killed him, but not her. Where's she gone? I can't tell. Oh, wait a minute. No torture can make me confess what I don't know. Now things have come to such a head, I won't keep anything from you.
Yesterday a little past noon I met that couple. Just then a puff of wind blew, and raised her hanging scarf, so that I caught a glimpse of her face. Instantly it was again covered from my view. That may have been one reason; she looked like a Bodhisattva. At that moment I made up my mind to capture her even if I had to kill her man.
Why? To me killing isn't a matter of such great consequence as you might think. When a woman is captured, her man has to be killed anyway. In killing, I use the sword I wear at my side. Am I the only one who kills people? You, you don't use your swords. You kill people with your power, with your money. Sometimes you kill them on the pretext of working for their good. It's true they don't bleed. They are in the best of health, but all the same you've killed them. It's hard to say who is a greater sinner, you or me. (An ironical smile.)
But it would be good if I could capture a woman without killing her man. So, I made up my mind to capture her, and do my best not to kill him. But it's out of the question on the Yamashina stage road. So I managed to lure the couple into the mountains.
It was quite easy. I became their traveling companion, and I told them there was an old mound in the mountain over there, and that I had dug it open and found many mirrors and swords. I went on to tell them I'd buried the things in a grove behind the mountain, and that I'd like to sell them at a low price to anyone who would care to have them. Then . . . you see, isn't greed terrible? He was beginning to be moved by my talk before he knew it. In less than half an hour they were driving their horse toward the mountain with me.
When he came in front of the grove, I told them that the treasures were buried in it, and I asked them to come and see. The man had no objection—he was blinded by greed. The woman said she would wait on horseback. It was natural for her to say so, at the sight of a thick grove. To tell you the truth, my plan worked just as I wished, so I went into the grove with him, leaving her behind alone.
The grove is only bamboo for some distance. About fifty yards ahead there's a rather open clump of cedars. It was a convenient spot for my purpose. Pushing my way through the grove, I told him a plausible lie that the treasures were buried under the cedars. When I told him this, he pushed his laborious way toward the slender cedar visible through the grove. After a while the bamboo thinned out, and we came to where a number of cedars grew in a row. As soon as we got there, I seized him from behind. Because he was a trained, sword-bearing warrior, he was quite strong, but he was taken by surprise, so there was no help for him. I soon tied him up to the root of a cedar. Where did I get a rope? Thank heaven, being a robber, I had a rope with me, since I might have to scale a wall at any moment. Of course it was easy to stop him from calling out by gagging his mouth with fallen bamboo leaves.
When I disposed of him, I went to his woman and asked her to come and see him, because he seemed to have been suddenly taken sick. It's needless to say that this plan also worked well. The woman, her sedge hat off, came into the depths of the grove, where I led her by the hand. The instant she caught sight of her husband, she drew a small sword. I've never seen a woman of such violent temper. If I'd been off guard, I'd have got a thrust in my side. I dodged, but she kept on slashing at me. She might have wounded me deeply or killed me. But I'm Tajomaru. I managed to strike down her small sword without drawing my own. The most spirited woman is defenseless without a weapon. At least I could satisfy my desire for her without taking her husband's life.
Yes…without taking his life. I had no wish to kill him. I was about to run away from the grove, leaving the woman behind in tears, when she frantically clung to my arm. In broken fragments of words, she asked that either her husband or I die. She said it was more trying than death to have her shame known to two men. She gasped out that she wanted to be the wife of whichever survived. Then a furious desire to kill him seized me. (Gloomy excitement.)
Telling you in this way, no doubt I seem a crueler man than you. But that's because you didn't see her face. Especially her burning eyes at that moment. As I saw her eye to eye, I wanted to make her my wife even if I were to be struck by lightning. I wanted to make her my wife…this single desire filled my mind. This was not only lust, as you might think. At that time if I'd had no other desire than lust, I'd surely not have minded knocking her down and running away. Then I wouldn't have stained my sword with his blood. But the moment I gazed at her face in the dark grove, I decided not to leave there without killing him.
But I didn't like to resort to unfair means to kill him. I untied him and told him to cross swords with me. (The rope that was found at the root of the cedar is the rope I dropped at the time.) Furious with anger, he drew his thick sword. And quick as thought, he sprang at me ferociously, without speaking a word. I needn't tell you how our fight turned out. The twenty-third stroke…please remember this. I'm impressed with this fact still. Nobody under the sun has ever clashed swords with me twenty strokes. (A cheerful smile.)
When he fell, I turned toward her, lowering my blood-stained sword. But to my great astonishment she was gone. I wondered to where she had run away. I looked for her in the clump of cedars. I listened, but heard only a groaning sound from the throat of the dying man.
As soon as we started to cross swords, she may have run away through the grove to call for help. When I thought of that, I decided it was a matter of life and death to me. So, robbing him of his sword, and bow and arrows, I ran out to the mountain road. There I found her horse still grazing quietly. It would be a mere waste of words to tell you the later details, but before I entered town I had already parted with the sword. That's all my confession. I know that my head will be hung in chains anyway, so put me down for the maximum penalty. (A defiant attitude.)
The Confession of a Woman Who Has
Come to the Shimizu Temple
That man in the blue silk kimono, after forcing me to yield to him, laughed mockingly as he looked at my bound husband. How horrified my husband must have been! But no matter how hard he struggled in agony, the rope cut into him all the more tightly. In spite of myself I ran stumblingly toward his side. Or rather I tried to run toward him, but the man instantly knocked me down. Just at that moment I saw an indescribable light in my husband's eyes. Something beyond expression…his eyes make me shudder even now. That instantaneous look of my husband, who couldn't speak a word, told me all his heart. The flash in his eyes was neither anger nor sorrow…only a cold light, a look of loathing. More struck by the look in his eyes than by the blow of the thief, I called out in spite of myself and fell unconscious.
In the course of time I came to, and found that the man in blue silk was gone. I saw only my husband still bound to the root of the cedar. I raised myself from the bamboo-blades with difficulty, and looked into his face; but the expression in his eyes was just the same as before.
Beneath the cold contempt in his eyes, there was hatred. Shame, grief, and anger…I don't know how to express my heart at that time. Reeling to my feet, I went up to my husband.
"Takejiro," I said to him, "since things have come to this pass, I cannot live with you. I'm determined to die…but you must die, too. You saw my shame. I can't leave you alive as you are."
This was all I could say. Still he went on gazing at me with loathing and contempt. My heart breaking, I looked for his sword. It must have been taken by the robber. Neither his sword nor his bow and arrows were to be seen in the grove. But fortunately my small sword was lying at my feet. Raising it over head, once more I said, "Now give me your life. I'll follow you right away."
When he heard these words, he moved his lips with difficulty. Since his mouth was stuffed with leaves, of course his voice could not be heard at all. But at a glance I understood his words. Despising me, his look said only, "Kill me." Neither conscious nor unconscious, I stabbed the small sword through the lilac-colored kimono into his breast.
Again at this time I must have fainted. By the time I managed to look up, he had already breathed his last—still in bonds. A streak of sinking sunlight streamed through the clump of cedars and bamboos, and shone on his pale face. Gulping down my sobs, I untied the rope from his dead body. And . . . and what has become of me since I have no more strength to tell you. Anyway I hadn't the strength to die. I stabbed my own throat with the small sword, I threw myself into a pond at the foot of the mountain, and I tried to kill myself in many ways. Unable to end my life, I am still living in dishonor. (A lonely smile.) Worthless as I am, I must have been forsaken even by the most merciful Kwannon. I killed my own husband. I was violated by the robber. Whatever can I do? Whatever can I…I…(Gradually, violent sobbing.)
The Story of the Murdered Man,
as Told Through a Medium
After violating my wife, the robber, sitting there, began to speak comforting words to her. Of course I couldn't speak. My whole body was tied fast to the root of a cedar. But meanwhile I winked at her many times, as much as to say "Don't believe the robber." I wanted to convey some such meaning to her. But my wife, sitting dejectedly on the bamboo leaves, was looking hard at her lap. To all appearance, she was listening to his words. I was agonized by jealousy. In the meantime the robber went on with his clever talk, from one subject to another. The robber finally made his bold brazen proposal. "Once your virtue is stained, you won't get along well with your husband, so won't you be my wife instead? It's my love for you that made me be violent toward you."
While the criminal talked, my wife raised her face as if in a trance. She had never looked so beautiful as at that moment. What did my beautiful wife say in answer to him while I was sitting bound there? I am lost in space, but I have never thought of her answer without burning with anger and jealousy. Truly she said,…"Then take me away with you wherever you go."
This is not the whole of her sin. If that were all, I would not be tormented so much in the dark. When she was going out of the grove as if in a dream, her hand in the robber's, she suddenly turned pale, and pointed at me tied to the root of the cedar, and said, "Kill him! I cannot marry you as long as he lives." "Kill him!" she cried many times, as if she had gone crazy. Even now these words threaten to blow me headlong into the bottomless abyss of darkness. Has such a hateful thing come out of a human mouth ever before? Have such cursed words ever struck a human ear, even once? Even once such a…(A sudden cry of scorn.) At these words the robber himself turned pale. "Kill him," she cried, clinging to his arms. Looking hard at her, he answered neither yes nor no…but hardly had I thought about his answer before she had been knocked down into the bamboo leaves. (Again a cry of scorn.) Quietly folding his arms, he looked at me and said, "What will you do with her? Kill her or save her? You have only to nod. Kill her?" For these words alone I would like to pardon his crime.
While I hesitated, she shrieked and ran into the depths of the grove. The robber instantly snatched at her, but he failed even to grasp her sleeve.
After she ran away, he took up my sword, and my bow and arrows. With a single stroke he cut one of my bonds. I remember his mumbling, "My fate is next." Then he disappeared from the grove. All was silent after that. No, I heard someone crying. Untying the rest of my bonds, I listened carefully, and I noticed that it was my own crying. (Long silence.)
I raised my exhausted body from the foot of the cedar. In front of me there was shining the small sword which my wife had dropped. I took it up and stabbed it into my breast. A bloody lump rose to my mouth, but I didn't feel any pain. When my breast grew cold, everything was as silent as the dead in their graves. What profound silence! Not a single bird-note was heard in the sky over this grave in the hollow of the mountains. Only a lonely light lingered on the cedars and mountains. By and by the light gradually grew fainter, till the cedars and bamboo were lost to view. Lying there, I was enveloped in deep silence.
Then someone crept up to me. I tried to see who it was. But darkness had already been gathering round me…that someone drew the small sword softly out of my breast in its invisible hand. At the same time once more blood flowed into my mouth. And once and for all I sank down into the darkness of space.
RASHOMON
By Ryunosuke Akutagawa
TRANSLATED BY TAKASHI KOJIMA
Note:
The Rashomon gate was the largest in the city wall of Kyoto, the ancient capital of Japan. One description says it was 106 feet wide and 26 feet deep, and was topped with a two-tiered roof of heavy blue ceramic tiles; its stone wall rose 75 feet high, but it may have been larger or smaller at different times. This gate was originally constructed in 789 A.D. when the capital of Japan was transferred from Nagaoka to Kyoto. Nara, the first capital of Japan, had only been founded in 710, and the seat of government had been transferred to Nagaoka in 784 and from there to Kyoto. With the decline of West Kyoto, the gate fell into disrepair, and became a hiding place for thieves as well as a dump for abandoning unclaimed corpses. At the time of the story, the gate is already almost 400 years old. It will be completely destroyed in a few years, as will the whole city of Kyoto. Japan will sink in to a protracted period of anarchy and intermittent civil war which will last over 300 years, until 1600.
It was a chilly evening. A servant of a samurai stood under the Rashomon, waiting for a break in the rain. No one else was under the wide gate. On the thick column, its crimson lacquer rubbed off here and there, perched a cricket. Since the Rashomon stands on Sujaku Avenue, a few other people at least, in sedge hat or nobleman's headgear, might have been expected to be waiting there for a break in the rain storm. But no one was near except this man.
For the past few years the city of Kyoto had been visited by a series of calamities, earthquakes, whirlwinds, and fires, and Kyoto had been greatly devastated. Old chronicles say that broken pieces of Buddhist images and other Buddhist objects, with their lacquer, gold, or silver leaf worn off, were heaped up on roadsides to be sold as firewood. Such being the state of affairs in Kyoto, the repair of the Rashomon was out of the question. Taking advantage of the devastation, foxes and other wild animals made their dens in the ruins of the gate, and thieves and robbers found a home there too. Eventually it became customary to bring unclaimed corpses to this gate and abandon them. After dark it was so ghostly that no one dared approach.
Flocks of crows flew in from somewhere. During the daytime these cawing birds circled round the ridgepole of the gate. When the sky overhead turned red in the afterlight of the departed sun, they looked like so many grains of sesame flung across the gate. But on that day not a crow was to be seen, perhaps because of the lateness of the hour. Here and there the stone steps, beginning to crumble, and with rank grass growing in their crevices, were dotted with the white droppings of crows. The servant, in a worn blue kimono, sat on the seventh and highest step, vacantly watching the rain. His attention was drawn to a large pimple irritating his right cheek.
As has been said, the servant was waiting for a break in the rain. But he had no particular idea of what to do after the rain stopped. Ordinarily, of course, he would have returned to his master's house, but he had been discharged just before. The prosperity of the city of Kyoto had been rapidly declining, and he had been dismissed by his master, whom he had served many years, because of the effects of this decline. Thus, confined by the rain, he was at a loss to know where to go. And the weather had not a little to do with his depressed mood. The rain seemed unlikely to stop. He was lost in thoughts of how to make his living tomorrow, helpless incoherent thoughts protesting an inexorable fate. Aimlessly he had been listening to the pattering of the rain on the Sujaku Avenue.
The rain, enveloping the Rashomon, gathered strength and came down with a pelting sound that could be heard far away. Looking up, he saw a fat black cloud impale itself on the tips of the tiles jutting out from the roof of the gate.
He had little choice of means, whether fair or foul, because of his helpless circumstances. If he chose honest means, he would undoubtedly starve to death beside the wall or in the Sujaku gutter. He would be brought to this gate and thrown away like a stray dog. If he decided to steal….His mind, after making the same detour time and again, came finally to the conclusion that he would be a thief.
But doubts returned many times. Though determined that he had no choice, he was still unable to muster enough courage to justify the conclusion that he must become a thief.
After a loud fit of sneezing he got up slowly. The evening chill of Kyoto made him long for the warmth of a brazier. The wind in the evening dusk howled through the columns of the gate. The cricket which had been perched on the crimson-lacquered column was already gone.
Ducking his neck, he looked around the gate, and drew up the shoulders of the blue kimono which he wore over his thin underwear. He decided to spend the night there, if he could find a secluded corner sheltered from wind and rain. He found a broad lacquered stairway leading to the tower over the gate. No one would be there, except the dead, if there were any. So, taking care that the sword at his side did not slip out of the scabbard, he set foot on the lowest step of the stairs.
A few seconds later, halfway up the stairs, he saw a movement above. Holding his breath and huddling cat-like in the middle of the broad stairs leading to the tower, he watched and waited. A light coming from the upper part of the tower shone faintly upon his right cheek. It was the cheek with the red, festering pimple visible under his stubby whiskers. He had expected only dead people inside the tower, but he had only gone up a few steps before he noticed a fire above, about which someone was moving. He saw a dull, yellow, flickering light which made the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling glow in a ghostly way. What sort of person would be making a light in the Rashomon…and in a storm? The unknown, the evil terrified him.
As quietly as a lizard, the servant crept up to the top of the steep stairs. Crouching on all fours, and stretching his neck as far as possible, he timidly peeped into the tower.
As rumor had said, he found several corpses strewn carelessly about the floor. Since the glow of the light was feeble, he could not count the number. He could only see that some were naked and others clothed. Some of them were women, and all were lolling on the floor with their mouths open or their arms outstretched showing no more signs of life than so many clay dolls. One would doubt that they had ever been alive, so eternally silent they were. Their shoulders, breasts, and torsos stood out in the dim light; other parts vanished in shadow. The offensive smell of these decomposed corpses brought his hand to his nose.
The next moment his hand dropped and he stared. He caught sight of a ghoulish form bent over a corpse. It seemed to be an old woman, gaunt, gray-haired, and nunnish in appearance. With a pine torch in her right hand, she was peeping into the face of a corpse which had long black hair.
Seized more with horror than curiosity, he even forgot to breathe for a time. He felt the hair of his head and body stand on end. As he watched, terrified, she wedged the torch between two floor boards and, laying hands on the heads of the corpse, began to pull out the long hairs one by one, as a monkey kills the lice of her young. The hair came out smoothly with the movement of her hands.
As the hair came out, fear faded from his heart, and his hatred toward the old woman mounted. It grew beyond hatred, becoming a consuming antipathy against all evil. At this instant if anyone had brought up the the question of whether he would starve to death or become a thief--the question which had occurred to him a little while ago--he would not have hesitated to choose death. His hatred toward evil flared up like the piece of pine wood which the old woman had stuck in the floor.
He did not know why she pulled out the hair of the dead. Accordingly, he did not know whether her case was to be put down as good or bad. But in his eyes, pulling out the hair of the dead in the Rashomon on this stormy night was an unpardonable crime. Of course it never entered his mind that a little while ago he had thought of becoming a thief.
Then, summoning strength into his legs, he rose from the stairs and strode, hand on sword, right in front of the old creature. The hag turned, terror in her eyes, and sprang up from the floor, trembling. For a small moment she paused, poised there, then lunged for the stairs with a shriek. "Wretch! Where are you going?" he shouted, barring the way of the trembling hag who tried to scurry past him. Still she attempted to claw her way by.
He pushed her back to prevent her…they struggled, fell among the corpses, and grappled there. The issue was never in doubt. In a moment he had her by the arm, twisted it, and forced her down to the floor. Her arms were all skin and bones, and there was no more flesh on them than on the shanks of a chicken. No sooner was she on the floor than he drew his sword and thrust the silver-white blade before her very nose. She was silent. She trembled as if in a fit, and her eyes were open so wide that they were almost out of their sockets, and her breath came in hoarse gasps. The life of this wretch was his now. This thought cooled his boiling anger and brought a calm pride and satisfaction. He looked down at her, and said in a somewhat calmer voice: "Look here, I'm not an officer of the High Police Commissioner. I'm a stranger who happened to pass by this gate. I won't bind you or do anything against you, but you must tell me what you're doing up here."
Then the old woman opened her eyes still wider, and gazed at his face intently with the sharp red eyes of a bird of prey. She moved her lips, which were wrinkled into her nose, as though she were chewing something. Her pointed Adam's apple moved in her thin throat. Then a panting sound like the cawing of a crow came from her throat: "I pull the hair…I pull out the hair…to make a wig."
Her answer banished the unknown from their encounter and brought disappointment. Suddenly she was only a trembling old woman there at his feet. A ghoul no longer: only a hag who makes wigs from the hair of the dead--to sell, for scraps of food. A cold contempt seized him. Fear left his heart, and his former hatred entered. These feelings must have been sensed by the other. The old creature, still clutching the hair she had pulled off the corpse, mumbled out these words in her harsh broken voice: "Indeed, making wigs out of the hair of the dead may seem a great evil to you, but these that are here deserve no better. This woman, whose beautiful black hair I was pulling, used to sell cut and dried snake flesh at the guard barracks, saying that it was dried fish. If she hadn't died of the plague, she'd be selling it now. The guards liked to buy from her, and used to say her fish was tasty. What she did couldn't be wrong, because if she hadn't, she would have starved to death. There was no other choice. If she knew I had to do this in order to live, she probably wouldn't care."
He sheathed his sword, and, with his left hand on its hilt, he listened to her meditatively. His right hand touched the big pimple on his cheek. As he listened, a certain courage was born in his heart—the courage which he had not when he sat under the gate a little while ago. A strange power was driving him in the opposite direction of the courage which he had had when he seized the old woman. No longer did he wonder whether he should starve to death or become a thief. Starvation was so far from his mind that it was the last thing that would have entered it.
"Are you sure" he asked in a mocking tone, when she finished talking. He took his right hand from his pimple, and, bending forward, seized her by the neck and said sharply: "Then it's right if I rob you. I'd starve if I didn't."
He tore her clothes from her body and kicked her roughly down on the corpses as she struggled and tried to clutch his leg. Five steps, and he was at the top of the stairs. The yellow clothes he had wrested off were under his arm, and in a twinkling he had rushed down the steep stairs into the abyss of night. The thunder of his descending steps pounded in the hollow tower, and then it was quiet.
Shortly after that the hag raised up her body from the corpses. Grumbling and groaning, she crawled to the top stair by the still flickering torchlight, and through the gray hair which hung over her face, she peered down to the last stair in the torch light.
Beyond this was only darkness…unknowing and unknown.