Certain Noble Plays of Japan: From the manuscripts of Ernest Fenollosa

In Short

This volume presents a curated selection of Japanese Noh plays, translated by Ernest Fenollosa and refined by Ezra Pound. The plays function as a form of "aristocratic" drama, stripping away the clutter of scenery and naturalistic acting to focus on the essential movements of the human spirit. Through the use of masks, music, and dance, these works create a bridge between the living and the dead. The book has endured as a primary bridge between Eastern and Western theatrical aesthetics, championing a restrained, symbolic art that privileges emotional depth over literal representation.

The Story

The narrative arc of this collection moves through the intersections of the human, the historical, and the supernatural. In Nishikigi, a weary priest traveling through the mountains encounters the ghosts of two lovers who died centuries prior, still bound by their unconsummated desire. Their tragedy, symbolized by the "love-wands" they once set up in hope, is finally resolved through the priest’s ritualized prayer, allowing them to break their cycle of longing and vanish.

Hagoromo shifts the focus from human ghosts to the divine. A priest finds a beautiful feather-mantle hanging from a pine tree, only to be confronted by a celestial dancer, a Tennin, who cannot return to heaven without it. When the priest initially refuses to return the treasure, the Tennin’s despair at being earthbound moves him to pity. He restores the mantle, and in gratitude, she performs a celestial dance of renewal, eventually disappearing into the upper mists and leaving behind a ritual for human sorrow.

The collection then explores the burdens of history and reputation in Kumasaka. A priest meets the ghost of a renowned brigand who seeks prayers for his soul. Through a vivid flashback, the ghost recounts his violent past, specifically his final, doomed stand against a young, alert warrior. Despite his crimes, the ghost finds a strange pride in the bravery of his killer, and he ultimately fades away, his spirit finding a fragile peace in the retelling of his own defeat.

Finally, Kagekiyo presents a study of stoic pride and familial duty. A young woman journeys to a remote, mountainous region to find her exiled, blind father, a former noble and warrior named Kagekiyo. The old man, ashamed of his wretched, beggarly state, initially hides from his daughter to protect her from the sight of his decay. When they finally connect, he refuses her aid, insisting that she return to her life and pray for him instead. The play concludes with the old man recounting his past glory—the strength of his own arm in battle—before resignedly facing his solitary end, embodying the harsh but noble "Bushido" code that prioritizes the spirit’s integrity over the body’s comfort.

How It Unfolds

The invocation of memory The introduction sets the stage by identifying the Noh theater as an aristocratic, indirect form of drama that relies on the "deep of the mind" rather than the spectacle of the crowd. It establishes the necessity of masks and music to hold the "distance from life" required for true art.

The haunting of the present Each play begins with a wandering priest who acts as a witness to the past. These travelers provide the necessary human anchor, grounding the ethereal encounters with ghosts and gods in the geography of the physical world.

The ritual of revelation The drama reaches its climax through the "pantomimic dance," where the characters shed their mundane disguises or reveal their true, spiritual nature. The music and chorus step forward to interpret these movements, transforming personal suffering into a universal, symbolic experience.

The departure into silence The plays conclude with the spirits fading back into the natural world, leaving the living to carry on the memory of the event. Whether through prayer, a final dance, or a stern, stoic farewell, the characters resolve their earthly attachments and exit the stage, leaving the audience to contemplate the lingering scent or shadow of what they have witnessed.

The People

The Priests serve as the vital link between worlds; they are the audience’s proxy, wandering the provinces to stumble upon ghosts or deities, their primary desire being simply to understand the human or spirit story they have encountered. The Ghosts—such as the lovers in Nishikigi or the brigand Kumasaka—are defined by their inability to move on from their earthly attachments, whether it is unrequited love or the pride of a violent life. They want only the release that a proper prayer or acknowledgment can provide. The Tennin in Hagoromo represents the divine, a spirit trapped by the theft of her mantle, whose chief struggle is the loss of her ability to traverse the heavens. Finally, the aging, blind Kagekiyo represents the height of stoicism; he wants only to die with his dignity intact, rejecting his daughter’s pity to preserve the memory of the warrior he once was, ultimately choosing isolation over the "sentimentality" of being cared for.

In Its Own Voice

"One realised anew, at every separating strangeness, that the measure of all arts' greatness can be but in their intimacy."

The author justifies the need for a quiet, subtle stage where the audience can perceive the smallest inflection of the performer.

"A mask will enable me to substitute for the face of some common-place player, or for that face repainted to suit his own vulgar fancy, the fine invention of a sculptor, and to bring the audience close enough to the play to hear every inflection of the voice."

The author argues against the "vitality" of realistic acting in favor of the static, carved dignity of the mask.

What It's Really About

The central argument of the book is that art must keep a "distance" from the raw, noisy realities of daily life if it is to touch the sublime. It explores the Buddhist-inflected notion that human life is a fleeting dream, and that suffering—whether through unrequited love, exile, or the sting of memory—is a universal condition that can only be ennobled through ritual and aesthetic form. The plays ask whether a human can ever truly be free of their past, or if we are all merely ghosts tethered to the "grass" and "pine trees" of our own histories, waiting for a stranger to offer a prayer or a poem that might finally set us free.

Why Read It Today

Readers who feel fatigued by the literalism and relentless "vitality" of contemporary media will find this book a profound, cooling draught. It is not an easy read; the prose carries the weight of a century-old aesthetic theory, and the plays themselves demand a slow, meditative engagement. One must be willing to accept the archaic rhythms of the translation and the specific, sometimes rigid, social codes of the 14th-century Japanese period. However, for those who value the "high breeding of poetical style," the experience is transformative. The book stays with you because it treats drama as a "child's game become the most noble poetry." It changes how you perceive the world, suggesting that behind every ordinary tree or mountain path, there may be a spirit or a history waiting to be acknowledged. If you are interested in the mechanics of how we turn pain into beauty, or how a simple mask can contain more truth than a thousand moving faces, this collection provides a timeless, essential blueprint.