Close by, there was a handsome house; inside, too, it was sumptuously furnished. “Odd,” thought Yoshifuji, “I never knew there was anything like this here.” Within, there was a great clamor, as men and women, persons of every degree, together cried, “Her Ladyship’s come!” “This must be the daughter of the house,” Yoshifuji thought, delightedly, and that night he slept with her.
The next morning a man who was evidently the master of the house appeared. “Congratulations,” he said to Yoshifuji, “this bond was predestined! Now you must stay with us.” Yoshifuji was treated very hospitably. He became utterly attached to the woman; they vowed eternal love, and waking and sleeping he spent all his time with her. He never wondered how his house and children might be faring.
In his own home, when he had not reappeared after nightfall, people thought, “Maybe he’s crawling around somewhere in secret, in his usual way.” But when it was quite dark and he still had not reappeared, there were some who took it amiss. “What a madman he is! Have the servants look for him.” The night was more than half gone, but though they searched the neighborhood, he was not to be found. Could he have gone on a journey? But his clothing was still there; he had disappeared wearing only a light jacket. Day broke and the uproar continued. They looked everywhere that he might have gone but found absolutely nothing. “If he were a young man with unsettled ideas, he might have gone off suddenly to become a monk. But at his age? It’s a very strange prank—if it is one.” Meanwhile, where Yoshifuji was living, the years passed. His wife was pregnant, and after nine months she gave birth, without complications, to a son, so that he became even more deeply attached to her. It seemed to him indeed that time was passing swiftly; everything in his life was just as he desired it.
In his own home, after he disappeared, he was sought for, but without success. His older brother, the Senior Officer Toyonaka, his younger brothers, the Supervisor Toyokage and Toyotsune, who was priest of the Kibitsuhiko shrine, and Yoshifuji’s only son, Tadasada, were all affluent men. In their mutual grief, they decided to try at least to discover his corpse. Good resolves arose in them, and they felled a kae tree to make an image of the eleven-headed Kannon. The statue they made was the same height as Yoshifuji. They petitioned it. “At least let us see his corpse,” they pleaded. Moreover, from the day on which he disappeared, they began invocations of the Buddha and sutra readings for the welfare of his soul in the next world.
A layman who walked with a staff came suddenly to the house where Yoshifuji was now living. At the sight of him, the whole household, from the master on down, fell into utter terror and fled. The layman jabbed Yoshifuji in the back with his staff, forcing him out through a narrow passageway. At twilight on the thirteenth day after Yoshifuji’s disappearance, his people were mourning him. “What a strange way he disappeared! And it was just about this time of night, wasn’t it?” they were saying to each other, when from underneath the storehouse in front of them a strange, black, monkeylike creature crawled out on all fours. “What’s this, what’s this!” They crowded in to look at it. “It’s me,” said the thing—and the voice was Yoshifuji’s. His son, Tadasada, thought it uncanny, but since it was so obviously his father’s voice, he dropped to the ground and pulled him up. “What happened to you?” he said. Yoshifuji said, “It was while I was a widower and by myself. All the time I kept thinking how much I wanted to have a woman.325 And then, unexpectedly, I became the son-in-law of a high-ranking gentleman. During the years I’ve lived in his household I’ve gotten a son. He’s a beautiful child. I held him in my arms day and night and wouldn’t let go of him ever. I’m going to make him my heir. You, Tadasada, I’ll make my second son. That’s to show my regard for his mother’s high rank.” Tadasada heard this and said, “Where is your young son, sir?” “Over there,” said Yoshifuji, and pointed to the storehouse.
Tadasada and all the rest of the company were dumbfounded. They saw that Yoshifuji had the appearance of a man emaciated by severe illness; and they saw that he had on the clothes that he was wearing when he disappeared. They had a servant look under the floor of the storehouse. A lot of foxes were there, and they scattered and fled. That was the place where Yoshifuji had lain. When they saw this they understood it all: Yoshifuji had been tricked by a fox and had become her husband and was no longer in his right mind. They immediately summoned an eminent monk to pray for him and called in a yin–yang master to exorcise the evil influences; and they had Yoshifuji bathed repeatedly. But whatever they tried, he still bore no resemblance to his former self. Afterward, little by little, he returned to his senses; how ashamed he must have been, and how queer he must have felt. Yoshifuji had been under the storehouse for thirteen days, but to him it had seemed thirteen years. Moreover, the beams under the storehouse were only four or five inches above the ground; to Yoshifuji they had seemed high and broad. He had thought himself in a great house that one went in and out of freely. It was all because of the magic power of the spirit-foxes. As for the layman who entered and struck about with his cane, he was a transformation of the Kannon that had been made and dedicated to Yoshifuji’s welfare.
This shows why everyone should invoke and meditate on Kannon. Yoshifuji lived more than ten years without illness and died in his sixty-first year.
This story was told to the Imperial Adviser Miyoshi no Kiyotsura326 when he was governor of Bitchū. So the tale’s been told, and so it’s been handed down.
[Translated by Marian Ury]
Secular Tales from Japan
HOW A THIEF CLIMBED TO THE UPPER STORY OF RASHŌMON GATE AND SAW A CORPSE (29:18)
Volume 29 is about evil acts, particularly robbery and murder. The two stories here, “How a Thief Climbed to the Upper Story of Rashōmon Gate and Saw a Corpse” and “How a Man Who Was Accompanying His Wife to Tanba Province Got Trussed Up at Oeyama,” were used by the modern author Akutagawa Ryūnosuke (author of Rashōmon) and then by the modern film director Kurosawa Akira in Rashōmon. Like many of the secular setsuwa, the story is about how to survive in this chaotic world. In the second story, instead of reprimanding the rapist, the setsuwa reprimands the husband for his stupidity. One must be alert for danger; anything can happen in this world.
At a time now past, there was a man who had come to the capital from the direction of Settsu Province327 in order to steal. The sun was still high, so he concealed himself beneath Rashōmon Gate.328 Shujaku Avenue, to the north, was thronged, and he stood there waiting for the street to become quiet; but then as he waited he heard a great many people approaching from the other direction, and to avoid being seen by them he climbed silently to the upper story. There he saw the faint light of a torch.
This was strange, the thief thought, and he peered through the lattices. A young woman was lying dead. A torch had been lit at her pillow, and beside it sat a white-haired crone who was plucking and tearing the hair from the corpse’s head.
The thief saw but could not comprehend. What could these be? he wondered. He was afraid, but he thought, “They may only be ghosts. I’ll try scaring them off.” He quietly opened the door and drew his sword. “You there, you there,” he cried, and rushed in upon them.
The crone cowered in confusion and rubbed her hands together. “Who are you, old woman, and what are you doing here?” the thief asked.
“I lost my mistress, sir,” she said, “and as there was no one to bury her, I brought her here. See what nice long hair she has. I’m plucking it out to make a wig. Spare me!”
The thief stripped the corpse and the old woman of the clothes they wore and stole the hair. He ran to the ground and made his getaway.
There used to be a lot of corpses in the upper story of that gate. It’s a fact that when people died and for some reason or other couldn’t be buried they were brought there.
The thief told someone what had happened, and whoever heard his story passed it on. So the tale’s been told, and so it’s been handed down.
[Translated by Marian Ury]
HOW A MAN WHO WAS ACCOMPANYING HIS WIFE TO TANBA PROVINCE GOT TRUSSED UP AT ŌEYAMA (29:23)
At a time now past, a man who lived in the capital had a wife who came from Tanba Province. He accompanied her on a journey to Tanba. The husband had his wife ride their horse while he himself walked along behind, keeping guard, with a quiver with ten arrows on his back and a bow in his hand. Not far from Ōeyama there fell in with them a brawny-looking young man with a sword at his waist.
They walked along together, each inquiring politely where the other was going and chatting about this and that. The new man, the one with the sword, said, “This is a famous sword that I’m wearing, an heirloom from Mutsu Province. Look at it,” and he unsheathed it. In truth it was a magnificent blade, and when the husband saw it he wanted it above all things. The new man saw the expression on his face and said, “Do you want this sword? I’ll trade it for that bow you’re carrying.” The man with the bow knew his bow to be of no great value, while the sword was exceptionally fine. What with his desire for the sword and his greed for a profitable bargain, he made the exchange without a second thought.
Well then, as they were walking on the new man said, “I look ridiculous carrying a bow and nothing else. While we’re in the mountains lend me a couple of arrows. After all, sir, we’re traveling together, so it’s all the same where you’re concerned.”
To the first man this seemed reasonable enough. He was in high good humor at having exchanged his worthless bow for a valuable sword, and so he took out two arrows and handed them over as he’d been asked. The new man walked behind, the bow and two arrows ready in his grasp. The first man walked ahead, with the sword at his waist and the useless quiver on his back.
After a time the travelers went into a grove to have their afternoon meal. The new man said, “It’s not nice to eat where people can see. Let’s go on a little,” and so they went deep into the trees. Then, just as the husband had put his arms around his wife to lift her from the horse, the other man suddenly fitted an arrow to his bow, aimed at him, and pulled it taut. “I’ll shoot if you move,” he said.
The first man hadn’t expected anything at all like this and stood looking at him dumbfounded. The other threatened him. “Go on into the mountains, go on!” Afraid for his life, he went with his wife perhaps half a mile farther into the mountains. “Throw away your sword and knife,” the other commanded, and he threw them away. The other man approached, picked them up and knocked him down, and tied him fast to a tree with the bridle rope.
Then this man went up to the woman and looked at her closely. She was twenty or a little older and of humble station but adorably pretty. Her beauty aroused his desire, and forgetting any other purpose, he made her take off her clothes. The woman had no way of resisting, and so she stripped as he told her to. Then he too undressed and embraced her and lay with her. The woman was helpless and had to obey. All the while her husband watched in his trusses. What must he have thought!
Afterward, the man arose, dressed himself as before, strapped the quiver on his back and the sword to his waist and, bow in hand, hoisted himself onto the horse. To the woman he said, “I’m sorry, but I must go away. I have no choice. As a favor to you I’ll spare your husband’s life. I’m taking the horse so I can make a quick escape.” And he galloped away, no one knows where.
After that, the wife went up to her husband and freed his bonds. He looked stupefied. “You wretch!” she exclaimed. “You good-for-nothing coward! From this day forward I’ll never trust you again.” Her husband said not a word, and together they went to Tanba.
The rapist had a sense of shame, for after all he did not rob the woman of her clothes. But the husband was a worthless fool: in the mountains to hand his bow and arrows to someone he’d never before laid eyes on was surely the height of stupidity.
No one knows what became of the other man. So the tale goes, and so it’s been handed down.
[Translated by Marian Ury]
1. Tama is in present-day Tokyo.
2. Kusakabe is a family name, and Matoji is a given name.
3. Sekimori, or soldiers sent to Tsukushi (Kyushu) to defend the country from a possible invasion by foreign troops from Korea or China. Their tour of duty was three years, and they were not allowed to bring any family members.
4. The Ōtomo clan was traditionally in charge of military matters and served the emperors as imperial guards.
5. The mourning period for parents was one year, during which people were exempted from any labor duties.
6. From the Daihatsu nehan-gyō, vol. 21, one of the central texts of the Buddhist canon.
7. Present-day Kyoto area.
8. Not to steal, not to kill, not to commit adultery, not to lie, and not to drink alcohol.
9. Not to kill, not to steal, not to commit adultery, not to lie, not to use immoral language, not to slander, not to equivocate, not to covet, not to give way to anger, and not to hold false views.
10. Buddha, Buddhist law, and Buddhist priests.
11. In present-day Kagawa Prefecture.
12. Lent with interest.
13. The king of hell (Yama).
14. The narrator is distinguishing between karmic retribution in this life and karmic retribution in the next life. The results of both good and evil deeds are manifested in either of these two ways.
15. A summary of a passage from the Jōjitsu-ron, a Buddhist treatise.
16. The other five poets thus praised by Tsurayuki in the Kana Preface to the Kokinshū are Ariwara no Narihira, Bishop Henjō, Monk Kisen, Fun’ya no Yasuhide, and Ōtomo no Kuronushi. “Recent times” here refers to the mid- to late ninth century, a few decades before the Kokinshū was compiled.
17. Based on the text in Kokinwakashū, SNKBT 5.
18. One of Princess Sotoori’s Nihon shoki poems also appears in the Kokinshū (no. 1110).
19. This is one of Komachi’s best-known poems and is included in Fujiwara no Teika’s exemplary collection One Hundred Poets, One Hundred Poems (Hyakunin isshu). “The color of the flowers” is usually taken to refer also to the poet’s physical beauty. Furu is a pivot word meaning both “[rain] falls” and “[time] passes,” and nagame is another pivot word meaning “long rains” and “to gaze while deep in thought.”
20. This is the first poem of the second book of love poetry in the Kokinshū and the first of a sequence of three dream poems (nos. 552–554) by Komachi. It starts with a rhetorical question: the poet’s thoughts of her lover as she fell asleep caused him to appear in her dreams. The closeness of her dream to waking reality is evident in the poet’s failure to realize she was dreaming. Her confusion calls into question the very distinction between the real and the illusory.
21. After further encounters with her lover, the poet not only recognizes that their meetings are taking place in her dreams but also identifies dreams as the superior venue for love. It is dreams, rather than the waking world, on which she has come to rely.
22. Dreams are again a motif in this poem, although they are not explicitly mentioned. It was popularly believed at the time that turning back one’s sleeves would ensure that one dreamed of one’s lover. Here the poet turns not just her sleeves but her entire robe inside out in her eagerness to meet her lover in her dreams. Mubatama no (berry-black) is an epithet (makurakotoba, or “pillow word”) for words imaging night and blackness (here, for yoru no koromo, literally, “night robe”). The mubatama is the round, black fruit of the hyōgi plant.
23. This poem appears in the Kokinshū directly after a poem by Ariwara no Narihira: “Wetter even than the mornings I made my way home through the low bamboo—how soaked are my sleeves those nights I came but could not meet you.” The juxtaposition of these poems in the Kokinshū became the basis of their adaptation in The Tales of Ise (sec. 25) as an exchange between the protagonist and “an amorous woman,” thus linking two idealized exemplars of Heian courtly love: Narihira and Komachi. Komachi’s poem begins with the word mirume, a pivot word meaning both “seawe
ed” and “a chance to meet,” followed in the second phrase by ura, meaning both “bay” and “miserable.” The literal meaning of mirume naki ura is thus “bay with no seaweed,” and the parallel figurative meaning of mirume naki waga mi o ura is “I who am miserable and will not meet you.” Komachi’s unfortunate suitor is cast as a fisherman who does not seem to realize that his journeys will go unrewarded. Ama (fisherman), ura (bay), and mirume (seaweed) are associated words (engo).
24. This is the first of another sequence of dream poems by Komachi (Kokinshū, nos. 656–658) in the third book of love poetry. Whereas the earlier set of dream poems (nos. 552–554) presents dreams as an alternative world in which lovers have the opportunity to meet, these later poems show an increasing awareness of the limitations of that world, and the intrusion of less welcome aspects of the waking world. In this poem the poet’s expectations are confounded: the dream world has become as restrictive as the real world. Even in dreams, the poet’s lover must conceal their relationship from others.
25. The main image here is yumeji (the path of dreams), along which the poet’s lover will, she hopes, travel to her, his way lit by the flame of her desire. The beliefs underlying dream imagery in classical love poetry held that the intensity of one’s feelings for one’s lover could induce him to appear in one’s dream or could cause one to appear in his dreams. The (hi) of omoi (desire) is a pivot word with hi (fire), imaging the strength of the poet’s feelings and a contrast with the dark of night. Anxieties about the censure of society make their presence felt, however, with the poet’s hoping that at least her lover’s travels on the path of dreams will not be condemned by others. (The implication is that an encounter with her lover in waking life would invite blame.)
Traditional Japanese Literature Page 38