The Tales of Ise (Penguin Classics)

by Donald Keene

  Finally, when translating the Japanese word for ‘woman’ (onna), I have used ‘lady’ when she is of high social status and ‘woman’ otherwise.

  This translation is based on the Shōgakukan edition (see Further Reading, here) that includes the Tales of Ise edited by Teisuke Fukui, which is based on the Tenpukūbon manuscript, edited and transcribed by Fujiwara no Teika in 1234 and currently held by Gakushūin University in Tokyo. Most modern editions are based on this text. The numbering of poems follows the Shinpen kokka taikan, 10 vols (Tokyo: Kadokawa Shoten, 1983–92). For notes on romanization of the Japanese text, see Appendix 4, here. Macrons are used to extend vowel sounds in the romanized form of Japanese. I have tried to keep them to a minimum, omitting them from the names of people and places; exceptions are transliterated words and phrases in the editorial matter and in cases where it is part of the official English name of a company, such as the publishing firm Shōgakukan.

  On the Plain of Kasuga

  1

  Coming of Age

  Long ago, a young man who had just come of age went hawking on his family estate by the village of Kasuga near the former capital of Nara. Two beautiful sisters were living there, and the young man happened to catch a glimpse of them through a gap in the fence. Discovering such beautiful ladies in this incongruous setting at the old abandoned capital filled him with excitement. And he cut off a piece from the hem of his hunting robe, dashed off a poem on it, and had it sent in to them. Shinobu ferns had been rubbed into the fabric of his robe, creating an irregular pattern.

  Lavender shoots

  on the Plain of Kasuga,

  like the riotous patterns

  of this purple robe—

  what tangled feelings you arouse.

  The whole affair must have delighted him, as he composed the poem on the spot; it was surely inspired by this one:

  My heart is as tangled

  as the wild fern patterns

  of Michinoku’s Shinobu cloth.

  Since it is not my fault

  whom should I blame for this?

  The elegant behaviour of men in those days could be quite impulsive.

  2

  Endless Rains

  Long ago, after the capital had moved from Nara but before the buildings had been completed, a lady was living in the western part of the city. She was greatly superior to the ladies around her, and her disposition was even more lovely than her appearance. It seemed that she was not alone, but, even so, the earnest man spent a night with her, during which they conversed intimately. On a day in late spring in the midst of a light rain, he sent her a poem. What could his feelings have been?

  Neither getting up nor sleeping,

  we passed the night till dawn,

  but since then I have spent my time

  in the endless rains of spring

  lost in thought, alone.

  3

  A Gift of Seaweed

  Long ago, the man sent a gift of edible seaweed to a lady with whom he was in love, enclosing with it a poem:

  If your love is true,

  let us lie together.

  Though this hut is poor,

  we can spread out our sleeves

  to make a bed.

  The lady referred to was Her Majesty the Empress of the Second Avenue. This dates from the time when she was still a commoner, before entering the palace to become the emperor’s consort.

  Could that be the Same Moon?

  4

  The Spring of Old

  Long ago, a lady was living in the western wing of the residence of Her Majesty the Empress Mother on the eastern side of the Fifth Avenue. In spite of himself, the man could not help but fall deeply in love with this lady and began to frequent her apartments. However, around the tenth day of the New Year, she suddenly vanished. The man discovered where she was, but it was not a place where ordinary people could go, so he was deeply unhappy.

  At the beginning of spring in the following year, when the plum blossoms were at their peak, the man’s heart was filled with poignant memories of the year that had passed, and he returned to the lady’s former apartments. He gazed intently at his surroundings, now standing, now sitting down, but nothing looked as it had the year before. Bursting into tears, he lay down on the bare floorboards and remained there until the moon sank low in the sky.

  Recalling the events of the previous year, he composed a poem:

  Could that be the same moon?

  Could this be the spring of old?

  Only I am as I have always been,

  but without you here

  .….…….

  Then, in the faint light of dawn, he returned home, weeping bitterly.

  5

  Nod Off to Sleep

  Long ago, the man was secretly visiting a lady who lived on the eastern side of the Fifth Avenue. As he had to go there in stealth, it was impossible for him to enter by the main gate. So he visited her by crossing an earthen wall that had been damaged by children clambering over it. Not many people went there, but because of the frequency of his visits, word of his exploits reached the ear of the head of the house, who ordered a guardsman to watch over the place where he entered every night. So although the man visited again, he had to return home without seeing his beloved. His poem:

  If only the watchman

  guarding the secret path

  that I take to you

  would nod off to sleep

  for a little while every night.

  The lady was so distressed when she received the poem that the head of the house relented.

  It is said that the man was secretly visiting the house of the future Empress of the Second Avenue, but because of gossip her brothers posted a guard.

  6

  Pearls of Dew

  Long ago, the man pursued a lady for many years even though he had little chance of winning her. Finally, one pitch-black night, he stole away with her. As they were passing along the bank of the Akuta River, she caught a glimpse of dewdrops on the grass and asked, ‘What are those?’

  Although a long journey still lay ahead, night was deepening and peals of thunder punctuated the heavy rain. The man hid the lady deep within an empty storehouse, unaware that it was inhabited by demons. With his bow in hand and a quiver on his back, he stood guard at the entrance. But while he was wishing that morning would come, a demon swallowed the lady in one gulp. The lady had shrieked in terror, but the man had not heard her because of the thunder. As day slowly broke, he looked inside the storehouse and discovered that the lady was no longer there. Sprawling on his back and rubbing his feet together, he wept in anguish. But his grief came to nothing.

  ‘Are those pearls,’ you asked,

  ‘or what might they be?’

  I wish I had replied, ‘Drops of dew,’

  and vanished

  as quickly as they do.

  This story dates from the time when the lady, who later became Her Majesty the Empress of the Second Avenue, was still in the service of her cousin, a consort of the emperor. The man was so taken with the young lady’s great beauty that he lifted her upon his back and ran away with her. Her older brothers, the Horikawa minister Mototsune and the Grand Counsellor Kunitsune, were at that time still of low rank. They happened to be on their way to the palace and heard a lady wailing. The two men stopped the abductor and rescued their younger sister. They are the demons of the tale. It is said that the lady was still very young at the time and had not yet attained imperial status.

  7

  The Returning Waves

  Long ago, the man’s life in the capital became too difficult to bear, so he set off towards the east. As he was walking along the beach on the border between Ise and Owari provinces, he saw the white waves rising and composed a poem:

  The further I travel,

  the more I long for the place

  from whence I have come.

  How I envy the ebbing waves,

  returning home.

  8

 
Mount Asama’s Peak

  Long ago, the man felt that his life in the capital had become unbearable, so, accompanied by a few companions, he set off towards the east to look for a new place to live. Observing smoke rising from the peak of Mount Asama in the province of Shinano, he composed a poem:

  Look at all the smoke rising

  from Mount Asama’s peak.

  People may look with reproach

  for I too have revealed

  my smouldering heart.

  9

  Departing for the East

  Long ago, the man was overwhelmed by feelings of futility, and he thought, ‘I can no longer remain in the capital; I will look for a suitable place to live in the provinces of the east.’ Then he departed, taking a few of his old friends with him. Unsure of their way, they wandered along in a desultory fashion. Eventually they arrived at a place called Yatsuhashi in the province of Mikawa. The location was known as Eight Bridges because the river there fanned out into eight channels like the legs of a spider, with a bridge across each one.

  They dismounted in the shade of a tree by the edge of the marshland to eat some dried rice. In the marsh, there were beautiful irises in full bloom. One of the party said, ‘Compose a poem on the topic “journey”, using the letters I-R-I-S, one for the beginning of each line of the poem.’ The man’s poem:

  In these familiar lovely robes I’m

  Reminded of the beloved wife

  I have left behind, stretching far—

  Sadness, the hem of journeys.

  Everyone wept, swelling the dried rice with their tears.

  Continuing on their journey, they reached the province of Suruga. At Mount Utsu, the path was overgrown with maples and ivy and very dark and narrow. Just as the group were fearing that they might meet a terrible fate, they encountered a mendicant monk. ‘Why are you travelling on a path such as this?’ he asked them. On hearing him speak, the man realized that the monk was someone he knew. So he composed a poem for his beloved and gave it to the monk to take to the capital.

  Irises in Bloom

  Here by Mount Utsu

  in Suruga so far away,

  I cannot meet you

  in the real world,

  nor even in my dreams.

  Then when he looked up and saw Mount Fuji, he noticed that even though it was midsummer, snow still covered the peak.

  Mount Fuji,

  knowing not the seasons,

  which one do you think it is?

  Snow still covers your peak—

  the dappled coat of a fawn.

  Compared to the mountains at the capital, Mount Fuji was like Mount Hie piled twenty times as high in the shape of a great mound of salt.

  The man and his friends continued their journey and came to a large river on the border between Musashi and Shimosa. It was called the Sumidagawa. They rested together on the bank and thought forlornly about how far they had travelled. But the ferryman shouted, ‘Get on board quickly! It’s getting dark.’ As they boarded the boat, they were all filled with sadness, for there was not one among them who had not left behind a loved one in the capital.

  Just at that moment, they saw a white bird about the size of a snipe, with red legs and beak, frolicking on the water while gulping down a fish. As it was a bird that they had never seen in the capital, no one knew what it was. They asked the boatman what its name was, and he replied, ‘Why, it’s the “Bird of the Capital”.’ Hearing this, the man recited a poem.

  Snow Still Covers Your Peak

  Bird of the Capital—

  if true to your name,

  then let me ask you

  of the one I love;

  is she still alive and well?

  Everyone on the boat broke down in tears.

  10

  The Call of the Wild Goose

  Long ago, the man wandered aimlessly until he reached the province of Musashi, and there he wooed a woman. The woman’s father had his mind set on someone else for his daughter, but the mother favoured the man’s suit, for she was determined to marry her daughter to someone of noble rank. The father was of ordinary stock, but the mother was a Fujiwara, which explains her preference for this nobleman. From where they lived in the village of Miyoshino in Iruma County, she sent a poem to the suitor:

  I am sure that if the wild goose

  on the rice fields of Miyoshino

  is startled by a scarecrow,

  she will fly with all her heart

  calling out to you.

  The suitor’s reply:

  From these rice fields

  of Miyoshino,

  how could I ever forget

  the wild goose calling

  just for me?

  Even in the remote provinces, he remained true to his ways.

  11

  The Revolving Moon

  Long ago, while journeying in the east, the man had a poem sent to his friends at home:

  Though we are as far apart

  as the drifting clouds,

  do not forget me till we meet again,

  for the moon that circles in the sky

  will surely come around again.

  Grasses of the Musashi Plain

  12

  Grasses of the Musashi Plain

  Long ago, the man stole away with someone’s daughter. This made him an abductor, and while he was fleeing with her to the Plain of Musashi, an order for his arrest was issued by the provincial governor. Before he was apprehended, he hid the girl in a grassy thicket. The pursuers exclaimed, ‘We’ve been told the thief is hiding in this field,’ and were about to set it aflame. In anguish, the girl cried out:

  Please don’t burn,

  don’t burn, the grasses

  of the Musashi Plain.

  My beloved hides here,

  and I do, too.

  The governor’s men heard the girl and seized her; then both of them were marched off together.

  13

  Stirrups of Musashi

  Long ago, when the man was living in Musashi, he wrote a letter to a lady in the capital: ‘Should I tell you, it would make me blush; but should I not, I will feel miserable.’ On the outside of the letter he inscribed the words ‘Stirrups of Musashi’. After that, he sent no further word. But a while later, a poem arrived from the lady in the capital:

  Stirrups of Musashi,

  as I am still attached to you

  like the buckles to your stirrups,

  how hard not to hear from you

  but more hateful when I do.

  When the man read her poem, he could no longer bear it and replied:

  When I write, you protest.

  When I don’t, you bear a grudge.

  At times like this,

  the Stirrups of Musashi

  will surely die of a broken heart.

  14

  Cocooning with Silkworms

  Long ago, the man wandered aimlessly until he reached the province of Michinoku. A woman who lived there must have thought a person from the capital a marvel indeed, for she fell head over heels in love with him and sent him a poem.

  Rather than dying

  from this one-sided love,

  I wish I’d been born a silkworm

  so that we could cocoon together

  for even the shortest while.

  Even though her poem was countrified, the man must have been moved by it because he went to spend the night with her. But when he left in the middle of the night, the woman exclaimed:

  Wretched fowl!

  When morning comes

  I will dunk you in the pail,

  for by crowing too early,

  you drove my man away.

  As he prepared to return to the capital, the man recited a poem:

  Dear Pine Tree

  of Aneha in Kurihara,

  if only you’d been human

  I would have said to you,

  ‘Come, be my gift to the capital.’

  However, the country girl completely misunderstood t
he meaning. Delighted, she repeated over and over again, ‘He must be in love with me!’

  15

  A Pathway to the Heart

  Long ago, when the man was in Michinoku, he began to visit the wife of a common fellow. To his surprise, she did not at all resemble the kind of person one expects to find in such circumstances. His poem:

  At Mount Shinobu

  if only there were a path

  to visit you in secret,

  that would also lead

  to the core of your heart.

  The woman thought the poem was splendid, indeed, but what could he expect to gain by peering into a poor countrywoman’s heart?

  16

  Robes of a Heavenly Maiden

  Long ago, there lived a courtier named Ki no Aritsune who served three generations of emperors. For many years, he flourished, but in old age his fortunes declined with the changing times. He could no longer enjoy the prosperity even of an ordinary person. Yet his kindness, gentle nature and love of noble things distinguished him from others. And though he was forced to live in poverty, he behaved exactly as he had in the past, blissfully unaware of the difficulties of everyday life.

  Eventually, his wife of many years stopped sharing his bed. She began to make preparations for becoming a nun and living with her older sister, who had already taken her vows. Ki no Aritsune had not enjoyed a particularly close relationship with his wife, but because of her impending departure, he felt a deep affection for her surging within him. Sadly, he was too poor to do anything for her. Greatly troubled, he wrote of his difficulty to the man, who was his close friend: ‘In short, my wife is leaving me for ever, but there is not the slightest thing I can do for her.’ He ended the letter with a poem.