The Narrow Road to the Deep North — Matsuo Basho

Oku no Hosomichi (おくのほそ道, "The Narrow Road to the Deep North") is the crowning achievement of Matsuo Basho (1644–1694), the poet who elevated haiku from witty wordplay into high art. Written and revised over the last five years of his life, it records his journey of some six hundred ri through the remote northern provinces of Japan in the spring and summer of 1689, accompanied by his disciple Kawai Sora.

The work is composed in haibun — a form that weaves prose and poetry into a single fabric. Basho's prose, spare and luminous, leads the reader along the road; his haiku, set like stones in a garden, arrest time at its most vivid. It is a pilgrimage through landscape and memory, each station a meeting between the traveller and the ancient poets who walked before him.

This complete integrated Good Works Translation is translated directly from the Classical Japanese text of the Soryu fair-copy manuscript (素龍清書本), the authoritative version prepared under Basho's direction in 1694, as published in the Sugiura Shoichiro scholarly edition (Iwanami Shoten, via Aozora Bunko).

Prologue

The months and days are travellers of eternity, and the passing years are likewise wayfarers. Those who spend their lives adrift on boats, those who grow old leading horses by the mouth — for them, every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home. Many among the ancients died upon the road.

I too, from what year I cannot say, was lured by the wind that scatters the clouds, and unable to still my longing to wander, drifted along the shores. Last autumn I returned to my broken-down hut by the river and swept away the old spiderwebs. As the year drew to its close, spring rose in a sky of haze, and I yearned to cross the Barrier of Shirakawa. The restless gods possessed me and drove my mind to distraction; the wayside gods beckoned, and I could settle to nothing. I patched my torn leggings, replaced the cords of my hat, and from the moment I burned moxa on my knees, the moon over Matsushima was already fixed in my heart. I gave my dwelling over to another and moved to Sampu's cottage.

Even this grass hut
changes its tenants —
a house of dolls

I wrote these opening verses and hung them on the pillar of my hut.

Departure

On the twenty-seventh of the Third Month, the sky at dawn was hazy. The moon lingered, its light already faint. The peak of Fuji was a dim shadow. The blossoming treetops of Ueno and Yanaka — when would I see them again? My heart grew thin with unease. All my closest friends had gathered from the evening before and rode the boat to see me off. When I stepped ashore at a place called Senju, the thought of three thousand ri ahead pressed upon my chest, and at the crossroads of this phantom world I shed tears of parting.

Spring departs —
the birds cry, and in the eyes
of fish, tears

I set this down as the first stroke of my journey-journal, but my feet would not go forward. Those who had come to see me off stood along the road, watching, it seemed, until my shadow disappeared from sight.

Soka

This being the second year of Genroku, I had set out on the long journey to the far north with no more than a passing resolve, knowing I would heap the grief of white hair beneath foreign skies. Yet I had heard tell of places I had never seen, and staking all on the uncertain hope that I would live to return, I stumbled at last into the post-station called Soka. What pained me first was the weight on my bony shoulders. I had set out meaning to carry nothing but myself, yet a paper coat against the night, a cotton robe, rain gear, ink and brush, and those farewell gifts too dear to discard — these had already become the burden of the road.

Muro no Yashima

We visited the shrine of Muro no Yashima. My companion Sora said, "The deity enshrined here is Konohanasakuya-hime, the same as the goddess of Fuji. When she entered the sealed chamber and set it ablaze to prove her fidelity, Hohodemi no Mikoto was born from within the flames — and so the place came to be called Muro no Yashima, the Eight Islands of the Chamber. It is also the reason that poems about this place always speak of smoke." It is further said that a fish called konoshiro is forbidden here, a tradition recorded in the temple chronicles.

Butsugozaemon

On the thirtieth we lodged at the foot of Mount Nikko. The innkeeper said, "My name is Butsugozaemon. Honesty in all things is my creed, which is how I came by this name — people call me so. Lay down your grass pillow for the night and rest at ease." What manner of Buddha, I wondered, has appeared in this dusty world to help mendicant pilgrims such as us? I watched the man closely: he was simply ignorant and without guile, honest and unbending. He was of the kind the Analects calls "resolute and plain — close to benevolence." Such purity of inborn nature deserves the highest respect.

Nikko

On the first day of the Fourth Month, we paid our respects at the sacred mountain. In ancient times this mountain was written Futarasan — "Two-Wilderness Mountain" — but when the Great Teacher Kukai established the temple, he changed the name to Nikko — "the Light of the Sun." Perhaps he saw a thousand years into the future, for today that radiance shines across all heaven, its blessings overflow to the eight corners of the world, and the four classes of people dwell in peace and safety. There is more I might say, but I lay down my brush in reverence.

How holy —
green leaves, young leaves
in the light of the sun

Mount Kurokamiyama was veiled in mist, its snow still white.

Shaving my head
at Black Hair Mountain —
I change to summer robes    — Sora

Sora was of the Kawai clan, and his given name was Sogoro. He had lived next door to me beneath the basho tree and helped me with the chores of firewood and water. Delighted at the prospect of seeing Matsushima and Kisakata together, and wishing to ease my hardships on the road, he shaved his head at dawn on the day of departure, put on the black robes of a wandering monk, and changed his name from Sogo to Sogo. That is why his poem speaks of Black Hair Mountain. The two characters for "changing robes" ring with particular force.

We climbed more than twenty cho up the mountain and came upon a waterfall. From the crown of a rocky hollow the water flew out and fell a hundred feet into a deep blue-green pool among a thousand crags. I crept into the hollow of the rock and looked out from behind the falls — this, they say, is why it has always been called Urami no Taki, the Falls Seen from Behind.

For a while
I am sealed behind the waterfall —
the beginning of summer

Nasu

In the district of Nasu there was a man I knew at a place called Kurobane, so from there we struck out across the moors, aiming to cut straight through. We spotted a village far off and made for it, but the rain came and night fell. We borrowed a night's lodging at a farmhouse, and when it grew light set out again across the fields. A horse was grazing there. We called out to the man cutting grass, and though he was a rough fellow, he was not without feeling. "What is to be done?" he said. "These moors branch off in all directions, and a stranger is bound to lose the way. Take this horse and turn him loose wherever he stops." With that he lent us the horse. Two small children came running after us. One was a little girl whose name was Kasane. It was an unfamiliar name and had a gentle beauty to it.

Kasane — it must be
the name of a double-petaled
wild pink    — Sora

Before long we reached a village and tied the horse's fee to the saddle, sending him back.

Kurobane

We called upon the castle deputy of Kurobane, one Joboji. Overjoyed at our unexpected visit, he talked with us day and night without ceasing. His younger brother Tosui came morning and evening to attend upon us, took us to his own house, and had us invited to the homes of his kinsmen. So the days passed. One day we strolled out to the countryside, glanced at the old grounds of the dog-hunt, pushed through the bamboo grass of Nasu to visit the ancient tomb of Tamamo no Mae, and from there went to pay our respects at the Hachiman Shrine. When I heard that when Nasu no Yoichi shot the fan from his horse, he prayed especially to "the Hachiman of my province" — it was this very shrine — I was deeply moved. As evening fell we returned to Tosui's house.

There was a mountain temple called Shugen Komyoji. We were invited there and worshipped at the Hall of the Ascetics.

Summer mountains —
I bow to the high clogs
at the start of the journey

Unganji

Behind Unganji Temple in this province lay the mountain hermitage where the priest Butcho had once lived.

Five feet tall,
five feet wide — this grass hut
I would not even build,
were it not for the rain

So he had written in charcoal on a rock, or so I had heard him say. Wanting to see the place, I made my way to Unganji, leaning on my staff. People urged me onward and young folk came along in numbers, chattering on the road, and before I knew it we had arrived at the foot of the mountain. The mountain seemed to go deeper and deeper; the valley path wound far away. Pines and cedars darkened, moss dripped, and the sky of the Fourth Month was still cold. Where the ten famous views ended, I crossed a bridge and entered the temple gate.

Then I scrambled up the slope behind the temple to find the hermitage. A tiny hut perched on a rock, pressed against a cave — for all the world like the death-barrier of the monk Myozenji or the stone chamber of the Dharma Master Houn.

Not even the woodpecker
has broken this hermitage —
the summer grove

I dashed off this verse and left it on a post.

The Killing Stone and the Wandering Priest's Willow

From here we went to the Killing Stone. The castle deputy sent us on horseback. The groom leading the horse begged me, "Please, give me a poem-card." A graceful thing to ask for, I thought.

Across the moor
turn the horse's head —
a cuckoo

The Killing Stone stands in the shadow of a mountain where hot springs bubble up. The poison breath of the stone has not yet died: bees and butterflies lie heaped upon the sand in such numbers that its colour cannot be seen.

The willow of the clear water stands in the village of Ashino, still there on the ridge between the rice paddies. The district governor, one Lord Tobu, had often said he would like to show me this willow, and I had wondered where it might be — but today I stood at last in its shade.

A whole rice paddy planted —
I move on
from the willow

The Barrier of Shirakawa

As the anxious days piled up, we came to the Barrier of Shirakawa, and my traveller's heart at last found its resolve. How I long to send word to the capital! — one understands the feeling well. This barrier is counted among the Three Great Barriers, and has always held the hearts of poets. The autumn wind lingered in my ears, the crimson leaves rose before my eyes, and yet the green sprays of the treetops were moving in their own way. The white of the deutzia blossoms and the blooming wild roses made it feel as if we were crossing through snow. I am told that the poet Kiyosuke recorded how an ancient traveller straightened his cap and put on his best robes before passing through.

The deutzia blossoms
I set in my cap — my finery
for the barrier    — Sora

Sukagawa

Pressing on, we crossed the Abukuma River. To the left Mount Aizu rose high; to the right the domains of Iwaki, Soma, and Miharu stretched out, their mountains forming a wall between us and the lands of Hitachi and Shimotsuke. We passed through a place called Kagenuma, but the sky was cloudy that day and nothing was reflected.

At the post-station of Sukagawa I sought out a man named Tokyu and stayed four or five days. His first question was, "How did you find the Barrier of Shirakawa?" I told him the weariness of the long road had exhausted body and mind, the beauty of the landscape had seized my soul, and the weight of the past had torn my heart, so that I could not think clearly.

The beginning of the art —
the rice-planting songs
of the far north

I said I could not pass through the barrier without a poem, and so he added a second verse, and then a third, and we made three sequences of linked verse.

Beside this inn a great chestnut tree gave shade to a monk who had renounced the world. I thought of Saigyo's poem about picking chestnuts in the mountains and wrote down these words:

The word "chestnut" is written with the characters for "west" and "tree," and so the chestnut has a connection to the Western Paradise. The Bodhisattva Gyogi, they say, used chestnut wood for his walking staff and the posts of his hut throughout his life.

A blossom the world
has never noticed — the chestnut
by the eaves

Asaka Marsh

Leaving Tokyu's house, we walked about five ri. Where the post-road leaves the town of Hiwada lies Mount Asaka, not far from the road. There are many marshes in this area. As the season for cutting katsumi grass drew near, I asked everyone which plant was called hana-katsumi, but no one could tell me. I searched the marshes, asked the people, repeated "katsumi, katsumi" again and again, until the sun sank behind the rim of the mountains. We turned right at Nihonmatsu, took a look at the cave of Kurozuka, and lodged at Fukushima.

Shinobu Village

The next morning we went to the village of Shinobu to find the Shinobu mojizuri stone — the stone used to press the twisting cloth patterns. It lay in a small hamlet far off at the foot of a mountain, half-buried in the earth. Children from the village came and told us: "Long ago the stone stood on top of the mountain, but travellers kept pulling up the barley and grass to test the pattern on the stone, and the villagers, annoyed by this, pushed it into the valley — so now its face lies downward." It may well have been so.

Hands planting seedlings —
I see in them the motions
of the old patterned cloth

The Ruins of Sato Shoji

Crossing the ford at Tsukinowa, we came out at a post-station called Senoue. The ruins of Sato Shoji's estate lay a ri and a half to the left, at the foot of the mountains. We were told they could be found at a place called Maruyama in the village of Iizuka in Sabano. We asked our way there and found them. The great gate had stood a ri this side of the main grounds. The ruins of the old mansion had become rice fields, but Kinkeizan — the Golden Fowl Mountain — still kept its shape. We climbed first to Takadachi, and from there we could see the broad river of Kitakami flowing from the south. The Koromo River wound past the castle of Izumi and fell into the great river below Takadachi.

At the old temple nearby, the stone memorials of the Sato family remained. Among them, the grave-markers of the two young brides moved me most of all. Women they were, yet their names ring with valour down through the ages — and I wet my sleeves. The Weeping Monument was not far off. We entered the temple and asked for tea. Here they kept, as temple treasures, the great sword of Yoshitsune and the pack-frame of Benkei.

The sword and the pack —
display them with the paper banners
for the Boys' Festival

This was the first day of the Fifth Month.

Iizuka

That night we stayed in Iizuka. There were hot springs, so I took a bath and found lodging, but it was a wretched poor house — just a straw mat on a dirt floor. There was not even a lamp; I made my bed by the flickering light of the hearth and lay down. Thunder rumbled through the night and rain poured endlessly, leaking through the roof above where I lay. Fleas and mosquitoes bit without mercy and I could not sleep. My old ailment flared up and I nearly fainted. When the short summer night finally gave way to dawn, I set out again. The lingering misery of the night weighed on me still, and my spirits would not rise. I hired a horse and rode to the post-station of Koori. With so great a distance yet ahead, such illness filled me with unease, but this was a pilgrimage through the remote borderlands — a journey of renunciation and impermanence. If I die upon the road, it is the will of heaven. With that I pulled together what strength I had and strode on, trampling the road, and crossed through the Great Gate of Date.

Kasashima

We passed Abumizuri and the castle of Shiroishi and entered the district of Kasashima. I asked where the tomb of Lord Fujiwara no Sanekata might be, and was told, "Those villages you see far off to the right, at the foot of the mountains — that is Minowa and Kasashima. The shrine of the wayside god is still there, and the pampas grass of remembrance still grows." The May rains had made the road all but impassable, and I was weary, so I gazed at the place from a distance as I passed.

Kasashima — where is it?
The May rains
and the muddy road

We lodged at Iwanuma.

Takekuma

The double-trunked pine of Takekuma was truly a sight to shake one awake. The trunk divides at the base into two trees, and one could see that the old form had not been lost. I thought first of the priest Noin. Long ago, a man who had come down as Governor of Mutsu cut this pine for bridge-piles on the Natori River — perhaps that is why Noin wrote, "No trace now of that pine." I am told it has been cut and replanted in turn through the generations, but now it stands as if a thousand years had shaped it — a splendid pine.

"Show me the pine of Takekuma, I beg you" — so a man named Kyohaku had written in a farewell poem, and so:

Since the cherry —
the pine of Takekuma, I see,
has kept its two trunks
through three months

Miyagino

We crossed the Natori River and entered Sendai. It was the day for hanging iris leaves. We found an inn and stayed four or five days. Here there was a painter named Kaemon, said to be a man of some sensibility. When I came to know him, he told me he had spent years tracking down places whose locations were no longer certain, and one day he offered to guide us. The bush clover of Miyagino grew thick, and I could imagine the autumn colours. At Tamada and Yokono the asebi was in bloom. We entered a pine forest so dense that no sunlight reached the ground — this, he told me, was the place called Konoshita, "Beneath the Trees." The heavy dew of ancient times must have been just like this, for a poet once wrote, "Tell your lord, attendant — take your umbrella." We paid our respects at the Hall of Yakushi and the shrine of Tenjin, and the day came to an end. Kaemon sent us off with paintings of Matsushima and Shiogama, and gave us two pairs of straw sandals with indigo-dyed cords. Here indeed the man revealed himself as a true man of refinement.

Iris leaves
I'll bind about my feet — the cords
of my straw sandals

The Stone Monument of Tsubo

Following the maps Kaemon had drawn, we made our way along until we came to the narrow road at the foot of the mountains, where the sedge of Tofu grew in ten clumps. I am told that even now, every year, ten bundles of sedge-mat are prepared and offered to the provincial lord.

The stone monument of Tsubo stands in the village of Taga, in the district of Ichikawa. It is over six feet tall and perhaps three feet wide. The moss has been scraped away, and the inscription can faintly be read. It records the distances to the boundaries of the province in all four directions. "This fortress was first built in the first year of Jinki by the Inspector and Garrison Commander, Lord Ono no Azumabito. It was repaired in the sixth year of Tempyo-hoji by the Councillor and Commissioner of the Eastern Sea and Eastern Mountain Circuits, Lord Emi no Asakari, on the first day of the twelfth month." This was in the reign of Emperor Shomu.

Though many places celebrated in verse have been handed down in song and story, mountains crumble, rivers shift their course, roads are lost, stones are buried in earth, trees age and are replaced by saplings. Times change, generations pass, and the traces of the past grow uncertain. But here before my eyes stood an undoubted monument of a thousand years, and through it I read the hearts of the ancients. This alone is a reward of pilgrimage, a joy of being alive. I forgot the weariness of the road and wept until my tears nearly fell.

Sue no Matsuyama

From there we visited Noda no Tamagawa and the rock called Oki no Ishi. On Sue no Matsuyama — "the Pine Mountain of the End" — a temple had been built and given the name Sueshosan. Between the pines, every space was a grave. Even the lovers who once pledged "wings entwined, branches joined" must come to this in the end, I thought, and my sadness deepened. At Shiogama Bay, the evening bell sounded. The May-rain sky cleared a little, and in the faint light of the evening moon Magaki Island seemed close at hand. Little fishing boats rowed home together, dividing the catch, their voices carrying across the water. "Tethered they pull, how sad" — one understood the old poem's heart, and it was more moving still. That night a blind minstrel played the biwa and chanted a ballad they called Oku-joruri. It was not the Tale of the Heike nor the elegant dance-chanting of the capital — a rough country style, pitched loud and close to my pillow. Yet there was something admirable in it: the old traditions of the borderland had not been forgotten.

Shiogama

Early the next morning we worshipped at the great shrine of Shiogama. The provincial lord had restored it: the pillars were thick, the painted rafters brilliant, the stone steps rose tier upon tier, and the morning sun blazed on the jewelled fence. That the divine spirit dwells in such glory even at the far end of the road, in the dust of the frontier — this is the beauty of our country's ways, and I found it deeply moving. Before the shrine stood an ancient temple lamp. On its bronze doors was inscribed: "Dedicated in the third year of Bunji by Izumi Saburo." The face of five hundred years past rose before my eyes, sudden and strange. He was a warrior of courage, loyalty, and filial devotion. His good name endures to this day, and no one fails to admire him. Truly, a man should practise the Way and uphold what is right — for fame will follow of its own accord.

Matsushima

The sun was already near noon. We hired a boat and crossed to Matsushima — a distance of two ri and more — landing at the beach of Ojima.

It has been said so many times that it grows tiresome, yet Matsushima is the finest landscape in all Japan, worthy to stand beside Dongting Lake and the West Lake of China. The sea enters from the southeast, and the bay stretches three ri, swelling like the tide of the Qiantang. Islands beyond counting — those that rise point to heaven, those that crouch crawl upon the waves. Some are stacked two or three layers high; some stand apart to the left, some link together to the right. Some carry others on their backs; some clasp others to their breast, like a parent dandling a beloved child. The green of the pines is rich and deep, their branches bent and twisted by the salt wind into natural shapes, as if someone had trained them with deliberate care. The whole scene has an air of serene beauty, like a woman at her toilette. It must have been the great god Oyamazumi who made all this, in the age of the gods. What brush could paint it? What words could capture it?

The beach of Ojima extends out into the sea from the mainland. Here are the ruins of the priest Ungo's retreat, his meditation stone, and other remains. Here and there among the pines I could see recluses who had forsaken the world, living quietly in grass-thatched huts where fallen pine-needles and pine-cones smouldered. I did not know who they were, but I was drawn to them and lingered. The moon rose and shimmered on the water, and the view of day became something new again. We returned to the shore and took an inn, opening the second-storey windows — sleeping on a journey amid wind and cloud, a strangely wonderful feeling.

At Matsushima, borrow
the body of a cuckoo    — Sora

I closed my mouth and tried to sleep, but could not. When I left my old hut, Sodo had given me a poem on Matsushima, and Hara Anteki had sent me a poem on Matsugaurashima. I opened my bag and made them my companions for the night. There were also parting verses from Sampu and Dakushi.

Zuiganji

On the eleventh we visited Zuiganji Temple. Thirty-two generations ago, Makabe no Heishiro took the tonsure, went to China, and upon his return founded this temple. Later, through the transforming virtue of the priest Ungo, the seven halls were rebuilt in splendour, the gold-leaf walls shone, and it became a great monastery of the Pure Land. I wondered where the temple of that holy man Kembutsu might be.

Hiraizumi

On the twelfth we set our hearts on Hiraizumi. We had heard of places along the way — the Pine of Aneha, the Bridge of the Broken Cord — but the path was seldom trodden, used only by hunters and woodcutters, and we lost our way. At last we came out at a harbour called Ishinomaki. Across the water we could see Kinkazan, the Golden Flower Mountain, of which the poet sang "where the golden flowers bloom" — an offering to the Emperor. Hundreds of boats crowded the inlet. Houses pressed against one another for space, and smoke rose without ceasing from the cooking-fires. I had not expected to find myself in such a place. We tried to find lodging, but no one would take us in. At last we spent the night in a wretched little shack, and when dawn came, set off again into unknown country. We passed the Ford of the Sleeves, the Pasture of the Tail-Abyss, the Reed-plain of Mano, and other famous places, viewing them from afar as we walked along a distant embankment beside a dismal long marsh. We lodged at a place called Toima and at last arrived in Hiraizumi — a distance, I think, of something over twenty ri.

The glory of three generations of Fujiwara lords vanished in the space of a dream. The ruins of the great gate stand a ri before the town. Where Hidehira's mansion stood, there are now rice paddies. Only Kinkeizan, the Golden Fowl Mountain, keeps its shape. We climbed first to Takadachi, the High Fortress, and from there saw the great Kitakami River flowing from the south. The Koromo River winds around the castle of Izumi and falls into the great river below. The old ruins of Yasuhira and the others, beyond the Koromo Barrier, guarded the southern approach against the Emishi. And yet — loyal retainers fortified themselves within these walls, and their glory became the grass of a single hour. "The country is destroyed; the mountains and rivers remain. Spring comes to the castle, and the grass is green." I spread my hat upon the ground and sat, and wept until time itself seemed to pass.

Summer grasses —
all that remains
of warriors' dreams

The white hair of Kanefusa
shines through the deutzia —
Yoshitsune's loyal man    — Sora

The two famous halls, which I had heard of with wonder, were now open to us. In the Sutra Hall, the statues of the three lords remained. In the Golden Hall, the coffins of three generations were enshrined, and the three sacred images were installed. The seven treasures had been scattered, the jewelled doors destroyed by wind, the golden pillars eaten by frost and snow — all should have crumbled to ruin and become a mound of empty grass. But new walls had been raised on all four sides and a roof built over to keep out the wind and rain, and so for a little while it endures as a monument to a thousand years.

The rains of May
have spared you —
O Hall of Gold

The Barrier of Shitomae

Far off in the distance we could see the road to the south. We lodged at the village of Iwade. We passed Obuchi and Mizu no Ojima, and from the hot springs of Narugo came to the Barrier of Shitomae, where we would cross into the province of Dewa. Because this road was so seldom travelled, the barrier guards regarded us with suspicion, and we passed through only with difficulty. We climbed a great mountain, and as the sun had already set, we spotted the house of a border guard and asked for shelter. For three days wind and rain raged, and we idled in this worthless mountain place.

Fleas, lice —
a horse pissing
beside my pillow

The master of the house told us that a great mountain lay between us and Dewa, that the road was uncertain, and that we should hire a guide to lead us over. "Very well," I said, and hired a man — a sturdy young fellow with a short curved sword at his hip and an oak staff in his hand, who strode out ahead of us. "Today," I thought, "we are sure to meet with danger." I followed behind in dread. The master had spoken truly: the mountains were high and thickly forested, not a bird-cry to be heard. Beneath the trees it was dark as night. Dust seemed to fall from the edges of the clouds. We pushed through bamboo grass, waded streams, stumbled on rocks, cold sweat running down my skin, until at last we emerged in the domain of Mogami. Our guide said, "Something always goes wrong on this road. I'm glad I brought you through safely." With that he took his leave, well pleased. But even hearing of it afterward made my heart pound.

Obanazawa

At Obanazawa we called upon a man named Seifu. Though wealthy, he was not vulgar in spirit. He often travelled to the capital and understood the feelings of a traveller, so he kept us for some days and tended to us with every kindness after the hardships of the long road.

This coolness —
I make it my own home
and lie at ease

Crawl out!
The voice of the toad
beneath the silkworm shed

An eyebrow-brush —
that is the look of it,
the safflower

Silkworm tenders —
their figures from the ancient days    — Sora

Yamadera

In the domain of Yamagata there is a mountain temple called Risshakuji. Founded by the Great Teacher Jikaku, it is a place of particular serenity. People urged me to see it, so I turned back from Obanazawa — a distance of about seven ri. The sun had not yet set. I secured lodging at the temple at the foot of the mountain and climbed to the halls on the summit. Boulder upon boulder made the mountain; ancient pines and cypresses grew old with the stones. The moss-covered earth and stone were smooth and slippery. The doors of the temple buildings on the rocks above were closed, and not a sound could be heard. I skirted the cliff-edges, crept over the rocks, and worshipped at each hall. The splendid scenery held me in deep silence, and my heart grew still.

Stillness —
sinking into the rocks,
the voice of cicadas

The Mogami River

Hoping to go down the Mogami River, we waited for fair weather at a place called Oishida. Here the seeds of old haikai had scattered and taken root; people cherished the memory of the flowers of that forgotten art, their hearts softened by the sound of the reed flute. They groped their way along this path, uncertain whether to follow the old way or the new, but having no one to guide them — and so, with some reluctance, we left behind a scroll of linked verse. This journey's art found its fruition here.

The Mogami River rises in the far north and has its upper waters in Yamagata. There are fearsome rapids called Goten and Hayabusa. It flows north of Mount Itajiki and at last empties into the sea at Sakata. Mountains closed in from left and right as the boat went down through thick-grown trees. Those boats piled with rice, it seems, are what they call "rice boats." The cascade of Shirato falls through gaps in the green leaves. The Hermit's Hall stands on the bank facing the water. The river was swollen and the boat in danger.

Gathering
the rains of May —
how swift, the Mogami River

Haguro

On the third of the Sixth Month we climbed Mount Haguro. We sought out a man called Zushi Sakichi and through him were received by the Deputy Head Priest, the Ajari Egaku. We were lodged at a sub-temple in the Southern Valley, where our host treated us with deep warmth and kindness.

On the fourth, a session of linked verse was held at the main temple.

How grateful —
the snow-scented air
of the Southern Valley

On the fifth we worshipped at the Gongen shrine. The Great Teacher Nojo, who first opened this mountain, is said to have lived in some unknown age. The Engishiki records it as "the Shrine of Ushuyama in Dewa." Perhaps the scribe confused the character "black" for "village-mountain." Or perhaps "Ushukuroyama" was abbreviated to "Haguroyama." It is said in the provincial gazetteer, or so I am told, that this province was named Dewa because the feathers of birds were offered as tribute. Together with Gassan and Yudono, these are called the Three Mountains. This temple belongs to the Toei branch in Edo, and the moonlight of Tendai contemplation shines clear. The Dharma lamp of perfect and sudden enlightenment burns bright. The monks' quarters stand row upon row, and the mountain ascetics practise their austerities with devotion. The power of this holy ground fills one with awe and reverence — a mountain truly to be called flourishing and magnificent.

On the eighth we climbed Gassan, the Moon Mountain. With purification ropes about our bodies and white hoods upon our heads, led by a man called a goriki — a "strong-man" — we climbed for eight ri through cloud and mist and ice and snow. I wondered if we had passed through the barrier of the clouds where the sun and moon traverse the sky. My breath failed and my body froze. When we reached the summit the sun had set and the moon appeared. We spread bamboo grass for bedding, laid our heads on bamboo shoots, and waited for dawn. When the sun rose and the clouds dissolved, we descended to Yudono.

Beside the valley was a place called the Blacksmith's Hut. The swordsmiths of this province chose these sacred waters and purified themselves here before forging their blades, which they stamped with the mark "Gassan," and so they are prized throughout the world. It is like the ancient practice of tempering swords in the Dragon Spring. One thinks of Ganjiang and Moye and their devotion to the art. We sat upon a rock to rest, and there before us a cherry tree of barely three feet, its buds half open. Buried under deep snow, it had not forgotten spring. It was like the scent of plum blossoms blooming beneath a blazing sky. The poem by the holy Bishop Gyoson came to mind, and I felt this scene surpassed even that. In general, what happens within these mountains is forbidden by the law of the ascetics to be told to others, and so I lay down my brush and write no more. When we returned to the temple, the Ajari asked us for poem-cards recording our pilgrimage of the Three Mountains.

The coolness —
a crescent moon, faintly,
over Mount Haguro

How many cloud-peaks
have crumbled away —
the Moon Mountain

Yudono — I cannot speak of it,
yet my sleeves are wet
with tears

At the bath of Yudono,
tears upon the coins
along the path    — Sora

Sakata

Leaving Haguro, we were received at the castle-town of Tsurugaoka by a warrior named Nagayama Shigeyuki, and a session of linked verse was held. Sakichi had come along to see us off. We went down by river-boat to the port of Sakata and lodged at the house of a physician called Fugyoku of the Enboku-an.

From Mount Atsumi
to the shore of Fukuura —
the cool of evening

The blazing sun
plunged into the sea —
the Mogami River

Kisakata

Having exhausted the beauties of river, mountain, sea, and land, I now pressed my heart toward Kisakata. From the harbour of Sakata we travelled northeast, climbing mountains, following the shore, walking on sand — a distance of ten ri. As the sun began to tilt, the salt wind blew up the sand, and rain blurred everything. Mount Chokai vanished behind the mist. Groping in the dark, we found the rain itself had a strange beauty, and trusted that the clearing after rain would be finer still. We squeezed into a fisherman's reed hut and waited for the rain to stop.

The next morning the sky cleared perfectly, and as the morning sun rose in splendour we floated a boat on the lagoon of Kisakata. First we rowed to Noin's Island to visit the remains of his three years of solitary retreat. Landing on the opposite shore, we found the old cherry tree of which it was said "he rows over the blossoms" — a memento of the priest Saigyo. On the edge of the water stood an imperial tomb, said to be the grave of Empress Jingu. The temple is called Kanmanji. I have never heard of an imperial visit here. What can the truth be?

Sitting in the guest hall of this temple and raising the bamboo blinds, we saw the whole landscape spread before us in a single glance. To the south, Mount Chokai propped up the sky, its reflection sinking into the lagoon. To the west, the road was bounded by the Barrier of Muyamuya. To the east, an embankment had been built, and the road to Akita stretched into the distance. The sea lay to the north, and the place where the waves washed in was called Shiogoshi — "the tide-crossing." The lagoon, roughly a ri in each direction, resembles Matsushima but is quite different. Where Matsushima seems to smile, Kisakata seems to grieve. To the loneliness there is a sadness added, and the very shape of the land seems to trouble the soul.

Kisakata —
in the rain, the silk trees,
like Xi Shi in sorrow

The tide is high —
the cranes' legs grow short,
and the sea is cool

Festival day:

Kisakata —
what do they eat here?
the gods' feast    — Sora

On the door-planks
of a fisherman's shack —
the cool of evening

Seeing an osprey's nest on a rock:

The waves cannot reach it —
this pledge must hold,
the osprey's nest    — Sora

The Road Through Echigo

Lingering at Sakata, we set out toward the clouds of the Hokuriku road. The thought of the distance ahead pained my heart. I heard it was a hundred and thirty ri to the capital of Kaga. Crossing the Barrier of Nezumi, we entered the province of Echigo, and from there came to the Barrier of Ichiburi in Etchu. In these nine days, the heat and humidity so wearied my spirit and sickened my body that I could record nothing.

The seventh month —
the sixth night, too, is unlike
an ordinary night

The rough sea —
stretching across to Sado,
the River of Heaven

Ichiburi

Today we crossed the most dangerous places on the northern coast — places with names like "Parent-forsaken, Child-forsaken, Dog's Retreat, Horse's Return." Exhausted, I pulled the pillow to me and lay down. From the next room, on the side facing the front of the inn, I could hear the voices of two young women. An old man's voice mingled with theirs. Listening, I gathered they were courtesans from a place called Niigata in Echigo province. They were making a pilgrimage to the Grand Shrine of Ise, and the old man had escorted them as far as this barrier. Tomorrow he would turn back, and they were writing letters and composing small messages to send home with him. "We who drift upon the shore where the white waves break, fallen to this wretched life, the lowly children of fishermen — bound by vows that change from night to night, what terrible karma brought us to this?" I listened to them as I fell asleep.

The next morning, as we were setting out, they came up to us and said, with tears, "The road ahead is unknown and we are fearful and sad beyond measure. May we follow you, even just within sight? Grant us, in the compassion that covers all, the grace of a bond with the Buddha." "I am sorry for you," I said, "but we stop in many places along the way. Simply follow whoever else is going, and trust in the protection of the gods — you will surely come to no harm." I walked away, but the pity of it stayed with me for some time.

Under one roof
courtesans too sleep —
bush clover and the moon

I told this to Sora, and he wrote it down.

Kaga Province

Crossing the forty-eight rapids of the Kurobe River and countless other streams, we came to a shore called Nago. The wisteria trellises of Takago — even if it is not spring, the poignancy of early autumn would be worth a visit — so I asked the way. "From here, five ri along the coast, past the mountain's shadow on the far side — fishermen's reed-thatched huts are few and far between, and there may not be anyone to put you up for the night." This warning frightened us, and we crossed into the province of Kaga.

The scent of early rice —
pushing through to the right,
the sea of Ariso

Kanazawa

Crossing Mount Unohana and the Valley of Kurikara, we reached Kanazawa on the fifteenth of the Seventh Month. A merchant named Kasho, who travelled regularly from Osaka, was staying at the same inn.

A man called Issho, whose name had become known in these parts for his love of this art, had died the previous winter while still young. His elder brother was holding a memorial service:

Shake, O tomb —
my wailing voice
is the autumn wind

Invited to a certain hermitage:

The cool of autumn —
each one peeling
a melon or eggplant

Composed along the way:

The blazing sun,
relentless —
but the autumn wind

At a place called Komatsu:

A charming name —
Komatsu, "Little Pine," and the wind
through bush clover and pampas grass

Tada Shrine

At this place we visited the Shrine of Tada. Here were the helmet and a scrap of brocade of Sanemori. In former times, when he served the Minamoto, Lord Yoshitomo himself had bestowed them upon him, they say. Indeed, this was no common soldier's gear: from the visor to the ear-flaps, the chrysanthemum and vine arabesques chased in gold, the dragon-head crest with its antler-like horns — all spoke of rank and honour. After Sanemori fell in battle, Kiso Yoshinaka sent a prayer to this shrine with the helmet as an offering, and Higuchi no Jiro was the messenger. The story is told vividly in the temple records.

How pitiful —
beneath the helmet,
a cricket

Nata

On the way to the hot springs of Yamanaka, Mount Shirane was behind us as we walked. At the foot of the mountain to the left stood a hall of the Bodhisattva Kannon. After the retired Emperor Kazan had completed his pilgrimage of the Thirty-Three Holy Places, he enshrined an image of Great Mercy and Great Compassion here and named the temple Nata, dividing the first syllables of Nachi and Tanigumi. Marvellous stones of every shape stood among ancient pines, and a small thatched hall perched upon the rock — a place of rare beauty.

Whiter
than the stones of Ishiyama —
the autumn wind

Yamanaka

I bathed in the hot springs. Their power, they say, is second only to those of Ariake.

At Yamanaka —
no need to pick chrysanthemums,
the scent of the hot springs

The innkeeper was a youth named Kumenosuke, still a boy. His father had been a lover of haikai, and there is a story that when Teimu of the capital came here as a young man, he was so shamed by the local poets' skill that upon his return he became a pupil of Teitoku and won fame in the world. After his success, it is said, he never charged this village for his critiques. That is now an old tale.

Sora had fallen ill with a stomach complaint. Because he had family connections at a place called Nagashima in the province of Ise, he went on ahead.

Walking on, walking on —
even should I collapse,
a field of bush clover    — Sora

So he wrote, and left it behind. The sorrow of the one who goes, the grief of the one who stays — like a pair of wild ducks separated, lost in the clouds. And I too wrote:

From today
the dew shall wash away
the writing on my hat

Zenshoji

We lodged at a temple called Zenshoji, outside the castle-town of Daishoji — still in the province of Kaga. Sora had stayed here the night before and left a poem:

All night long
listening to the autumn wind —
the mountain behind

One night's separation is the same as a thousand ri. I too lay in the monks' dormitory listening to the autumn wind, and toward dawn, as the sky drew near, the chanting of the sutras sounded clear. The bell rang and we filed into the refectory. Today I would cross into the province of Echizen, and my heart hurried. As I descended the steps, young monks came running after me with paper and ink. The willow in the garden was dropping its leaves.

Sweep the garden —
before I leave the temple,
the willow scatters

I scribbled this with my sandals already on.

The Pine of Shiogoshi, Tenryuji, and Eiheiji

We crossed the border of Echizen and went by boat over the inlet at Yoshizaki to see the Pine of Shiogoshi.

All night long
the storm carries the waves,
and the moon drips
through the Pine of Shiogoshi    — Saigyo

In this single poem the entire scene is captured. To add even one word would be like adding a sixth finger to the hand.

An old friend at the temple Tenryuji in Maruoka — I went to visit him. A man named Hokushi from Kanazawa had meant only to see me as far as here, but ended by following all the way. He had composed poems about every scene we passed, and some of them had a moving delicacy. Now, at the moment of parting:

Writing my poem,
I tear the fan apart —
the pain of farewell

Fifty cho into the mountains, I worshipped at Eiheiji. This is the temple of the Zen Master Dogen. It is said that he had a reason for leaving behind the capital and its thousand miles, and placing his legacy in the shadow of these mountains.

Fukui

Fukui was only three ri away. I set out after supper, but the twilight road was uncertain. Here in Fukui lived an old recluse named Tosai. In what year was it that he had come to Edo and visited me? It must have been more than ten years ago. How old and withered he must be — or perhaps dead? When I asked, people said he was still alive and directed me to his house. In a quiet lane, a humble cottage. Moonflower vines and bottle-gourd had grown over it, and cockscomb and broom-tree hid the door. "This must be the place," I thought, and knocked. A forlorn-looking woman came out and said, "Where have you come from, holy pilgrim? The master has gone to visit so-and-so in the neighbourhood. If you need him, go and ask." I could see she was his wife. It was like a scene from the old tales. I found Tosai without delay and stayed at his house two nights. Then, wishing to see the full moon at the harbour of Tsuruga, I set out. Tosai, in high spirits, tucked up his robes in a comical way and came along as guide.

Tsuruga

At last the peak of Shirane faded from sight and Mount Hina appeared. We crossed the Bridge of Asamuzu. The reeds of Tamae had sent out their plumes. We passed the Barrier of the Bush-Warbler and the pass of Yunoo, heard the first wild geese of autumn at Hiuchigajo and Mount Kaeru, and on the evening of the fourteenth found lodging at a harbour inn in Tsuruga. The moon that night was particularly fine. "Will it be like this tomorrow night?" I asked. The innkeeper said, "In these northern provinces, one can never tell whether the next night will be clear or clouded." He served us sake, and we made a night visit to the Kehi Shrine. It is the tomb of Emperor Chuai. A divine solemnity pervaded the place. Moonlight filtered through the pines, and the white sand before the shrine was like a spread of frost. "Long ago," said the innkeeper, "the second patriarch of the Yugyo sect made a great vow: he himself cut the grass, carried earth and stone, and drained the bog so that pilgrims could come and go without difficulty. The old custom lives on — every head priest brings sand to the shrine. This is called 'the Yugyo sand-carrying.'"

Clear moonlight —
upon the sand
the Wandering Priest has carried

On the fifteenth, just as the innkeeper had warned, it rained.

The harvest moon —
northern weather
is not to be trusted

On the sixteenth the sky cleared, and I went by boat to the beach of Iro, hoping to gather tiny coloured shells. It was seven ri by sea. A man called Tenya had prepared picnic boxes and bamboo flasks with great care, and brought several servants on the boat. A fair wind blew us there in no time. The beach was nothing more than a few fishermen's shacks and a forlorn Nichiren temple. There we drank tea and warmed sake, and the loneliness of evening was almost more than I could bear.

A loneliness
surpassing even Suma —
this beach in autumn

Between the waves,
among the tiny shells —
fragments of bush clover

I had Tosai write down the events of the day and left the record at the temple.

Ogaki

Rotsu had come all the way to this harbour to meet me, and together we journeyed on to the province of Mino. Helped along on horseback, we entered the town of Ogaki. Sora had come from Ise, and Etsujin too had ridden hard. We all gathered at the house of Joko. Zensenji, Keiko and his sons, and other close friends came day and night, greeting me as if I had risen from the dead — rejoicing, and yet grieving for the toll the road had taken. The weariness of travel had not yet left me, and the sixth of the Ninth Month had already come. I would worship at the Grand Shrine of Ise for the ceremony of the shrine's renewal, and so I boarded yet another boat.

A clam
parts from its shell —
I leave for Futami
as autumn goes

Postscript

Whether withered or alluring, whether bold or fragile — following the Narrow Road to the Deep North, one cannot help but rise to one's feet and clap, or lie down and let the heart be cut. At one moment the urge to don a straw raincoat and set out on such a journey; at the next, the wish to sit and let the marvellous sights wash over me. Such is the passion that runs through every page — a pearl from the Sea-Dragon's eye set down with the brush. A journey it was, and a vessel of genius. I can only sigh — that a man of such art should look so frail, the frost thickening upon his brows.

Early summer, the seventh year of Genroku. Inscribed by Soryu.

Colophon

Oku no Hosomichi (おくのほそ道, "The Narrow Road to the Deep North") is the masterwork of Matsuo Basho (1644–1694), the poet who transformed haiku into one of the world's great literary forms. Composed between 1689 and 1694, it records Basho's six-hundred-ri journey through the northern provinces of Japan with his disciple Kawai Sora. It is among the most celebrated works of Japanese literature: a prose-and-poetry travel journal that unites landscape, memory, and the fleeting beauty of the world.

This translation was produced by the New Tianmu Anglican Church from the Classical Japanese text of the Soryu fair-copy manuscript (素龍清書本), as published in the Sugiura Shoichiro scholarly edition (Iwanami Bunko, Aozora Bunko digital text, Author 2240, Card 61619). The translation follows gospel register — plain, direct, warm English — and preserves the haibun structure of interleaved prose and haiku. No existing English translation was used as a source; the English is independently derived from reading the Classical Japanese. Existing translations by Donald Keene, Nobuyuki Yuasa, and Dorothy Britton were consulted only to verify understanding of ambiguous passages, in accordance with the Good Work Library's Translation Integrity Rule.

Complete integrated English Good Works Translation. Compiled and formatted for the Good Work Library by the New Tianmu Anglican Church, 2026.

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Source Text: おくのほそ道

Classical Japanese source text from the Soryu fair-copy manuscript (素龍清書本) of Matsuo Basho's Oku no Hosomichi. Sugiura Shoichiro scholarly edition, published via Aozora Bunko (青空文庫), Author 2240, Card 61619. Presented here for reference, study, and verification alongside the English translation above. Editorial footnote markers from the Sugiura edition are preserved.

素龍清書本　おくのほそ道　（本文９頁參照）

凡例

一　本書は『おくのほそ道』および門人曾良の『隨行日記』（ただし元祿二年九月一〇日以降の分は省略）を飜刻し、脚註を加えたものである。底本として前者は素龍清書本（福井縣愛發村、西村弘明氏藏）、後者は曾良自筆本（校註者藏）を用いた。兩者についての詳細は解説にゆずる。
一　飜刻にあたっては左の要領によった。
１　行移り・丁うつりは註しない。ただし、『おくのほそ道』は適宜章段を設け、その各に見出しをつけ、『隨行日記』では日附變更の個所をはじめ通讀に便と思われる個所は適宜改行する。また、本文の見出しの下に『隨行日記』の參照個所の所在頁數を入れて示す。
２　異體の文字は原則として通行のものに改める。『隨行日記』中の平假名・片假名の混用もできるだけ原本通りとするが、「ニ」「ハ」「ミ」等は原則として平假名にあつかう。
３　振り假名・清濁・句讀・會話文のカッコ等は校訂者によってほどこす。その際、原本に動詞の活用語尾を表記してないものは、活用語尾をも振り假名の中に含める。また『隨行日記』中に稀に見える濁點の表記はその右傍に（マヽ）と註記して區別する。
４　假名づかいは原文のままとし右傍のカッコ内に歴史的假名づかいを示すか、又は脚註に註記する。
５　『隨行日記』中の見せ消ちの部分は左傍にヒヒヒヒの符號をつける。また日記中の略圖と上欄に書き込まれた※※の符號は摸寫縮小して掲げる。鰭紙は貼られた場所をその行の上にで示し、その文言は本文中にの印をつけて示す。
一　註・解説は引用文以外現代假名づかいを用いた。また、註は紙幅の都合により最少限度にとどめた。その際、古註・新註の多くを參照引用したがその旨註記する餘裕がなかった。ここに謝意を表する次第である。

おくのほそ道

冒頭

一月日は百代の過客にして、行かふ年も又旅人也。舟の上に生涯をうかべ馬の口とらえて老をむかふる物は、日旅にして旅を栖とす。二古人も多く旅に死せるあり。予もいづれの年よりか、片雲の風にさそはれて、漂泊の思ひやまず海濱にさすらへ、三去年の秋四江上の破屋に蜘の古巣をはらひて、やゝ年も暮春立る霞の空に白川の關こえんと、五そゞろ神の物につきて心をくるはせ、道祖神のまねきにあひて取もの手につかず、もゝ引の破をつゞり笠の緒付かえて、三里に灸すゆるより松嶋の月先心にかゝりて、住る方は人に讓り六杉風が別墅に移るに、

草の戸も住替る代ぞひなの家
七面八句を庵の柱に懸置。

旅立

一彌生も末の七日、明ぼのゝ空朧として、二月は在明にて光おさまれる物から、不二の峯幽にみえて、上野谷中の花の梢三又いつかはと心ぼそし。四むつましきかぎりは宵よりつどひて、舟に乘て送る。五千じゆと云所にて船をあがれば、前途三千里のおもひ胸にふさがりて、幻のちまたに離別の泪を六そゝく。

七行春や鳥啼魚の目は泪
是を矢立の初として行道なをすゝまず。人は途中に立ならびて、後かげのみゆる迄はと見送なるべし。

草加

ことし一元祿二とせにや、奧羽長途の行脚只かりそめに思ひたちて、二呉天に白髮の恨を重ぬといへ共、耳にふれていまだめに見ぬさかひ、若生て歸らばと定なき頼の末をかけ、其日漸三早加と云宿にたどり着にけり。痩骨の肩にかゝれる物先くるしむ。只身すがらにと四出立侍を、紙子五一衣は夜の防ぎ、ゆかた・雨具・墨筆のたぐひ、あるはさりがたき餞などしたるは、さすがに打捨がたくて六路次の煩となれるこそわりなけれ。

室の八嶋（神名帳六二頁備忘録七八頁日記一〇二頁書留一五〇頁）

一室の八嶋に二詣す。同行三曾良が曰、「此神は木の花さくや姫の神と申て四冨士一躰也。五無戸室に入て燒給ふちかひのみ中に、火出見のみこと生れ給ひしより室の八嶋と申。又六煙を讀習し侍もこの謂也。」將七このしろといふ魚を禁ず縁記の旨世に傳ふ事も侍し。

佛五左衞門

一卅日日光山の麓に泊る。あるじの云けるやう、「我名を佛五左衞門と云。萬正直を旨とする故に、人かくは申侍まゝ一夜の草の枕も打解て休み給へ」と云。いかなる佛の濁世塵土に示現して、かゝる二桑門の乞食順禮ごときの人をたすけ給ふにやと、あるじのなす事に心をとゞめてみるに、唯無智無分別にして正直偏固の者也。三剛毅木訥の仁に近きたぐひ、氣稟の清質尤尊ぶべし。

日光（日記一〇三頁書留一五〇頁）

一卯月朔日、二御山に詣拜す。三往昔此御山を四二荒山と書しを、五空海大師開基の時日光と改給ふ。千歳未來をさとり給ふにや、今此御光一天に六かゝやきて恩澤八荒にあふれ、四民安堵の栖穩なり。猶憚多くて筆をさし置ぬ。

七あらたうと青葉若葉の日の光
八黒髮山は霞かゝりて雪いまだ白し。

剃捨て黒髮山に衣更曾良
曾良は河合氏にして、惣五郎と云へり。九芭蕉の下葉に軒をならべて、予が一〇薪水の勞をたすく。このたび松しま象※の眺共にせん事を悦び、且は羈旅の難をいたはらんと、旅立曉髮を剃て墨染にさまをかえ、一一惣五を改て宗悟とす。仍て一二墨髮山の句有。衣更の二字力ありてきこゆ。

廿餘丁山を登つて瀧有。岩洞の頂より飛流して百尺千岩の碧潭に落たり。岩窟に身をひそめ入て瀧の裏よりみれば、一三うらみの瀧と申傳え侍る也。

暫時は瀧に籠るや一四夏の初

那須

那須の一黒ばねと云所に知人あれば、是より野越にかゝりて直道をゆかんとす。遙に一村を見かけて行に雨降日暮る。二農夫の家に一夜をかりて、明れば又野中を行。そこに野飼の馬あり。草刈おのこになげきよれば、野夫といへどもさすがに情しらぬには非ず、「いかゞすべきや、されども此野は三縱横にわかれて、うゐ／＼敷旅人の道ふみたがえんあやしう侍れば、此馬のとゞまる所にて馬を返し給へ」とかし侍ぬ。ちいさき者ふたり馬の跡したひてはしる。獨は小姫にて名をかさねと云。聞なれぬ名のやさしかりければ、

かさねとは八重撫子の名成べし曾良
頓て人里に至れば、あたひを鞍つぼに結付て馬を返しぬ。

黒羽（日記一〇四―一〇六頁書留　　　　一五〇頁）

黒羽の一舘代二淨坊寺何がしの方に音信る。思ひかけぬあるじの悦び、日夜語つゞけて、其弟三桃翠など云が朝夕勤とぶらひ、自の家にも伴ひて、親屬の方にもまねかれ日をふるまゝに、ひとひ郊外に逍遙して四犬追物の跡を一見し、五那須の篠原をわけて六玉藻の前の古墳をとふ。それより七八幡宮に詣。與市扇の的を射し時、八別しては我國氏神正八まんとちかひしも、此神社にて侍と聞ば、感應殊しきりに覺えらる。暮れば桃翠宅に歸る。

九修驗光明寺と云有。そこにまねかれて行者堂を拜す。

夏山に足駄を拜む首途哉

雲岩寺（日記一〇四頁書留一五四頁）

當國雲岸寺のおくに一佛頂和尚山居跡あり。

竪横の五尺にたらぬ草の庵

　　むすぶもくやし雨なかりせば

と松の炭して岩に書付侍り、といつぞや聞え給ふ。其跡みんと雲岸寺に杖を曳ば、人すゝんで共にいざなひ、若き人おほく道のほど打さはぎて、おぼえず彼麓に到る。山はおくあるけしきにて、谷道遙に松杉黒く苔したゞりて、卯月の天今猶寒し。二十景盡る所、三橋をわたつて山門に入。

さてかの跡はいづくのほどにやと、後の山によぢのぼれば、石上の小庵岩窟にむすびかけたり。四妙禪師の死關、五法雲法師の石室をみるがごとし。

木啄も庵はやぶらず夏木立
ととりあへぬ一句を柱に殘侍し。

殺生石・遊行柳（日記一〇七頁書留一五七頁）

是より一殺生石に行。舘代より馬にて送らる。此口付のおのこ、短册得させよと乞。やさしき事を望侍るものかなと、

野を横に二馬牽むけよほとゝぎす
殺生石は三温泉の出る山陰にあり。四石の毒氣いまだほろびず、蜂・蝶のたぐひ眞砂の色の見えぬほどかさなり死す。又、五清水ながるゝの柳は六蘆野の里にありて田の畔に殘る。此所の郡守七戸部某の此柳みせばやなと折／＼にの給ひ聞え給ふを、いづくのほどにやと思ひしを、今日此柳のかげにこそ立より侍つれ。

田一枚植て立去る柳かな

白川の關（備忘録八九頁日記一〇九頁書留一六一　　一六四頁）

心許なき日かず一重るまゝに、白川の關にかゝりて旅心定りぬ。二いかで都へと便求しも斷也。中にも此關は三三關の一にして、風※の人心をとゞむ。四秋風を耳に殘し、五紅葉を俤にして、青葉の梢猶あはれ也。卯の花の白妙に、茨の花の咲そひて、雪にもこゆる心地ぞする。六古人冠を正し衣裝を改し事など、清輔の筆にもとゞめ置れしとぞ。

七卯の花をかざしに關の晴着かな曾良

須賀川（日記一一一頁書留一五八頁）

とかくして越行まゝに、一あぶくま川を渡る。左に二會津根高く、右に三岩城・相馬・三春の庄、常陸・下野の地をさかひて山つらなる。四かげ沼と云所を行に、今日は五空曇て物影うつらず。

すか川の驛に六等窮といふものを尋て、四五日とゞめらる。先、白河の關いかにこえつるやと問。長途のくるしみ身心つかれ、且は風景に魂うばゝれ懷旧に腸を斷て、はか／″＼しう思ひめぐらさず。

風流の初やおくの田植うた
無下にこえんもさすがにと語れば、脇・第三とつゞけて七三卷となしぬ。

此宿の傍に、大きなる栗の木陰をたのみて、世をいとふ僧有。八橡ひろふ太山もかくやと間に覺られて、ものに書付侍る。其詞、

九栗といふ文字は西の木と書て、西方淨土に便ありと、行基菩薩の一生杖にも柱にも此木を用給ふとかや、

世の人の見付ぬ花や軒の栗

あさか沼（備忘録八六　　　八七頁日記一一三頁）

等窮が宅を出て五里斗、檜皮の宿を離れて一あさか山有。路より近し。此あたり沼多し。二かつみ刈比もやゝ近うなれば、いづれの草を花かつみとは云ぞと、人に尋侍れども、更知人なし。沼を尋、人にとひ、かつみ／＼と尋ありきて、日は山の端にかゝりぬ。三二本松より右にきれて、四黒塚の岩屋一見し、福嶋に宿る。

しのぶの里（備忘録八八頁日記一一五頁書留一六五頁）

あくれば一しのぶもぢ摺の石を尋て忍ぶのさとに行。遙山陰の小里に、二石半土に埋てあり。里の童卩の來りて教ける。「昔は此山の上に侍しを、往來の人の三麥草をあらして此石を試侍をにくみて、此谷につき落せば、石の面下ざまにふしたり」と云。さもあるべき事にや。

早苗とる手もとや昔しのぶ摺

佐藤庄司の舊跡

月の輪のわたしを越て、瀬の上と云宿に出づ。一佐藤庄司が二旧跡は左の山際一里半斗に有。三飯塚の里四鯖野と聞て尋／＼行に、五丸山と云に尋あたる。是庄司が旧舘也、麓に大手の跡など人の教ゆるにまかせて泪を落し、又かたはらの六古寺に一家の石碑を殘す。中にも七二人の嫁がしるし先哀也。女なれどもかひ／″＼しき名の世に聞えつる物かなと袂をぬらしぬ。八墜涙の石碑も遠きにあらず。寺に入て茶を乞へば、爰に義經の太刀辨慶が笈をとゞめて什物とす、

笈も太刀も五月にかざれ紙幟
九五月朔日の事也。

飯塚

其夜一飯塚にとまる。温泉あれば湯に入て宿をかるに、土坐に莚を敷てあやしき貧家也。灯もなければゐろりの火かげに寢所をまうけて臥す。夜に入て雷鳴雨しきりに降て臥る上よりもり、蚤蚊にせゝられて眠らず。持病さへおこりて消入斗になん。短夜の空もやう／＼明れば、又旅立ぬ。猶夜の余波心すゝまず、馬かりて桑折の驛に出る。遙なる行末をかゝえて、斯る病覺束なしといへど、羇旅邊土の行脚、捨身無常の觀念、道路にしなん、是天の命なりと氣力聊とり直し、路二縱横に踏で三伊達の大木戸をこす。

笠嶋（日記一一六頁書留一六七頁）

一鐙摺・白石の城を過、二笠嶋の郡に入れば、三藤中將實方の塚はいづくのほどならんと人にとへば、是より遙四右に見ゆる山際の里をみのわ・笠嶋と云、道祖神の社、五かた見の薄今にありと教ゆ。此比の五月雨に道いとあしく身つかれ侍れば、よそながら眺やりて過るに、蓑輪・笠嶋も五月雨の折にふれたりと、

笠嶋はいづこさ月のぬかり道
六岩沼に宿る。

武隈（備忘録七九　　　八三頁日記一一六頁）

武隈の松にこそめ覺る心地はすれ。根は土際より二木にわかれて、昔の姿うしなはずとしらる。先一能因法師思ひ出。往昔二むつのかみにて下りし人、此木を伐て三名取川の橋杭にせられたる事などあればにや、松は此たび跡もなしとは詠たり。代あるは伐、あるひは植繼などせしと聞に、今將千歳の四かたちとゝのほひて、めでたき松のけしきになん侍し。

「武隈の松みせ申せ遲櫻」と五擧白と云ものゝ餞別したりければ、

六櫻より松は二木を三月越

宮城野（　　　　八二備忘録　八八頁　　　一〇〇日記　一一六頁）

名取川を渡て仙臺に入。一あやめふく日也。旅宿をもとめて四五日逗留す。爰に畫工二加右衞門と云ものあり。聊心ある者と聞て知る人になる。この者、年比さだかならぬ名どころを考置侍ればとて、一日案内す。三宮城野の萩茂りあひて秋の氣色思ひやらるゝ。四玉田・よこ野、つゝじが岡はあせび咲ころ也。日影ももらぬ松の林に入て、爰を五木の下と云とぞ。昔もかく露ふかければこそ、みさぶらひみかさとはよみたれ。六藥師堂・七天神の御社など拜て、其日はくれぬ。猶、松嶋・塩がまの所畫に書て送る。且、紺の染緒つけたる草鞋二足餞す。さればこそ風流のしれもの、爰に至りて其實を顯す。

あやめ草足に結ん草鞋の緒

壺の碑（　　　八〇備忘録八三頁　　　九九日記一一八頁）

かの畫圖にまかせてたどり行ば、一おくの細道の山際に二十苻の菅有。三今も年々十苻の菅菰を調て國守に獻ずと云り。

四壺碑　　市川村多賀城に有
つぼの石ぶみは、高サ六尺餘、横三尺斗歟。五苔を穿て文字幽也。四維國界之數里をしるす。「此城、神龜元年、按察使鎭守苻將軍六大野朝臣東人之所里也。天平宝字六年、參議東海東山※」に「（節）」の注記］度使同將軍七惠美朝臣※修造八而十二月朔日」と有。聖武皇帝の御時に當れり。むかしよりよみ置る哥枕、おほく語傳ふといへども、山崩川九流て道あらたまり、石は埋て土にかくれ、木は老て若木にかはれば、時移り代變じて、其跡たしかならぬ事のみを、爰に至りて疑なき千歳の記念、今眼前に古人の心を閲す。行脚の一徳、存命の悦び、羇旅の勞をわすれて泪も落るばかり也。

末の松山（備忘録八五　　　八九頁日記一一八頁）

それより一野田の玉川・二沖の石を尋ぬ。三末の松山は寺を造て末松山といふ。松のあひ／＼皆墓はらにて、四はねをかはし枝をつらぬる契の末も、五終はかくのごときと悲しさも増りて、塩がまの浦に入相のかねを聞。五月雨の空聊はれて、夕月夜幽に六籬が嶋もほど近し。蜑の小舟こぎつれて肴わかつ聲／″＼に、七つなでかなしもとよみけん心もしられて、いとゞ哀也。其夜、目盲法師の琵琶をならして八奧上るりと云ものをかたる。九平家にもあらず一〇舞にもあらず、ひなびたる調子うち上て、枕ちかうかしましけれど、さすがに邊土の遺風忘れざるものから殊勝に覺らる。

鹽釜（備忘録八八頁日記一一八頁）

早朝一塩がまの明神に詣。二國守再興せられて、宮柱ふとしく彩椽きらびやかに、三石の階九仞に重り、朝日あけの玉がきを四かゝやかす。かゝる道の果塵土の境まで、神靈あらたにましますこそ、吾國の風俗なれといと貴けれ。神前に古き五宝燈有。かねの戸びらの面に「六文治三年七和泉三郎奇進」と有。五百年來の俤、今目の前にうかびてそゞろに珍し。渠は勇義忠孝の士也。佳命今に至りてしたはずといふ事なし。誠人能道を勤、義を守べし。八名もまた是にしたがふと云り。

松嶋（備忘録八一　　　八六頁日記一一八頁）

日既午にちかし。船をかりて松嶋にわたる。其間二里餘、一雄嶋の磯につく。

抑ことふりにたれど、松嶋は扶桑第一の好風にして、凡二洞庭・三西湖を恥ず。東南より海を入て、江の中三里、四浙江の潮をたゝふ。嶋／″＼の數を盡して、欹ものは天を指、ふすものは波に匍匐。あるは二重にかさなり三重に疊みて、左にわかれ右につらなる。負るあり抱るあり。兒孫愛すがごとし。松の緑こまやかに、枝葉汐風に吹たはめて、屈曲をのづからためたるがごとし。其氣色然として五美人の顏を粧ふ。ちはや振神のむかし、六大山ずみのなせるわざにや。造化の天工、いづれの人か筆をふるひ詞を盡さむ。

雄嶋が磯は地つゞきて海に出たる嶋也。七雲居禪師の八別室の跡、坐禪石など有。將、松の木陰に九世をいとふ人も稀／＼見え侍りて、落穗・松笠など打けぶりたる草の庵閑に住なし、いかなる人とはしられずながら、先なつかしく立寄ほどに、月海にうつりて晝のながめ又あらたむ。江上に歸りて宿を求れば、窓をひらき二階を作て、風雲の中に旅寢するこそ、あやしきまで妙なる心地はせらるれ。

松嶋やに身をかれほとゝぎす曾良
予は口をとぢて眠らんとしていねられず。旧庵をわかるゝ時、一〇素堂一一松嶋の詩あり。一二原安適松がうらしまの和哥を贈らる。袋を解てこよひの友とす。且杉風・一三濁子が發句あり。

瑞巖寺（備忘録八六頁日記一一八頁）

十一日、一瑞岩寺に詣。當寺三十二世の昔、眞壁の平四郎出家して、入唐歸朝の後開山す。其後に雲居禪師の徳化に依て、二七堂甍改りて、金三壁莊嚴光を四輝、仏土成就の大伽監とはなれりける。彼五見仏聖の寺はいづくにやとしたはる。

平泉（備忘録八一―九〇頁日記　　　一一九頁）

十二日、平和泉と心ざし、一あねはの松・二緒だえの橋など聞傳て、人跡稀に雉兎蒭蕘の往かふ道そこともわかず、終に路ふみたがえて石の卷といふ湊に出。三こがね花咲とよみて奉たる金花山海上に見わたし、數百の船入江につどひ、人家地をあらそひて竈の煙立つゞけたり。思ひかけず斯る所にも來れる哉と、四宿からんとすれど更に宿かす人なし。漸まどしき小家に一夜をあかして、明れば又しらぬ道まよひ行。五袖のわたり・六尾ぶちの牧・七まのゝ萱はらなどよそめにみて、遙なる八堤を行。心細き九長沼にそふて、戸伊广と云所に一宿して平泉に到る。其間廿余里ほどゝおぼゆ。

一〇三代の榮耀一睡の中にして、一一大門の跡は一里こなたに有。一二秀衡が跡は田野に成て、一三金鷄山のみ形を殘す。先一四高舘にのぼれば、北上川南部より流るゝ大河也。一五衣川は一六和泉が城をめぐりて、高舘の下にて大河に落入。一七康衡等が旧跡は、一八衣が關を隔て南部口をさし堅め、夷をふせぐとみえたり。偖も義臣すぐつて此城にこもり、功名一時の叢となる。「一九國破れて山河あり、城春にして草青みたり」と笠打敷て時のうつるまで泪を落し侍りぬ。

夏草や兵どもが夢の跡

二〇卯の花に二一兼房みゆる白毛かな曾良

兼て耳驚したる二二二堂開帳す。經堂は二三三將の像をのこし、光堂は三代の棺を納め、二四三尊の佛を安置す。七宝散うせて珠の扉風にやぶれ、金の柱霜雪に朽て、既頽廢空虚の叢と成べきを、二五四面新に圍て、甍を覆て風雨を凌。暫時千歳の記念とはなれり。

五月雨の降のこしてや光堂

尿前の關（　　　七九備忘録八二頁　　　八八日記一二二頁）

一南卩道遙にみやりて、二岩手の里に泊る。三小黒崎・みづの小嶋を過て、四なるごの湯より五尿前の關にかゝりて、出羽の國に越んとす。此路旅人稀なる所なれば、關守にあやしめられて漸として關をこす。大山をのぼつて日既暮ければ、六封人の家を見かけて舍を求む。三日風雨あれてよしなき山中に逗留す。

七蚤虱馬の尿する枕もと
あるじの云、是より出羽の國に大山を隔て、道さだかならざれば、道しるべの人を頼て越べきよしを申。さらばと云て人を頼侍れば、究竟の若者反脇指をよこたえ、樫の杖を携て我／＼が先に立て行。けふこそ必あやうきめにもあふべき日なれと、辛き思ひをなして後について行。あるじの云にたがはず、高山森として八一鳥聲きかず、木の下闇茂りあひて夜る行がごとし。九雲端につちふる心地して、篠の中踏分／＼水をわたり岩に一〇蹶て、肌につめたき汗を流して一一最上の庄に出づ。かの案内せしおのこの云やう、「此みち必不用の事有。恙なうをくりまいらせて仕合したり」と、よろこびてわかれぬ。跡に聞てさへ胸とゞろくのみ也。

尾花澤（日記一二三頁書留一五八　　一七一頁）

一尾花澤にて二清風と云者を尋ぬ。かれは富るものなれども、志いやしからず。都にも折かよひて、さすがに旅の情をも知たれば、日比とゞめて長途のいたはりさま／″＼にもてなし侍る。

三凉しさを我宿にしてねまる也

這出よ四かひやが下のひきの聲

まゆはきを俤にして紅粉の花

五蠶飼する人は古代のすがた哉曾良

立石寺（日記一二四頁書留一七一頁）

山形領に一立石寺と云山寺あり。二慈覺大師の三開基にして、殊清閑の地也。一見すべきよし、人のすゝむるに依て、尾花澤よりとつて返し、其間七里ばかり也。日いまだ暮ず。麓の坊に宿かり置て、山上の堂にのぼる。岩に巖を重て山とし、松柏年旧、土石老て苔滑に、岩上の院扉を閉て物の音きこえず。四岸をめぐり岩を這て佛閣を拜し、佳景寂莫として心すみ行のみおぼゆ。

閑さや岩にしみ入蝉の聲

最上川（日記一二四　　一二五頁書留一六八頁）

一最上川のらんと、二大石田と云所に日和を待。爰に三古き誹諧の種こぼれて、忘れぬ花のむかしをしたひ、四芦角一聲の心をやはらげ、此道にさぐりあしして五新古ふた道にふみまよふといへども、みちしるべする人しなければと、わりなき六一卷殘しぬ。このたびの風流爰に至れり。

最上川は七みちのくより出て、山形を水上とす。八ごてん・はやぶさなど云おそろしき難所有。九板敷山の北を流て、果は酒田の海に入。左右山覆ひ、茂みの中に船を下す。是に稻つみたるをや一〇いな船といふならし。一一白糸の瀧は青葉の隙／＼に落て、一二仙人堂岸に臨て立。水みなぎつて舟あやうし。

五月雨をあつめて早し最上川

羽黒（日記一二六頁　　一七五書留一七六頁　　一七九）

一六月三日、羽黒山に登る。二圖司左吉と云者を尋て、別當代三會覺阿闍利に謁す。南谷の四別院に舍して憐愍の情こまやかにあるじせらる。

五四日、本坊にをゐて六誹諧興行。

有難や雪をかほらす南谷
七五日、八權現に詣。當山開闢九能除大師はいづれの代の人と云事をしらず。一〇延喜式に羽州里山の神社と有。書寫、黒の字を里山となせるにや。羽州黒山を中略して羽黒山と云にや。出羽と一一いへるは、鳥の毛羽を此國の貢に献ると一二風土記に侍とやらん。月山・湯殿を合て三山とす。當寺一三武江東叡に屬して、一四天台止觀の月明らかに、一五圓頓融通の法の灯かゝげそひて、僧坊棟をならべ、修驗行法を勵し、山靈地の驗效、人貴且恐る。繁榮長にしてめで度御山と謂つべし。

一六八日、一七月山にのぼる。一八木綿しめ身に引かけ、寶冠に頭を包、強力と云ものに道びかれて、雲霧山氣の中に氷雪を踏でのぼる事八里、更に日月行道の雲關に入かとあやしまれ、息絶身こゞえて頂上に臻れば日沒て月顯る。笹を舖、篠を枕として、臥て明るを待。日出て雲消れば湯殿に下る。

谷の傍に一九鍛冶小屋と云有。此國の鍛冶、靈水を撰て爰に潔齋して※を打、終月山と銘を切て世に賞せらる。彼二〇龍泉にを淬とかや。二一干將・莫耶のむかしをしたふ。道に勘能の執あさからぬ事しられたり。岩に腰かけてしばしやすらふほど、三尺ばかりなる二二櫻のつぼみ半ばひらけるあり。ふり積雪の下に埋て春を忘れぬ遲ざくらの花の心わりなし。二三炎天の梅花爰にかほるがごとし。二四行尊僧正の哥の哀も爰に思ひ出て、猶まさりて覺ゆ。惣而此山中の微細、行者の法式として他言する事を禁ず。仍て筆をとゞめて記さず。坊に歸れば、阿闍※の需に依て、三山順礼の句二五短册に書。

凉しさやほの三か月の羽黒山

雲の峰幾つ崩て月の山

語られぬ湯殿にぬらす袂かな

湯殿山錢ふむ道の泪かな曾良

酒田（日記一三〇頁書留一七九　　一八三頁）

羽黒を立て鶴が岡の城下、一長山氏重行と云物のふの家にむかへられて、二誹諧一卷有。左吉も共に送りぬ。三川舟に乘て酒田の湊に下る。四淵庵不玉と云醫師の許を宿とす。

あつみ山や吹浦かけて夕すゞみ

暑き日を海にいれたり最上川

象※（備忘録九二頁日記一三〇頁書留一八七頁）

江山水陸の風光數を盡して、今一象※に方寸を責。酒田の湊より東北の方、山を越磯を傳ひ、いさごをふみて其際十里、日影やゝかたぶく比、汐風眞砂を吹上、雨朦朧として二鳥海の山かくる。三闇中に莫作して、雨も又奇也とせば、四雨後の晴色又頼母敷と、五蜑の笘屋に膝をいれて雨の晴を待。

其朝、天能霽て朝日花やかにさし出る程に、象※に舟をうかぶ。先六能因嶌に舟をよせて、三年幽居の跡をとぶらひ、むかふの岸に舟をあがれば、七花の上こぐとよまれし櫻の老木、西行法師の記念をのこす。江上に御陵あり、八神功后宮の御墓と云。寺を九干滿珠寺と云。此處に行幸ありし事いまだ聞ず。いかなる事にや。此寺の方丈に座して簾を捲ば、風景一眼の中に盡て、一〇南に鳥海天をさゝえ、其陰うつりて江にあり。一一西はむや／＼の關路をかぎり、一二東に堤を築て秋田にかよふ道遙に、海一三北にかまえて浪打入る所を汐ごしと云。江の一四縱横一里ばかり、俤松嶋にかよひて又異なり。松嶋は笑ふが如く、象※はうらむがごとし。寂しさに悲しみをくはえて、地勢魂をなやますに似たり。

象※や雨に一五西施がねぶの花

汐越や鶴はぎぬれて海凉し

祭禮

象※や料理何くふ神祭曾良
蜑の家や戸板を敷て夕凉

岩上に一七鳩の巣をみる

一八波こえぬ契ありてやみさごの巣曾良

越後路（日記一三二頁書留一八八頁）

酒田の余波日を重て、北陸道の雲に望。遙のおもひ胸をいたましめて、一加賀の府まで百卅里と聞、二鼠の關をこゆれば越後の地に歩行を改て、三越中の國一ぶりの關に到る。四此間九日、五暑濕の勞に神をなやまし、病おこりて六事をしるさず。

文月や六日も常の夜には似ず

荒海や佐渡によこたふ天河

市振

今日は一親しらず・子しらず・犬もどり・駒返しなど云北國一の難所を越てつかれ侍れば、枕引よせて寢たるに、一間隔て二面の方に、若き女の聲二人斗ときこゆ。年老たるおのこの聲も交て物語するをきけば、越後の國新潟と云所の遊女成し。伊勢參宮するとて、此關までおのこ送りてあすは古郷にかへす文したゝめて、はかなき言傳などしやる也。三白浪のよする汀に身をはふらかし、あまのこの世をあさましう下りて、定めなき契、日の業因いかにつたなしと、物云をきく／＼寢入て、あした旅立に、我／＼にむかひて、「行衞しらぬ旅路のうさ、あまり覺束なう悲しく侍れば、見えがくれにも御跡をしたひ侍ん、衣の上の御情に大慈のめぐみをたれて結縁せさせ給へ」と泪を落す。「不便の事には侍れども、我／＼は所にてとゞまる方おほし。只人の行にまかせて行べし。神明の加護かならず恙なかるべし」と云捨て出つゝ、哀さしばらくやまざりけらし。

四一家に遊女もねたり萩と月
五曾良にかたれば書とゞめ侍る。

加賀の國（備忘録九三頁日記一三八頁書留一九二頁）

一くろべ四十八か瀬とかや、數しらぬ川をわたりて二那古と云浦に出。三擔籠の藤浪は春ならずとも、初秋の哀とふべきものをと人に尋れば、「是より五里いそ傳ひしてむかふの山陰にいり、蜑の苫ぶきかすかなれば蘆の一夜の宿かすものあるまじ」といひをどされて、かゞの國に入。

わせの香や分入右は四有磯海

金澤（日記一三八頁書留一九二頁）

一卯の花山・二くりからが谷をこえて、金澤は三七月中の五日也。爰に大坂よりかよふ商人四何處と云者有。それが旅宿をともにす。

五一笑と云ものは、此道にすける名のほの／″＼聞えて、世に知人も侍しに、去年の冬早世したりとて、六其兄追善を催すに、

塚も動け我泣聲は秋の風

七ある草庵にいざなはれて

秋凉し手毎にむけや瓜茄子

八途中

あか／＼と日は難面もあきの風

九小松と云所にて

しほらしき名や小松吹萩すゝき

太田神社

此所一太田の神社に詣。二眞盛が甲・錦の切あり。往昔、源氏に屬せし時義朝公より給はらせ給とかや。げにも平士のものにあらず。目庇より吹返しまで、菊から草のほりもの金をちりばめ、龍頭に鍬形打たり。眞盛討死の後、木曾義仲願状にそへて此社にこめられ侍よし、三樋口の次郎が使せし事共、まのあたり縁紀にみえたり。

四むざんやな甲の下のきり／″＼す

那谷

一山中の温泉に行ほど、二白根が嶽跡にみなしてあゆむ。左の山際に觀音堂あり。三花山の法皇四三十三所の順禮とげさせ給ひて後、大慈大悲の像を安置し給ひて、那谷と名付給ふと也。五那智谷組の二字をわかち侍しとぞ。奇石さま／″＼に古松植ならべて、萱ぶきの小堂岩の上に造りかけて殊勝の土地也。

石山の石より白し秋の風

山中（日記一四一頁　　一九三書留一九六頁　　一九七）

温泉に浴す。其功一有明に次と云。

山中や菊はたおらぬ湯の匂
あるじとする物は二久米之助とていまだ三小童也。四かれが父誹諧を好み、洛の五貞室若輩のむかし爰に來りし比、風雅に辱しめられて洛に歸て六貞徳の門人となつて世にしらる。七功名の後、此一村判詞の料を請ずと云。今更むかし語とはなりぬ。

曾良は腹を病て、伊勢の國八長嶋と云所にゆかりあれば、先立て行に、

九行／＼てたふれ伏とも萩の原曾良
と書置たり。行ものゝ悲しみ、殘ものゝうらみ、一〇隻鳧のわかれて雲にまよふがごとし。予も又、

今日よりや書付消さん笠の露

全昌寺（日記一四二頁書留一九六頁）

一大聖持の城外、二全昌寺といふ寺にとまる。猶加賀の地也。曾良も前の夜、此寺に泊て、

終宵秋風聞やうらの山
と殘す。一夜の隔三千里に同じ。吾も秋風を聞て衆寮に臥ば、明ぼのゝ空近う讀經聲すむまゝに、鐘板鳴て食堂に入。けふは越前の國へと心早卒にして堂下に下るを、若き僧ども紙硯をかゝえ、階のもとまで追來る。折節庭中の柳散れば、

庭掃て四出ばや寺に散柳
とりあへぬさまして草鞋ながら書捨つ。

汐越の松・天龍寺・永平寺

越前の境、一吉崎の入江を舟に棹して二汐越の松を尋ぬ。

三終宵嵐に波をはこばせて

　　月をたれたる汐越の松西行

此一首にて數景盡たり。もし四一辨を加るものは五無用の指を立るがごとし。

六丸岡七天龍寺の八長老、古き因あれば尋ぬ。又金澤の九北枝といふもの、かりそめに見送りて此處までしたひ來る。所の風景過さず思ひつゞけて、折節あはれなる作意など聞ゆ。今既別に望みて、

物書て扇引さく餘波哉
五十丁山に入て一〇永平寺を礼す。一一道元禪師の御寺也。一二邦機千里を避て、かゝる山陰に跡をのこし給ふも、一三貴きゆへ有とかや。

福井

福井は三里計なれば、夕飯したゝめて出るに、たそかれの路たど／＼し。爰に一等栽と云古き隱士有。いづれの年にか江戸に來りて予を尋。遙十とせ餘り也。いかに老さらぼひて有にや、將死けるにやと人に尋侍れば、いまだ存命してそこ／＼と教ゆ。市中ひそかに引入て、二あやしの小家に夕・へちまのはえかゝりて、鷄頭はゝ木ゞに戸ぼそをかくす。さては此うちにこそと門を扣ば侘しげなる女の出て、「いづくよりわたり給ふ道心の御坊にや。あるじは此あたり何がしと云ものゝ方に行ぬ。もし用あらば尋給へ」といふ。かれが妻なるべしとしらる。三むかし物がたりにこそかゝる風情は侍れと、やがて尋あひて、その家に二夜とまりて、名月はつるがのみなとにとたび立。等栽も共に送らんと、裾おかしうからげて路の枝折とうかれ立。

敦賀

漸、白根が嶽かくれて一比那が嵩あらはる。二あさむづの橋をわたりて、三玉江の蘆は穗に出にけり。四鶯の關を過て五湯尾峠を越れば、六燧が城、七かへるやまに初鴈を聞て、八十四日の夕ぐれつるがの津に宿をもとむ。その夜、月殊晴たり。「あすの夜もかくあるべきにや」といへば、「越路の習ひ、猶九明夜の陰晴はかりがたし」と。あるじに酒すゝめられて、一〇けいの明神に夜參す。一一仲哀天皇の御廟也。社頭神さびて、松の木の間に月のもり入たる、おまへの白砂霜を敷るがごとし。往昔、一二遊行二世の上人一三大願發起の事ありて、みづから草を刈、土石を荷ひ泥渟をかはかせて參詣往來の煩なし。古例今にたえず、神前に眞砂を荷ひ給ふ。「これを遊行の砂持と申侍る」と亭主のかたりける。

月清し遊行のもてる砂の上
一四十五日、亭主の詞にたがはず雨降。

名月や北國日和定なき
一五十六日、空霽たれば、一六ますほの小貝ひろはんと種の濱に舟を走す。一七海上七里あり。一八天屋何某と云もの、破籠・小竹筒などこまやかにしたゝめさせ、僕あまた舟にとりのせて、一九追風時のまに吹着ぬ。濱はわづかなる海士の小家にて、侘しき二〇法花寺あり。爰に茶を飮酒をあたゝめて、夕ぐれのさびしさ感に堪たり。

寂しさや須广にかちたる濱の秋

浪の間や小貝にまじる萩の塵

其日のあらまし等栽に筆をとらせて二一寺に殘す。

大垣

一露通も此みなとまで出むかひて、みのゝ國へと伴ふ。駒にたすけられて大垣の庄に入ば、二曾良も伊勢より來り合、三越人も馬をとばせて四如行が家に入集る。五前川子・六荊口父子、其外したしき人日夜とぶらひて、蘇生のものにあふがごとく、且悦び且いたはる。旅の物うさもいまだやまざるに、七長月六日になれば、伊勢の宮おがまんと、又舟にのりて、

蛤のふたみにわかれ行秋ぞ

跋

からびたるも、艶なるも、たくましきも、はかなげなるも、おくの細みちみもて行に、おぼえずたちて手たゝき、伏て村肝を刻む。一般は簑をきる／＼かゝる旅せまほしと思立、一たびは坐してまのあたり奇景をあまんず。かくて百般の情に一鮫人が玉を翰にしめしたり。旅なる哉、器なるかな。只なげかしきは、かうやうの人のいとかよはげにて眉の霜のをきそふぞ。

二元祿七年初夏三素龍書

Source Colophon

Source text: Matsuo Basho (松尾芭蕉), Oku no Hosomichi (おくのほそ道). Soryu fair-copy manuscript (素龍清書本), Genroku 7 (1694). Scholarly edition by Sugiura Shoichiro (杉浦正一郎), Iwanami Bunko. Digital text from Aozora Bunko (青空文庫), https://www.aozora.gr.jp/cards/002240/files/61619_78128.html. The original manuscript is held by the Nishimura family of Aihatsu Village, Fukui Prefecture. This text is in the public domain in Japan.

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