Chūjō [中将]

Chūjō is a Noh mask for a handsome nobleman whose composure does not quite conceal his troubles. Its smooth cheeks, painted eyebrows and carefully shaped mouth establish refinement; the folds gathering above the nose complicate the picture. Associated with the poet and lover Ariwara no Narihira, it also gives a face to aristocratic warriors of the defeated Heike clan. The same features can suggest the delicacy of a courtier and the grief of someone for whom rank and cultivation have offered little protection.

The name comes from the court title chūjō, conventionally translated as lieutenant-general, which Narihira held. The connection belongs to the poet’s remembered and theatrical identity: Chūjō presents an ideal of the nobleman, rather than a demonstrable likeness of the historical person. Narihira’s poetry, beauty and love affairs made him a fitting model for that ideal. In plays such as Oshio and Unrin’in, the mask can represent Narihira himself; its aristocratic character also allows it to portray other figures, including the court minister Minamoto no Tōru.

Chūjō’s eyebrows are an especially useful clue. The broad, softly edged patches painted on the forehead represent denjō mayu, the cosmetic eyebrows of high-ranking courtiers. A narrow black band at the upper edge of the mask indicates a court cap. Fine hair is painted beside the face, with a light moustache and, often, a small patch beneath the lower lip. The parted lips reveal a short upper row of blackened teeth. There is normally no corresponding lower row. These details place the face within an aristocratic world in which male beauty could include cosmetics that look unfamiliar to a modern viewer.

Compared with the related Kantan Otoko, Chūjō has a narrower upper face, a less sharply tapering chin and a more rounded nose. The upper eyelids are grooved, while the lower lip projects slightly and rises at the corners to meet the upper lip. The mouth borrows something of the shaping found in women’s masks. Udaka Michishige draws attention to that borrowing in both mouth and chin, and to the particularly delicate carving required between the brows. The effect depends on small adjustments: a face can remain beautiful while carrying a distinctly worried expression.

Chūjō’s troubled brow does not have one settled interpretation. Stephen E. Marvin reports Yasuo Nakamura’s reading of it as a sign of Narihira’s elevation to divinity; other writers see the passion of the celebrated lover. Marvin notes that Chūjō does not normally portray gods. He also links brow folds and subtle asymmetries in young-man masks to the changes of expression an actor can produce by moving his head. Individual Chūjō differ, too. One early example he illustrates has fuller cheeks, a smaller nose and more upturned mouth corners than the pattern familiar from many Edo-period masks, giving it an unusually gentle expression.

The tension between elegance and distress gives Chūjō much of its theatrical range. Nakamura contrasts it with Heita: where Heita suits the forceful warrior associated with victorious battle plays, Chūjō is particularly apt for the defeated aristocrats of the Heike. He reads the vertical folds at the root of the brows as a trace of sorrow within an otherwise graceful face. This is a theatrical distinction, rather than an absolute rule for casting, but it explains why refinement matters in these warrior roles. The mask’s refinement keeps the courtier visible within the warrior.

Two voices in grief

Kiyotsune brings that tension into an encounter between husband and wife. The dead warrior appears to his wife in a dream, and she reproaches him for choosing death while she waited for him. He recounts the despair of flight and defeat, his final flute-playing and his decision to end his life. The exchange gives grief two competing voices: his exhaustion does not make her sense of abandonment disappear. His story continues into shura, the Buddhist realm where warriors suffer repeated battles, and ends with his release through the prayer he offered before dying.

A return to beauty

Other plays give the mask a different emotional destination. In Tōru, the spirit of a court minister returns in splendid dress and dances beneath the moon, recalling the cultivated pleasures of his vanished estate. Chūjō can therefore participate in the recovery of beauty as well as the recollection of defeat. Its troubled brow does not require every scene to end in misery.