'Do not despise the snake for having no horns...'

The ancient sages said, "Do not despise the snake for having no horns, for who is to say it will not become a dragon?" So may one just man become an army.

Nearly a thousand years ago in ancient China, at the time of the Sung dynasty, there was a cruel and corrupt government. These men riding are outlaws – heroes – who have been driven to live in the water margins of Liang Shan Po, far to the south of the capital city. Each fights tyranny with a price on his head in a world very different from our own.

The story starts in legend even then, for our heroes, it was said, were perhaps the souls reborn of other, earlier knights.

Almost anyone of my generation in the UK (anyone who liked adventure and action on TV, that is) will recognise the words above as coming from the beginning of the TV series The Water Margin. Back in the seventies, it was essential viewing for any kid with even a slight interest in the martial arts or oriental adventure.

Atsuko Nakamura as the inimitable Lin Chung

Apart from Kung Fu (and the later Monkey) it was pretty much the only TV programme touching on those interests – a kind of Robin Hood and King Arthur rolled into one, with all the wonder and strangeness of an unknown and unexplored world. From the opening credits, which showed a motley and exotic band of riders advancing over the black sands to the distinctive opening chords of the theme tune, it transported the viewer to a new and different culture.

Even for those whose interest lay less with the exotic and more with the adventure and swordplay, the lines delivered by Burt Kwouk at the beginning were to become part of the permanent vocabulary of youth – or perhaps that was just my friends.

Though the series was set in China and based on the Chinese classic Shui Hu Zhuan, the TV series was a Japanese production (by Nippon Television) which followed on from a long history of adaptations from the original. Originally translated into Japanese back in the Edo period, the 90 volumes by Kyokutei Bakin proved immensely popular. Published over a period of some years (1805-1838) it was also to provide inspiration for renowned artists such as Hokusai (who illustrated Bakin's volumes) and Kuniyoshi (who became popular through his vigorous depictions of the characters).

Hokusai

Kuniyoshi

This television series was based on a manga series by Yokohama Mitsuteru, rather than the original, and took as its central character Lin Chung, peerless swordsman and, in this version, a paragon of chivalrous virtue. Perhaps he was a little too uncompromising for me – I preferred some of the more minor characters such as Shi Chin, the Tattooed Dragon, who was a little less perfect. As in the original, fighting for justice against corrupt officials was a major theme, and likely part of the reason for the novel's success in early 19th century Japan.

The stirring theme music by Godaigo was particularly evocative, both the instrumental version at the beginning and the even more dramatic vocal version that ran with the final credits. Of course, because it was sung in Japanese, we understood not a word of it. In fact, it was only recently that I went back to it to figure out what the lyrics actually were. I was pleased to find the lyrics reflected the feeling of the series as well as I could have hoped – a bitter-sweet lament resonating with nostalgia and hope.

I have never seen the lyrics written anywhere, so here they are for the first time:

Be sure to listen to the original, too.

Jinsei wa

Shireta mono sa

Umaku ittemo

Ippen no kumo yo ni

Nagaresaru dake

Naku na tomo

Naita-atte

Kino wa kino

Sa, asa janai

Life is

but a trifle;

Even if it goes well,

You are blown along

Like a lone cloud.

Don't cry my friend;

Even if you weep

Tomorrow is a new day (lit. Yesterday is Yesterday).

See, it is morning already.

Fantastic Beast - Rosetsu's Kara-shishi

Nagasawa Rosetsu (1754-1799)(?)

The shishi (or karashishi), the lion of Japanese art, is a mysterious beast. It is half mythological, often brightly coloured – typically blue or green – and has deep associations with Buddhism and Shinto. The guardians on either side of shrine entrances are normally shishi, or sometimes a shishi paired with a koma-inu (Korean dog or lion dog). In this case, the koma-inu will have its mouth closed and also sports a single, unicorn-like horn. The koma-inu looks quite leonine, and there is not much to tell between the two, probably because they evolved from the statues of lions in front of Buddhist temples in India, a custom which arrived in Japan and was transferred to shrines.

In Buddhism, they have the connotation of justice, and the strength to see that justice is done. They are also protectors of the Buddhist law. Their anger is proverbial, and I have seen the term shishi fundo (lion's rage) equated with techniques in budo that particularly utilise force and ferocity. As a motif, it was utilised by the Kano school most notably Kano Eitoku and later Kano Sanraku, to underline the majesty of their patrons. Unlike the tiger, however, which had whole rooms devoted to it in several decorative schemes, (Nijo Castle, Manshu-in, Nanzen-ji, Nagoya Castle, to name a few) I am not aware of any similar schemes involving shishi.

Kano Eitoku (1543-1590)'s lordly shishi

Their depiction was generally quite stylised, and rather than ferocity, typical depictions appear playful, as in these paintings by Kano Tanshin (the son of Kano Tanyu) and Hokusai.

This work by Nagasawa Rosetsu is quite another thing.

The writer Maruyama Kenji in a column in the Nikkei Shinbun newspaper (Jan. 22 2016) was also struck by it. He had this to say:

This should not be. Although you thought you had renounced your showy displays of anger, in the light of the full moon your dark and ferocious glare shows your confusion. After such total dedication, you did not abandon yourself to quiet madness or lose yourself in painful struggle – that it’s not a look of barbaric rashness or cold anger is proof of this. In the chaos of a society returned to ruin, your eyes shine with the light of justice, to see right done by whatever means possible, even at the cost of your life. Showing your determination to save those who had no choice in their upbringing, cowed by the threats that hung over them, you symbolise readiness to confront an old enemy on behalf of individual freedom. That is the kind of look it is. If not, your glance would not strike home in the breasts of those who have lapsed from mere vulgarity, attracted by the charm of appearances, and whose minds are now poisoned by hedonism. Forceful and revitalising, filled with the power to return to life, showing the supreme authority that lies only within yourself – a look that is open and true.

(my translation)

The broad, fierce brushstrokes depict the furious intensity of the beast very differently from how it is usually shown. It is also quite different from anything else of of Rosetsu's. I was surprised to learn that it was his when I first saw it, and only found out as I was writing this that there is some doubt as to whether it was actually painted by him (see here for more) – the gold leaf was certainly a later addition (Rosetsu's teacher, Maruyama Okyo had some works that suffered similarly) and the signature has been added at a later date (over the gold leaf and an original signature). Particularly unusual is the strength of emotion in the work, something that obviously struck Maruyama Kenji. Comparing it with Eitoku's work (above) it is almost exactly the same pose as the left-hand shishi – it is interesting to think that it may be a direct reworking from that original model. It would be nice to think it was genuine, but even if not, it is an impressive work, and painting it may have given the artist the means to enthuse his work with greater feeling than a more traditional rendering would have allowed.