by Donald Keene
116
Eaves on Waves
Long ago, the man wandered aimlessly until he reached the province of Michinoku. There he sent a poem to someone he loved back in the capital:
On the waves, the eaves
of a hut on a tiny island shore.
How long since I have seen you—
on the waves, the eaves
on a tiny island shore.
He added, ‘Things are getting better now.’
117
The Shrine of the Little Pine
Long ago, the emperor made a progess to the Sumiyoshi Shrine. A poem on the occasion:
Dear Little Pine,
on the bay of Sumiyoshi,
since I saw you first,
how many eons
have passed?
Then the deity of the shrine appeared and declared:
You may not know it,
but you are dear to me—
since ancient times at this shrine
on the white-waved shore,
you have been blessed by me.
118
Creeping Vine
Long ago, the man wrote to a lady with whom he had not been in touch for a long time: ‘I have no intention of forgetting you. I am actually about to visit you.’ Her answer:
Creeping Vine,
as you crawl up
so very many trees,
I am not in the least bit pleased
you claim to love me still.
119
Keepsake Enemies
Long ago, upon catching sight of some keepsakes that had been left to her by an unfaithful man, a lady composed a poem.
These keepsakes
are now my enemies,
for if they were not here,
there might be times
I could forget that man.
120
Festival of Pots
Long ago, the man thought that a lady he favoured was inexperienced in the ways of love, only to discover that she had become secretly involved with a person of high rank. After some time had passed, he sent her a poem.
At Tsukuma in Omi,
let the festival begin.
As you were so cruel to me,
I will count the pots on your head
to number the men you have had.
121
Plum-Blossom Bonnet
Long ago, upon noticing that someone emerging from the Plum Pavilion was getting wet in the rain, the man composed a poem.
Dear Drenched One,
let me help you
return safely home
with a plum-blossom bonnet
such as the warblers sew.
The reply:
I need no plum-blossom bonnet
that warblers are said to sew.
Give me instead
the flame of your desire
to dry my robes, love you in return.
122
Waters of Promise
Long ago, the man sent a poem to a lady who had broken her vow to marry him:
Trusting in your love,
I scooped and drank
from Yamashiro’s Ide spring,
but its clear-water promise
slipped right through my hands.
No reply came from the lady.
123
Becoming a Quail
Long ago, the man must have grown tired of a lady living at a place called Fukakusa (Grasses Deep), because he sent her this poem:
If I leave this village
where we have been together
for all these years,
without my visits it will become
a plain of deep grasses.
The lady’s reply:
If it becomes a wild plain,
I will become a plaintive quail
and cry in sorrow;
then won’t you come sometimes,
if only to hunt?
The man was so moved by the poem that he lost all desire to leave her.
124
Not a Soul …
Long ago, the man composed a poem, though it is not exactly clear what the cause of his suffering was.
My heart is full,
but I will keep it all unsaid
for there is no one
to share my thoughts with,
not a soul like me.
125
This Day
Long ago, the man became ill and sensed that his death was approaching.
I knew I’d have to walk on the path
we all must finally take,
but I had no idea
it would be tomorrow,
much less today.
Much Less Today …
Commentary
A Note on the Commentary
This commentary is indebted to material prepared especially for this book by Tokuro Yamamoto, one of the world’s foremost authorities on the Tales; it also relies on the commentaries of another great authority, Yoichi Katagiri, especially his latest one, Ise monogatari zendokkai, Teisuke Fukui’s notes in the Shōgakukan edition of the Tales, and, to a lesser extent, the commentaries of Minoru Watanabe, Joji Ishida, Toshiko Abe and others.
I also refer to Masao Takeoka, who wrote an important and absorbing commentary on the Tales – Ise monogatari zenhyōshaku – which, although it has mostly been rejected by the Japanese academic community, is full of stimulating, if sometimes quirky, comments. His exegesis on the hidden erotic language and imagery in the work is also interesting. For this and other quoted material listed below, see also Further Reading.
Abe, Toshiko, Ise monogatari zenchūyaku (Tokyo: Kōdansha, 1979)
Hori, Tatsuo, Yamatoji · Shinanoji (Tokyo: Shinchōbunko, 1943)
Ishida, Joji, Shinpan Ise monogatari (Tokyo: Kadokawa Shoten, 1979)
Katagiri, Yoichi, Ise monogatari zendokkai (Osaka: Izumi Shoin, 2013)
——, Teisuke Fukui, Shoji Takahashi and Yoshiko Shimizu (eds), Taketori monogatari, Ise monogatari, Yamato monogatari, Heichū monogatari, Shinpen nihon koten bungaku zenshū, vol. 12 (Tokyo: Shōgakukan, 1994)
McCullough, Helen Craig, Tales of Ise: Lyrical Episodes from Tenth-Century Japan (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1968)
Takeoka, Masao, Ise monogatari zenhyōshaku (Tokyo: Yūbun Shoin, 1987)
Watanabe, Minoru, Ise monogatari, Shinchō nihon koten shūsei, 2nd series (Tokyo: Shinchōsha, 1976)
Yamamoto, Tokuro, Ise monogatariron: Buntai, shudai, kyōju (Tokyo: Kasama Shoin, 2001)
In the commentary, words and phrases highlighted in bold constitute a cross-reference to an entry in either ‘Appendix 1: Glossary of Literary and Social Conventions’ or ‘Appendix 2: Historical Characters’, both of which may be consulted for further information.
1
Coming of Age
The extraordinary first episode of the Tales contains many key elements central to the development of Heian-period romantic tales and the flowering of the Heian aesthetic. Among these was the establishment of the spontaneous composition and exchange of poems as being among the most important elements in the pursuit of love. This became the defining characteristic of Heian courtly love, and such exchanges form the structural and poetic core of the Tales. (See the Introduction, here, for more on this.) The episode also establishes the fictional, historically distant setting of the Tales, beginning, as do all the subsequent episodes except for Episode 17, with the words ‘long ago’ (mukashi – see here). Other key elements include the chance meeting between the hero and two beautiful ladies in an unusual setting. The implication that the sisters are beautiful but living in disadvantaged circumstances would have also struck a chord in the Heian lover’s heart, and the pursuit of the vulnerable lady was an important motif in Heian literature.
A similar scene appears in the Chinese work Yuxian ku (The Den of Wandering Immortals; Yūsenkutsu in Japanese) by Zhang Wencheng (658?–730), brought to Japan in the Nara period (710–94) and thought to have deeply influenced the Tales, as well as other Japanese works such
as the Man’yōshū and The Tale of Genji. Its influence can be seen in this episode in which the hero chances to see two beautiful sisters alone in a remote house. Beautiful women often appear in pairs: in Yuxian ku, there are two heavenly angels, and in some versions of the famous folk tale ‘The Tale of Urashima Taro’ there are not one but two lovely ladies who captivate the hero during his visit to a palace under the sea.
Many works of Chinese literature aside from Yuxian ku greatly influenced the Tales of Ise, including, first and foremost, the poetry of Bai Juyi (see here), but also chuanqi (strange tales) from the Tang period (618–907) and the mid-Tang Yingying zhuan (Story of Yingying) by Yuan Zhen (779–831).
The means of encounter, catching a glimpse of the lady (kaimami), is an important trope in the Heian world of love. Finally, the episode offers an excellent early example of the technique of basing a poem on a famous poem from the past (see below). The examples found in the Tales are exceptions, as this technique of composing poems was not widely employed until the late Heian period, when the influential poet and critic Fujiwara no Shunzei (see here) was active. From then on, it developed into an important rhetorical feature of poetry known as ‘allusive variation’ (honkadori). The purpose of borrowing from famous poems was to expand the meaning of the original or to recreate another poem based on it.
On impulse, the hero dashes off a poem written on a piece of material torn from the hem of his hunting robe, in which he asserts that his feelings are in as much disarray as the irregular pattern of ferns rubbed into the hem. There are various interpretations about what this pattern is, but most modern readers take it to be related to the technique of impressing (zuri; literally, ‘rubbing’) a pattern on to fabric using the sap of the hare’s foot fern (shinobūgusa). A great rock where such fabric was dyed can still be seen today near Fukushima city and was described by Basho (1644–94) in his Oku no hosomichi (Narrow Road to the North). Shinobu, as well as being the name of an area in north-eastern Japan (see also ‘Michinoku’ below), also means ‘to love secretly’, hence various meanings and associations are compressed into a single word.
The rapidity with which the hero responds, the spontaneous tearing off of part of his hem, the ability to compose a brilliant poem on the spot based on a great poem from the past, and his dedication to the way of love establish the hero’s credentials as an ideal lover and a man of refinement. The expression miyabi (refined elegance) makes its sole appearance in this episode of the Tales, but it is a crucial concept in our understanding of the psychology of the protagonist (see here).
Episode 1 also introduces another important device – that of concluding episodes with ironic and occasionally humorous comments by the narrator. Here, there are three. The first, ‘This whole affair must have delighted him’, is speculation by the narrator. The second, ‘it was surely inspired by this one’, introduces an earlier poem by the ninth-century poet and statesman Minamoto no Toru. A renowned aesthete, he was the owner of a villa at Uji (the site upon which the famous Byodoin Temple was built; see Map 3) and another splendid residence, the Kawara mansion (see Map 3), which is the focal point of Episode 81. He is featured in two Noh plays, Tōru (based on Episode 81) and Nishikigi, the latter also citing this poem. The poem is also quoted in the Noh play Oshio – about the hero, Narihira – which is chiefly based on Episode 76, but also quotes poems from Episodes 1, 4, 12 and 17. It was additionally included in two of the most celebrated anthologies, the Kokinshū (no. 724) and Hyakunin isshu (no. 14).
The narrator’s third and final comment is a wry note: ‘The elegant behaviour of men in those days could be quite impulsive.’ Beneath the playful criticism, it is clear that he is really praising the hero; such humorous self-deprecation is an integral component of the Japanese psyche even today.
Episode 1 shares many features with Episode 41, which are discussed in the commentary to the latter.
a young man who had just come of age: A high-ranking boy’s coming-of-age ceremony, based on a Confucian ritual, occurred between the ages of twelve and fifteen. The front of the boy’s head was shaved, and the hair at the back was tied in a topknot. The boy donned a pointed black hat with a tail, and put on adult robes, which was the formal court attire. He also took an adult name and, in many cases, received both his ranking as a nobleman and his official post at the same time.
went hawking: Hunting was popular in Japan, especially among the upper classes, until the end of the Edo period (1603–1868). Birds such as cranes and pheasants as well as rabbits and other small animals were hunted, using hawks and dogs.
Kasuga near the former capital of Nara: A location east of Nara (then Heijokyo – see Map 2), the imperial capital for much of the eighth century. In 784, Emperor Kanmu (r. 781–806) moved the capital from Heijokyo to Nagaoka and then, ten years later, to Heiankyo (present-day Kyoto – see Maps 2 and 3).
Lavender shoots: The ‘lavender shoots’ (wakamurasaki) in the first poem refer more to the two sisters than to the plant murasaki (Lithospermum erythrorhizon or purple gromwell). The colour murasaki is actually more purple than lavender, but I felt that ‘lavender’ sounded more poetic in context. Purple has long been a colour of the noble classes, associated with dignity and refinement. As for the actual shoots, they are neither lavender nor purple. The plant, which used to grow wild in mountains and on moors, has long green leaves and produces small white flowers in June and July, while its roots were used from ancient times as a source of purple dye.
Michinoku: Michinoku – the old name for the eastern part of present-day Tohoku in the north-eastern part of Honshu – means ‘travelling far along the road’, indicating somewhere remote and far away.
2
Endless Rains
Although this and almost all the episodes in the Tales are supposed to depict the adventures of Narihira, this episode is set immediately after the capital moved to Heiankyo (now Kyoto – see Maps 2 and 3 and commentary to Episode 1), when in fact the historical Ariwara no Narihira was born in 825, several decades later. This deliberate anachronism – perhaps the narrator having fun with the reader (see below) – indicates that the tale was meant to be read as fiction, and the hero viewed more as a fictional than a historical figure. Such obvious fictionalization is one of the chief interests of this episode.
This episode introduces the concept of irogonomi (being fond of affairs), which is central to the Tales (see here). In this instance, the hero sends a poem to an impoverished lady, telling her of his unhappy feelings. The phrase ‘It seemed that she was not alone’ has been interpreted in several ways. Fukui argues that it means she was not single and that another man was visiting her. Katagiri maintains that it means she had more than one lover who was visiting her.
Custom demanded that courtiers send a ‘morning-after’ poem (kinuginu no uta) to the beloved after a night spent in each other’s company, but only if the relationship had been consummated. Although the poem in question is a ‘morning-after’ poem, it is unclear whether the man and woman have made love, and this has been the subject of much debate. In the original Japanese text, the couple are described as engaged in conversation (uchi-monogatarau, which has the same meaning as monogatarau, another form of the verb that appears in the Tales), an expression that can imply pillow talk after lovemaking, but by itself it does not indicate whether they had sex. Some commentators argue that it is difficult to imagine the couple having spent the whole night just talking and that the morning-after poem suggests they must have had sex.
Yamamoto, however, maintains that the poem seems to indicate that the hero spent the night in an unsatisfactory way, engaged in conversation but without making love. The fact that the same poem also appears in the Kokinshū (no. 616), with the headnote ‘Composed in the midst of a light rain and sent to a lady after spending time conversing with her secretly on the first night of the third month’, would seem to support this view.
The poems in the Kokinshū are carefully arranged, with poems on the early stages of a romance
preceding those about its dissolution. The poem in question appears at the very beginning of the first book on love (an indication also of the high regard in which the editors held the poem), at the stage when an actual physical relationship has yet to develop and hence suggesting that monogatarau in this context is simple conversation and not pillow talk after making love. Ambiguity is an inherent feature of the Tales, however, and as with the apparent fictionalization of the time period, there is no definitive interpretation here; the reader should feel free to read it as one or the other or even enjoy the possibility of both.
Given the did-they-didn’t-they uncertainty, the answer to the question posed by the narrator, ‘What could his feelings have been?’, becomes more debatable. Is the narrator wondering why the hero has sent a ‘morning-after’ poem if there had been no physical relations? Or is he being deliberately ironic, knowing full well how the hero would be feeling after a night of love? Such playfully tongue-in-cheek commentary is typical of the Tales.
western part of the city: Suzaku Avenue, which ran through the middle of the capital (Heiankyo/Kyoto – see Maps 2 and 3), divided the city into east and west, districts that were known, respectively, as the ‘left’ and ‘right’ sides of the capital as viewed from the south-facing imperial palace. (This division was related to the ritsuryo code – see Left and Right.) The lady lives west of Suzaku Avenue, hence on the right side. Geomantic considerations of the day regarded the right as inferior to the left. The west side of the capital was swampy, and it never flourished, so few people of wealth and status lived there. The fact that the lady lives in such a place suggests that she was impoverished.