Literary Echoes of the Biwa - The Story of Seizan
- tcmcharlie
- May 12
- 5 min read
We return once again to the Tale of the Heike (Heike monogatari), to the story of Tsunemasa and a remarkable biwa called Seizan—a mysterious and cherished instrument whose history is rich with legend.
The last time we encountered Tsunemasa, he experienced a mystical vision at Chikubushima and was filled with hope before his fateful encounter with Minamoto no Yoshinaka.
Alas, the battles that followed did not favor the Heike. After early successes, their fortunes turned, and soon they were forced to flee the capital. This retreat was marked by the flight of the Emperor, during which we also encountered the biwa Kenjō.
Tsunemasa’s own flight is described soon afterward. Deeply attached to the abbot of Ninnaji, where he had spent his childhood, and wishing to return the precious biwa Seizan, which he had received the previous year, he took five or six retainers with him to do so. What follows in the text is a moving passage describing their encounter.
This time, however, I would like to focus not on Tsunemasa himself, but on the instrument—Seizan. What made this biwa so special? In the Heike monogatari, Seizan is described in detail. We learn of its long journey to Japan, the secrets it holds, and the profound reverence it inspired.
I am working from Sadler’s translation of the passage.
On Seizan
Tsunemasa was seventeen when he was presented with the biwa Seizan. Around the same time, he was appointed Imperial Envoy to the shrine of Hachiman at Usa. Upon arriving there, he performed several secret and beautiful pieces before the deity’s abode.
The assembled priests were so deeply moved that the sleeves of their ritual garments were wet with tears. Even those with no particular ear for music were captivated, saying it sounded like sudden showers of intermittent rain.
The story of Seizan begins long before, during the reign of Emperor Nimmyō (833–850). In the third month of the third year of Kashō (850), Fujiwara no Sadatoshi was sent to China, where he studied under the renowned biwa master Renshō-bu. From him, Sadatoshi learned three secret pieces—Jōgen (上玄), Sekijō (石上), and one of Ryūsen (流泉), Toboku, or Yōshinsō (楊真操).
Before Sadatoshi returned to Japan, he was presented with three exquisite biwa: Kenjō, Shishimaru, and Seizan. But as the ship sailed homeward, dragons—roused by envy—stirred up a great storm. To appease them, the travelers cast Shishimaru into the depths, managing to bring only Kenjō and Seizan safely back. These were offered as treasures to the Emperor.
Years later, during the reign of Emperor Murakami in the Ōwa era (961–964), on an autumn night when the moon had just begun to rise over the Seiryōden, the Emperor played Kenjō as a cool breeze drifted through the palace. Suddenly, a luminous figure appeared before him and began to sing the piece in an elegant, noble voice. The Emperor set down the instrument and asked: “How is this? Who are you, and where have you come from?”
The figure replied, “I am Renshō-bu, the master of the biwa who once taught the three secret pieces to Fujiwara no Sadatoshi. But I withheld one final piece, and for that transgression, I have been cast into the realm of devils. Hearing tonight the exquisite sound of your plectrum, I have come to ask Your Majesty to receive the last of the pieces, so that I may enter into the perfect enlightenment of the Buddha.”
Taking Seizan—which stood beside the Emperor—he tuned its strings and taught him the final melody. This was the true form of Jōgen and Sekijō.
After this apparition, the Emperor and his ministers, awed and unsettled, refrained from playing Seizan again. The instrument was entrusted to the Imperial Temple at Ninnaji. There, Tsunemasa received it out of the great affection the Imperial Abbot held for him.
Seizan was made from a rare wood called Shito. Upon its surface was painted the image of a dawn moon rising from the summer greenery of mountain foliage—hence its name, “Green Mountain.” It was a most precious treasure, regarded as no less noble than Kenjō itself.
Reflections
This passage strikes me deeply.
First, I’m struck by how closely this ancient account mirrors aspects of modern biwa transmission.
Two details stand out:
1. The Transmission Through Voice The ghost of Renshō-bu sings the notes of the biwa part—a method of oral transmission using mnemonic syllables. This is a common approach in Japan to this day, where such sung mnemonics guided finger placement, and the rhythm and pitch are captured in the melody.
Archaeologists have discovered examples of music notation for biwa at sites like the caves of Dunhuang in China dating from the first millennium A.D. The same words and characters appear to have been used in both Japan and China for biwa notation, leading to fruitful comparative studies. Of course, interpreting such scores requires knowledge of historical tuning systems, and reconstructing the rhythm remains a challenge.
In satsuma-biwa, a different mnemonic system is used today, but the underlying principle has many similaraties.
2. The Sound of the Plectrum Renshō-bu does not speak of the sound of the strings, but the sound of the plectrum itself. This distinction is meaningful.
Except for the kokyū, all traditional Japanese string instruments are played using a plectrum (bachi) or nails (tsume). Some scholars argue that the kokyū, which uses a bow, may have emerged in response to European viols introduced in the 16th century, before Japan entered its period of isolation under the Tokugawa shogunate.
Expressions like gensei (弦聲), referring to the “sound of the strings,” are used occasionally, but they are not typically used to describe playing technique. More common is the term bachi sabaki (撥捌き), which refers to the handling and skillful control of the plectrum.
Specific strokes—such as striking, cutting, casting off, or empty plectrum—each are named in satsuma-biwa.
The phrase bachi oto (撥音), or “sound of the plectrum,” used in this passage about Seizan highlights the aesthetic focus on the value placed on the sound of the plectrum.
Both of these aspects—oral transmission and the reverence for plectrum technique—reflect a unified aesthetic sensibility that links the world of the Heike monogatari to the present.
Final Thoughts
However, what resonates most deeply with me is how Renshō-bu is punished for withholding a part of the art from Sadatoshi. This appears to have been regarded as a moral failing.
This tale seems to suggest something profound: that art does not belong to any one person, or even one nation for them to decide how it is used. Rather, it exists as something beyond us—demanding that it be passed on, preserved, and shared.
It also implies that the highest forms of art are not exclusive, but belong to all of humanity, our common universal heritage. I take a comfort in this as someone not from Japan who finds this art so moving and interesting.
Fumon approached satsuma-biwa in this spirit, and I feel strongly the same way.
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