Introduction

The reason I decided to publish this book is, first, because I wanted more people in the English-speaking world to know  about Miyazawa Kenji's literature.

Second, because I wanted to introduce good quality works to people who have just started learning Japanese and want to read short stories in Japanese.

This book contains both the original text and the English translation.

Below is a brief description of Miyazawa Kenji, the author of this book, "Gauche the Cellist."

Profile of Miyazawa Kenji

Kenji Miyazawa (1896-1933) was a Japanese poet, novelist, and educator, born and raised in Hanamaki, Iwate Prefecture. As the eldest son of a farming family, he developed a deep connection with nature from an early age, an experience that profoundly influenced his later literary work. He was an avid reader and keen observer of nature, with a particular interest in plants and minerals, which laid the foundation for the themes in his literature.

After studying in Tokyo, Miyazawa became deeply devoted to Nichiren Buddhism, strongly influenced by the teachings of the Lotus Sutra. This Buddhist faith played a crucial role in his life and work. His poetry and stories often explore Buddhist themes, especially the harmony between nature and humanity, the concepts of suffering and salvation, and the importance of compassion. His famous work, Night on the Galactic Railroad, reflects his Buddhist views on life and death, depicting a journey to the afterlife and the Pure Land.

Miyazawa was also deeply interested in agricultural education and the improvement of farming practices. After returning to his hometown of Hanamaki, he became a teacher at an agricultural school, dedicating himself to the education of farmers. He worked to promote scientific farming techniques and aimed to improve the lives of farmers. Through writings such as the Outline of the Principles of Agrarian Art, Miyazawa advocated for the connection between agriculture and art, and envisioned an ideal society grounded in Buddhist principles. He also founded the "Rasu Chijin Kyoukai," where he and his colleagues engaged in farming and artistic activities while fostering connections with local farmers.

Miyazawa's literary works are characterized by a deep reverence for nature, Buddhist thought, and profound insights into human life. His notable works, including Night on the Galactic Railroad, Gauche the Cellist, The Restaurant of Many Orders, and Spring

and Asura, reflect his unique perspective on nature, the universe, and the mysteries of life. His poetry, rich in natural imagery, also explores deep spiritual themes, continuing to resonate with readers.

Although Miyazawa's life was short, his influence was profound, and his works gained widespread recognition posthumously. Today, he is regarded as a significant figure in Japanese literature, with his works cherished by readers of all ages. His ideas have also had a lasting impact on agrarian movements and environmental activism, with his thoughts and works continuing to resonate with many people today.

Kenji Miyazawa was a versatile figure who bridged literature, education, and agriculture, always seeking harmony between humanity and nature. His works have transcended time, continuing to inspire and touch the lives of many, keeping his spirit alive even today.

In translating this work, "Gauche the Cellist," I referred to works collected in the internet library "Aozora Bunko."

"Aozora Bunko" is an internet library that collects and posts works whose copyrights have expired or been abandoned, through the work of volunteers.

Readers who want to read original works in Japanese can read many works written in Japanese, including not only works by Miyazawa Kenji, for free. They are also available for download.

I have provided a link to "Aozora Bunko" here, so Japanese language learners, researchers of Japanese literature, and avid readers of Japanese novels should definitely visit the internet library "Aozora Bunko."

Once again, I would like to express my gratitude to "Aozora Bunko."

Gauche the Cellist

Gauche was in charge of playing the cello at the town movie theater. 

However, he had a reputation for not being very good. 

Not only was he not good, he was actually the worst among his fellow musicians, so he was always bullied by the conductor.

 

In the early afternoon, everyone was lined up in a circle in the dressing room, practicing the Sixth Symphony for the upcoming town concert.

The trumpets were singing with all their might.

The violins were making sounds like two-colored winds.

The clarinets were helping out with their "bou-bou" sounds.

Gauche had his mouth tightly shut and his eyes as wide as saucers, staring at the sheet music as he played in complete concentration.

Suddenly the conductor clapped his hands. 

Everyone stopped playing and fell silent. 

The conductor shouted.

"The cello is slow. To-te-te, te-te-te, start again from here. Yes."

 

Everyone started over from the previous part. 

Gosh finally finished playing the part he was told to play, his face red and his forehead sweating. 

Feeling relieved, Gosh continued playing, but the conductor clapped his hands again.

"Cello. The strings are out of tune. This is a problem. We don't have time to teach you Do-Re-Mi-Fa."

 

Everyone felt sorry for Gosh and deliberately looked at their own music or played their own instruments. 

Gosh hurriedly fixed the strings.

 In fact, it was his fault, but the cello was also very bad.

 

"From the previous measure. Yes."

Everyone started playing again. 

Gauche also tried his best with a frown. 

This time they made quite a bit of progress. 

Just when Gauche thought they were playing well, the conductor clapped his hands again in a threatening manner. 

 

Gauche was startled, thinking it was happening again, but thankfully it was someone else this time.

Gauche then deliberately brought his eyes close to his own score and pretended to think about something, just like everyone had done when he made a mistake earlier.

"Now, let's move on to the next one. Yes."

 

Just as we started to play, the conductor suddenly stomped his foot and shouted, "No, no! This is the essence of the piece, and we must play it right. Ladies and gentlemen, there are only ten days until the concert. If our orchestra loses to the farrier's and sugar merchant's orchestras, what will happen to our reputation? Hey, Gauche, you're such a nuisance. You have no expression. You can't express any emotion, neither anger nor joy, and you can't keep pace with the other instruments. It's as if you're the only one dragging your loose shoelaces and following everyone else. You're such a nuisance. Pull yourself together. It's a shame that you've brought such a bad reputation to our wonderful Venus Orchestra. Well, that's all for today. Take today off and come to the orchestra box at 6 o'clock sharp."

 

Everyone bowed, then put cigarettes in their mouths, struck matches, and went off somewhere.

Gauche picked up the shabby box-like cello and turned toward the wall, his mouth twisted as he burst into tears, but then he pulled himself together and quietly began to play the piece he had just played all over again, all by himself.

 

Late that evening, Gauche returned home carrying something large and black on his back.

His house was a dilapidated water mill on the outskirts of town, by the river.

 Gauche lived there alone, spending his mornings in the small field around the hut cutting off tomato shoots and removing caterpillars from cabbages,and he always left the house around noon.

 

Gauche went into the house, turned on the light, and opened the black package.

It was just the same rough cello from that evening.

Gauche gently placed it on the floor, then suddenly picked up a glass from the shelf, poured some water from the bucket into it, and drank it down.

 

Then he shook his head, sat back in his chair, and began to play the sheet music he had been practicing with the vigor of a tiger.

He turned the pages of the music, played, thought, thought, and played again, giving it his all until he reached the end, then started over again, roaring and playing again.

 

It was well past midnight, and by the end he no longer even knew that he was playing.

His face had turned red and his eyes were bloodshot, and he looked so terrifying that he looked as if he might collapse at any moment.

 

calico cat

At that moment, someone knocked on the door behind him.

"Is that you, Hoosh?" Gauche cried sleepily.

But the person who pushed the door open and came in was a big calico cat that he had seen five or six times before.

The cat brought a heavy-looking half-ripe tomato that he had picked from Gauche's field and set it down in front of Gauche.

"Oh, I'm exhausted. This transportation is pretty tough."

"What?" asked Gauche.

"This is a souvenir. Please eat it," said the calico cat.

Gauche let out all his midday anger in one go.

 "Who told you to bring tomatoes?  First of all, why would I eat anything you bring?  And those tomatoes are from my field. What are you doing?  You're plucking tomatoes that haven't even turned red. You're the one who's been nibbling and kicking the tomato stalks up until now. Get out!"

The cat shrugged and blinked, but then grinned and said, "Teacher, it's bad for your health to get so angry. But how about you play Schumann's Traumerei? I'll listen to you play it."

 "You're just a cat, so don't be so cheeky!" 

The cellist was annoyed and thought for a while about what to do about the cat.

"Oh, don't be shy. Please do it. I can't fall asleep unless I hear your music."

"How insolent! How insolent! How insolent!"

Gauche turned completely red, stomped his foot and yelled like the conductor in the daytime, but then he suddenly changed his mind and said,

"Then I'll play."

For some reason, Gauche locked the door and closed the windows, then took out his cello and turned out the lights.

Then, the light of the waning moon came in from outside, filling the room about halfway.

"What should I play?"

"Traumerei, a romantic Schumann composition." The cat wiped his mouth and said it.

"I see. So this is what a Traumerei is."

The cellist must have thought something, but he first tore apart his handkerchief and stuffed it tightly into his ears.

Then, with the vigor of a storm, he began playing the piece "Indian Tiger Hunt."

The cat listened for a while with its head tilted, then suddenly it blinked its eyes repeatedly and leapt towards the door.

Then it slammed its body against the door, but it didn't open.

The cat became flustered, as if it had made the biggest mistake of its life, and sparks began to fly from its eyes and forehead.

This time, sparks came out of the cat's whiskers and nose, which tickled the cat, making it look like it was about to sneeze for a while, and then it started running around again as if it couldn't stand it any longer.

Gauche was now thoroughly amused and began playing with even more vigor.

"That's enough, sir. That's enough. Stop it. I'm not going to ask you to do anything more."

"Shut up. I'm about to catch a tiger."

The cat jumped up and down in agony and stuck its body against the wall, but after sticking to the wall it glowed blue for a while.

In the end the cat started spinning around Gauche like a windmill.

Gauche began to feel a bit dizzy, so he finally stopped playing and said, "I'll let you go now."

The cat then seemed to perk up and said, "There's something strange about your playing tonight."

The cellist was a little annoyed, but didn't show it. He took out a cigarette, put it in his mouth, picked up a match and said, "How is it? Are you feeling uncomfortable? Stick out your tongue."

The cat stuck out its long, pointed tongue in a mocking manner.

"Haha, it's like a file," said the cellist, and suddenly struck a match with the cat's tongue and lit his own cigarette.

The cat was so surprised that, swinging its tongue like a windmill, it went to the front door, bumped its head against the door, stumbled, came back again, bumped again, stumbled, came back again, bumped again, stumbled, looking for a way to escape.

Gauche looked at the cat with interest for a while, then said, "I'll let you out. Don't come again, you idiot."

The cellist opened the door and laughed at the sight of the cat running like the wind through the grass.

Then, feeling refreshed, he fell into a deep sleep.

The cuckoo

The next night, Gauche came home again carrying the black cello package on his shoulder.

He gulped down some water and began playing the cello again, just like the night before.

It was past midnight, then one, then two, but Gauche still hadn't stopped practicing.

Then, as Gauche was playing the cello, losing track of time, he heard a faint tapping sound coming from the attic.

"Hey cat! Aren't you bored yet?"

Gauche yelled, and suddenly there was a popping sound from a hole in the ceiling, and a gray bird came down. It was a Cuckoo bird.

"Even a bird has come. What do you want?" Gauche asked.

"I want to learn music."

The cuckoo answered calmly.

 

Gauche laughed and said, "Music? You're just singing, 'Cuckoo, cuckoo.'" The cuckoo replied with a serious face, "Yes, that's it. But it's difficult."

"It's not that difficult. It's just that it's hard to sing a lot, not how to sing it."

 

"But it's difficult. For example, the sound of a bird making a "cuckoo" sound is very different from the sound of a bird making a "kakko-o" sound, right?"

"There is no difference."

"Then you do not understand. If ten thousand cuckoos of our kind sing, all ten thousand cries are different."

"You are being selfish. If you understood that well, you would not need to come to me."

 

"But I want to learn to sing Do-Re-Mi-Fa correctly," said the cuckoo.

"Who cares about Do-Re-Mi-Fa?"

"I want to master Do-Re-Mi-Fa before I go abroad."

"Who cares about other countries?"

"Teacher, please teach me Do-Re-Mi-Fa. Let's sing together."

"Shut up, you're too noisy. I'll play it three times, and you can go home after you've listened."

 

Gauche picked up the cello and plucked the strings, playing the notes do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti.

The cuckoo flapped its wings in a panic.

"No, that's not that note."

"Shut up. You do it then."

 

"Like this." The cuckoo bent forward and took a stance for a moment, then cried, "Cuckoo."

"What is it? Is that Do-Re-Mi-Fa? So to you guys, Do-Re-Mi-Fa and the Sixth Symphony are the same thing."

"That's not true."

 

"What's wrong?"

"The hard part is having to do this over and over again."

"So basically, this is how you do it, right?"

The cellist picked up his cello again and played, "Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo."

The cuckoo was so happy that halfway through he started shouting, "Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo."

The cuckoo bent over with all his might and shouted on and on.

 

Finally, Gauche's hands started to hurt,

"Hey, can't you just stop now?" he said, and stopped.

The Cuckoo then raised his eyes in disappointment and cried for a while, but finally said, "... Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo" and stopped.

 

Gauche said angrily.

"Hey Bird, when you're done practicing, go home."

"Play it again, please. Yours sounds good, but it's not quite right."

"What? I'm not your student. Go home now!"

"Please, just one more time, please. Please." The cuckoo bowed his head repeatedly.

"Well, this is the last one."

Gauche readied his bow.

Cuckoo took a deep breath and said, "Then please play as long as you can," and bowed again.

"You're a difficult customer," Gauche chuckled, and began to play.

 

The cuckoo then became completely serious again, twisting his body and yelling with all his might, "Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo."

At first Gauche was annoyed, but as he continued playing, he suddenly began to feel that perhaps the bird was more into the true Do-Re-Mi-Fa.

The more he played, the more he felt that the cuckoo was correct.

 

"If I keep doing stupid things like this I'll turn into a bird," thought Gauche, and suddenly stopped playing the cello.

The cuckoo then staggered as if it had been hit hard on the head, and sang "Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!" and stopped.

 

Then the bird looked resentfully at Gauche and said, "Why did you stop? Even the most cowardly of us would scream until our throats bled."

"What are you being so cheeky about? How much longer can you keep up this foolish behavior? Get out now. Look, night is breaking." Gauche pointed to the window.

The eastern sky was turning silvery and pitch black clouds were racing northward.

 

"Then please wait one more time until the sun comes up. Just for a little while," the cuckoo bowed again and pleaded.

"Shut up, you stupid bird. Get away or I'll pluck you and eat you for breakfast." Gauche stomped the floor.

 

The cuckoo suddenly got startled and flew off towards the window.

It hit its head hard against the pane and fell to the floor with a thud.

"What an idiot!" Gauche hurriedly stood up and tried to open the window, but this window wasn't the kind of thing that opened easily all the time.

As Gauche kept rattling the window frame, the cuckoo suddenly hit it again and fell to the floor.

When he looked, he saw that there was a little blood coming out from the base of its beak.

 

"I'll get you out now, so just wait there." When Gauche finally managed to open the window just two inches, Cuckoo rose to his feet, stared fixedly at the eastern sky beyond the window as if determined to do it this time no matter what, then put all his strength into flying away.

Of course, this time he hit the glass harder than before, and fell to the floor, motionless for a while.

 

When Gauche reached out his hand to catch the cuckoo and threw it out the door, the cuckoo suddenly opened its eyes and jumped away.

Then it looked like it was going to jump at the glass again.

Gauche instinctively raised his foot and kicked the window.

Two or three pieces of glass broke with a tremendous noise, and the window fell outside with its frame still attached.

 

The cuckoo shot out like an arrow from the windowless space.

It flew straight ahead, endlessly and endlessly, until it was finally out of sight.

Gauche stared outside in amazement for a while, then collapsed into a corner of the room and fell asleep.

little raccoon

The next night, Gauche played the cello until late at night, tired and drinking a glass of water, when he heard another tapping on the door.

Tonight, no matter what came, he was determined to scare it away from the start, so he waited with a cup in hand, when the door opened slightly and a  little raccoon came in.

 

Gauche opened the door a little wider, then stomped his foot on the floor and roared, "Hey, tanuki, do you know what tanuki soup is?" The little raccoon sat upright on the floor with a blank look on his face, tilting his head as if he didn't understand, but after a while he said, "I've never heard of tanuki soup."

 

When Gauche saw the raccoon's face he almost burst out laughing, but he still forced himself to look frightened and said, "Well, let me tell you. Tanuki soup is made by mixing a raccoon like you with cabbage and salt, and boiling it until it's soft so that I can eat it."

 

The little raccoon looked puzzled again and said, "But my father told me to go and learn because you're a very nice person and not scary." At this, Gauche finally burst out laughing. "What did he tell me to learn? I'm busy, and besides, I'm sleepy."

 

The little raccoon suddenly seemed to gain momentum and took a step forward. "I'm in charge of the little drum. I was asked to practice with the cello to accompany me."

"We can't find a drum anywhere."

"Here," the little raccoon took out two sticks from his back.

"What are you going to do with them?"

 

"Well, please play 'The Jolly Carriage Man.'"

"What, 'The Jolly Carriage Man' is jazz?"

"Oh, this is sheet music." The little raccoon took out another sheet of music from his back. 

Gauche picked it up and started laughing.

 

"Hmm, that's a strange tune. Okay, let's play. Are you playing the drums?" 

Gauche began to play, glancing at the little raccoon , wondering what he was going to do.

Then the little raccoon picked up a stick and began tapping the bottom of the cello pieces in time. 

The little raccoon played very well, and as he continued to play Gauche thought this was really interesting.

 

When he had finished playing, the little raccoon tilted his head to one side and thought for a while.

Then, as if he had finally thought of something, he said,

"Gauche, you're a little late when you pull the second string. It makes me stumble."

Gauche was startled.

Since last night it had seemed to him that no matter how fast he plucked the strings, it seemed like it took a while for the sound to come out.

"Yes, that may be true. This cello is bad," Gauche said sadly.

 

The raccoon looked sorry and thought for a while, then said,

"I wonder what's wrong. Could you play it again?"

"Sure, I'll play," Gauche began.

The little raccoon continued tapping the cello as before, occasionally bending his head to put his ear to the cello.

And when they finished, the eastern sky was once again faintly bright tonight.

 

"Oh, dawn has broken. Thank you very much." 

The little raccoon hurriedly carried the music sheets and sticks onto his back, secured them in place with a rubber band, bowed a few times, and hurried outside.Gauche sat there for a while, breathing in the fresh air that came in through the broken window, then hurried off to bed to regain his strength and sleep before setting out into town.