The Tale of Tamamizu

In Japanese and Chinese folklore, foxes are notorious for their shape-shifting powers and their penchant for deceiving and seducing humans. The carnal threat that they typically pose to unsuspecting men results from the danger implied by transgression of the bestiality taboo, which, if such stories are to be believed, frequently results in death, for either the man or the fox. In Konjaku monogatari shū (Tales of Times Now Past, twelfth century), for example, foxes can be good, bad, or simply mischievous, but in their personified forms they are usually depicted as attractive young women who engage with men.

In The Tale of Tamamizu (Tamamizu monogatari), a male fox falls in love with a young woman, but in order to insinuate himself into her world, he assumes the identity of a teenage lady-in-waiting—the lovely Tamamizu-no-mae, or simply Tamamizu—in an alluringly feminine form more usually associated with his vulpine kind. Like the malevolent Lady Tamamo in her eponymous tale, the gender-bending Tamamizu possesses superhuman erudition, but unlike his notorious counterpart, who sets out to seduce the emperor and destroy the state, Tamamizu wishes only the best for his love. Torn between his affection and his realization of the hazard that it implies, he finds himself trapped in his own web of lies, incapable of consummating the affair or admitting the truth. His plight is a poignant one, as he himself is all too aware. The Tale of Tamamizu survives in multiple illustrated manuscripts from the late medieval (1185–1600) and/or early Edo (1600–1867) periods, suggesting its popularity among readers of the age.

It must have been some time ago when, in the area of Toba, there lived a man named the Takayanagi Captain. He had no children, despite being over thirty years of age. He wondered why this was so, and it grieved him. He prayed to the gods and buddhas, and perhaps as an answer to his prayers, his wife began to look pregnant. His joy knew no bounds. In due course, a daughter was born to them, around the beginning of the eleventh month. They treasured and raised her as though she were a jewel in their arms. Blessed with the twenty-five features of feminine beauty,1 she was truly radiant to behold.

The months and years passed until she was fourteen or fifteen years old. Setting her heart on the sweeping wind and the lapping waves, she composed Japanese and Chinese verse. Somehow, even the household was more refined by her presence, and in their gratitude her father and mother thought the world of her. Cherishing her all the more, they thought that they might send her to serve at court. Because she had such a sensitive nature, she was captivated by the blooming and scattering of the flowers in her garden, as well as by the mist that spread over the mountains in all directions.

One evening, the young lady went out into her flower garden with a single attendant named Tsukisae, the child of her wet nurse. They amused themselves, taking pleasure in the flowers, without a care in the world.

Many foxes lived in this area, and on this occasion, one of them happened to be in the garden and gazed at the young lady. He thought to himself, “Oh, how lovely! If only I could see her sometimes, even from afar.” Crouching behind a tree, his heart was all aflutter. He was frighteningly taken with the lady. Eventually she went back inside, and the fox, thinking better of remaining where he was, also returned to his den.

The fox reflected intensely on his situation: “For what sin in a past life have I been reborn like this, as an animal? Ever since I first saw that gorgeous lady, I’ve been wasting away from love. How sad that I am likely to fade away for nothing!”

As he lay brooding, weeping a torrent of quiet tears, he thought to himself, “If only I could change into a nobleman and meet with that lady!” But then he reconsidered: “If I were to meet with her, it would certainly mean her ruin. Her parents would grieve, and how sad to think that I would be the death of her unparalleled beauty!” His thoughts were in turmoil as he mulled the problem. Passing his days without a bite to eat, he lay in a state of utter exhaustion.

A fox spies the daughter of the Takayanagi Captain, together with her maid. (From Tamamizu monogatari, courtesy of the Kyoto University Library)

Thinking that he might see her again, he limped out to the flower garden. But someone saw him, and one day he was pelted with stones. On another day, someone shot at him with blunt wooden arrows. It was pitiful how his heart pined all the more. Unable to fade away like the dew or the frost, he wretchedly thought to himself, “Somehow, if I could just be by her side and see her morning and night, what a comfort it would be!”

There was a certain household that had many sons, but no daughters. Morning and evening, the master’s wife lamented, saying, “If only I had just one girl among all these children!” Hearing this, the fox transformed into a lovely fourteen- or fifteen-year-old maiden. He went to the house and said, “I am from the area around the western part of the capital, but I’ve been orphaned, and without anyone to rely on, I took to the road. I’ve wandered all this way, and since I have no place to go, please take me in and let me be a part of your family.”

The master’s wife took one look at her and said, “Oh, dear, you’re no ordinary girl at all! How on earth could you wander all this way? Please think of me as your mother. We have many sons, but no daughters, though I’ve wanted one day and night.”

“That makes me so happy, since I have nowhere else to go!” the fox replied. The master’s wife was overjoyed, and she took him in with kindness and consideration. “Now, if only I could introduce her to some man or other …,” she thought, and she busied herself with this goal in mind.

However, this new “daughter” showed no sign of settling in, and she would occasionally burst into tears. The master’s wife tried to comfort her, saying, “Now, dear, if there’s a man, you just tell me. Don’t keep it to yourself.”

“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that at all,” the fox replied. “I feel surprisingly wretched, and being depressed like this, it wouldn’t do at all for me to be seen by a man. I would just like to serve at the side of a lovely young mistress.”

Disguised as a young lady, the fox speaks with her adoptive human mother. (From Tamamizu monogatari, courtesy of the Kyoto University Library)

Her adoptive mother replied, “Well, I’ve often said that I’d like to set you up in a good household, and if you think so, too, I shouldn’t oppose your wishes. Lord Takayanagi’s daughter is very sweet and kind. My younger sister serves her as a lady-in-waiting, so I think I’ll ask her about it. If there’s anything on your mind, please tell me. I don’t think I’d say no.” When the fox heard this, he was very happy.

As they were discussing the situation, the mother’s sister came over. When the mother had explained everything, she replied, “I’ll bring it up with the household.” She returned to the lord’s mansion and asked the young lady’s wet nurse, who answered, “Well, then, send her here as soon as you can!”

The fox was overjoyed, and he made himself up and left right away. He looked so beautiful that even his new young mistress was pleased, and she gave him the serving name Tamamizu-no-mae. Tamamizu was gentle and kind in whatever he did and was at his mistress’s side day and night in all her amusements. He served her food and drink, and, just like Tsukisae, would lie down with her under her bedclothes, never leaving the young lady’s side.

Now, whenever a dog came onto the grounds, Tamamizu would turn pale, and every hair on his—now her—body would stand on end. She would be unable to eat a thing and looked so pitiful that her mistress felt sorry for her and banned dogs from the household. There were doubtless others in the place who resented her, thinking, “She’s such a pathetic coward! I wish the mistress thought of me like that.”

Time passed, and around the middle of the fifth month, there was a night when the moon was especially, perfectly bright. The young mistress crept out to the edge of her blinds and gazed up at it. Cuckoos were singing, and it was so lovely that she composed the first part of a poem:

hototogisu

The cuckoo,

kumoi no yoso ni

out there among the clouds,

ne wo zo naku

calling out in song—

Tamamizu immediately capped the verse with the lines,

fukaki omoi no

I wonder if its longing

tagui naruran

is just as deep as mine?

She had suddenly given voice to the feelings that were in her heart.

“What do you mean?” the lady replied. “I’d like to know what you’re thinking. Is it love or jealousy? It’s so strange!” The mistress composed,

samidare no

In the season of

hodo wa kumoi no

the early summer rains,

hototogisu

you cuckoo in the clouds—

ta ga omoine no

whose love do you know,

iro wo shiruran

whose longing in the night?2

Tamamizu immediately responded with:

kokoro kara

Emerging from

kumoi wo idete

the clouds inside my heart,

hototogisu

the cuckoo—

itsu wo kagiri to

when, I wonder,

ne wo ya nakuran

will it stop singing its song?

Tsukisae composed:

obotsukana

Somehow or other

yama no ha izuru

it reaches from the moon

tsuki yori mo

as it crests the mountain’s rim:

nao nakiwataru

the solitary cry

tori no hitogoe

of a bird.

They composed poems like this until the night grew late and the young lady went back inside. However, saying that the moon was still high, Tamamizu stayed outside. She thought deeply about her past and future: “I wonder when and how it will all come to an end for me?” Her tears spilled out unexpectedly, and she could only try to wring them dry. She composed:

omoiki ya

Could I have thought it—

Inari no yama wo

that I would be gazing out

yoso ni mite

at Mount Inari,3

kumoi haruka no

and at the distant moon

tsuki wo miru to ya

up there beyond the clouds?

She composed another poem:

kokoro kara

Emerging from

kumoi wo idete

the clouds inside my heart,

mochizuki no

the full moon—

tamoto ni kage wo

I wish that somehow it could

sasu yoshi mogana

shine its light upon my sleeve!

And another:

kokoro kara

These tears of love

koi no namida wo

that pour from my heart:

sekitomete

to hold them back,

mi no ukishizumu

I’d bob and sink …

koto zo yoshinaki

and that won’t do at all!4

Tamamizu had been out for so long that Tsukisae became concerned. She went back outside and heard Tamamizu murmuring these things to herself. Thinking it strange, she inquired with a poem:

yoso nite mo

Even from afar,

aware to zo kiku

it makes me sorry for you!

tare yue ni

For whose sake

koi no namida ni

will you sink and drown

mi wo shizumuran

in tears of love?

Their mistress heard them and said:

ōkata no

Do you think that

aware wa tare mo

nobody knows what it means

shirazu ya to

to feel sorrow,

mi ni wa narawanu

though they may be unfamiliar

koiji naredomo

with the path of love?

The mistress said, “It’s grown so late already! Do come inside.” Tamamizu returned, weeping all the while, and together with Tsukisae she lay down beside her mistress. But perhaps because she had no way to express her troubled thoughts, she was unable to sleep.

The days passed until the eighth month arrived. The cries of the first geese echoed through the sky, seeming to pierce Tamamizu to the quick. She felt as if they were asking after her sorrow. Meanwhile, Tamamizu’s adoptive mother sent her constant messages and doted on her more than even a real parent would. In addition to her regular attire, she sent her some lovely clothing. In one of her letters, she complained, “Why don’t you come and see me sometimes? It would be a comfort. I lie awake at night thinking that you are treating me so coldly because I am not your real mother.”

Tamamizu replied, “I, too, pass the time somehow or other, asking myself about the shallowness of my heart.5 How sad it is to hear you say that it is because you are not my true parent!” Her adoptive mother saw this and realized that of course Tamamizu must feel that way, and she wept.

Three years later, in the eleventh month, many of the young lady’s close friends came to visit. They decided to have an autumn leaf–matching contest. Thinking to find the most beautifully colored leaves for her mistress the next day, Tamamizu slipped outside in the dark of night and turned back into her—now his—original form. He went to the mound on the south side of the Toba mansion where his older and younger brothers lived. When they saw him, they were overjoyed and said, “Hey, where did you come from? We thought you were dead! It’s been three years since we held services for you.”

“I’ve been serving at the mansion,” he explained. “Quiet down, and I’ll tell you all about it. But first, there’s something important going on tomorrow so I’ve come here to look for autumn leaves. Everyone, please help me find some.”

“That’s easy!” his brothers replied. “After all, is there anywhere in the mountains we haven’t been?”

Tamamizu was delighted. “Great! Then please put them on the veranda on the south wing of Takayanagi’s mansion.”

“No problem. But are there any dogs there?”

“No, they don’t have dogs. Don’t worry about that.” Having given those instructions, he returned to the mansion.

“Where have you been?” the young mistress and Tsukisae inquired, which was unusual for them. Jesting, Tamamizu smiled and replied, “Oh, I had a rendezvous with a dubious fellow this evening.”

“Really? That might be so, since you were gone such a long time!”

They carried on in this way until her mistress teased Tamamizu, saying, “Well, if that’s true, you must really hate me now! Since it’s a fact that people’s feelings change, I must be banished from your thoughts.”

Tamamizu was overjoyed, but also disturbed. “Oh, no, how embarrassing,” Tamamizu replied. “Although I am hardly a person fit to be in society, as for leaving your side and taking up with someone else, I could never do that!”

“Well, it’s hard to tell …,” her mistress said, and the sight of her smile cut Tamamizu to the core. Tamamizu felt utterly dejected.

Meanwhile, Tamamizu’s brothers had gone into the mountains looking for leaves. Among them, his next-younger brother found some six-inch branches, the five-colored leaves of which were all rubbed with the characters of the Lotus Sutra. They stood out brightly as if burnished into place.

At around noon the next day, Tamamizu went outside and discovered ten branches with leaves, which she brought to her mistress. “What’s this?” the young lady exclaimed. “Could there really be such things in the world? I’ve never seen the like!” In her joy, she praised them to the stars. Others, too, offered her a multitude of leaves, but how could theirs have compared?

“Now, since everyone is required to attach poems to their autumn leaves,” the young lady instructed, “Tamamizu, you’ll have to compose some, too.”

“But I thought you’d judge them as they are!” Tamamizu protested. Her mistress pressed the point, and Tamamizu thought, “In that case, I’d like to write out some poems for her to read. She’s sure to correct anything that might be wrong.”

Tamamizu took up her brush and began to write. The master, too, came over to see the leaves, and he was deeply impressed. After he left, his wife came over as well. Meanwhile, Tamamizu wrote out her verses and presented them to her mistress. Saying that they were all charming, the young lady attached the five poems to five of the branches.

On the branch with green leaves:

momijiba no

These autumn leaves

iro wa midori ni

have all turned green—

narinikeri

examples of things

ikuchiyo made mo

that never disappear

tsukinu tameshi ni

over many thousands of ages.

Tamamizu and her mistress prepare for the autumn leaf–matching contest. (From Tamamizu monogatari, courtesy of the Kyoto University Library)

On the branch with golden leaves:

ki naru made

The color of

momiji no iro wa

these autumn leaves, it seems,

utsuru nari

has turned to gold.

waga hito kaku wa

But my darling’s feelings

kokoro kawaraji

won’t change in this way!6

On the branch with red leaves:

kurenai ni

By how many tides

ikushio made ka

must these leaves have been dyed

sometsuran

to turn scarlet?

iro no fukasa wa

The depth of their color

tagui araji wo

must have no match!

On the branch with white leaves:

nobe no iro

Though the fields

mina shirotae ni

should all turn white

narinu to mo

as mulberry cloth,

kono momijiba no

the color of these autumn leaves

iro wa kawaraji

will surely never change.

On the branch with purple leaves:

ikushio ni

In how many tides

somekaeshite ka

must they have been soaked,

murasaki no

for all of the tips

yomo no kozue wo

of the purple branches

somewatasuran

to be stained through and through?

These were Tamamizu’s poems; her mistress wrote the rest.

Finally, the day of the contest arrived. When they judged the leaves, taking a great deal of care in reading their poems and arranging their extraordinarily colored sprays, not a single one could compare with those of the young mistress. Even though they were matched five times, every time she emerged victorious.

Word spread, and it even reached the palace, from which came a summons for the leaves. Having no reason to refuse, Lord Takayanagi sent them right away. The emperor saw them and informed the regent that the young mistress should be sent to him immediately.

“Although he should, no doubt, be delighted to send his daughter to court,” the regent replied, “the Takayanagi Captain is a man of limited means, and it may be difficult for him to do so.” The emperor immediately understood, and he bestowed on him three estates. As this was something that Lord Takayanagi had wanted from before, his joy was boundless.

The preparations were splendid, and Tamamizu’s feelings were beyond compare. The emperor granted her a place named Kakuta in Settsu Province as her own estate. “Being an orphan,” she said, “how happy I am to be favored with your grace! It’s beyond my wildest dreams.” She expressed her thanks repeatedly, but people said spiteful things about her anyway. “In that case,” she thought, “I’ll give the property to my adoptive parents,” and she did. Her mother and father were enormously pleased.

Sometime later, her mother fell ill, as if she were possessed. The family offered a multitude of prayers, but as the days and months passed, she seemed to grow only worse. Her father and her children were consumed with grief. “My daughter, serving at the Takayanagi mansion—,” she said, “I’d like to meet with her just this once. I miss her all the time, and I really want to see her.” Someone conveyed her request to Tamamizu, and feeling very sorry for her mother, she asked for some time away from her duties.

When Tamamizu arrived, her mother was delighted. “From what bond in a previous life does my heart ache for you alone, morning and night?” she exclaimed. “I fret about how long even your period of service will last! Thanks to you, I was able to get along with some peace of mind, and for that I am grateful and glad. But then, to suddenly come down with an ailment like this that almost no one survives! And the sadness of leaving you behind …” The mother stretched out a wasted hand, stroked her daughter’s hair, and wept. The girl was at a loss for words. She could only cry. Since Tamamizu was by their mother’s side, the other children felt free to rest for a while, and they took their ease.

In her more lucid moments, the mother would speak of how sad she was, but when her illness seemed to worsen from time to time, she would appear to be possessed, like someone not of this world. She grew worse, but then rallying a little bit, she said, “Being in such a state, I’m sure to die in the end. You poor thing! When I am no longer of this world, who will you have to be your mother? I have a mirror left to me by my own mother, and since I’ve been thinking these days that my time has come, I want you to take it as a keepsake.” With that, she gave the mirror to Tamamizu. “Now get back to the mansion,” she urged. However, Tamamizu could not bring herself to leave her mother, and before long she had been there for three days.

There was a letter from Tamamizu’s mistress: “It must be painful for you, your mother being ill. But if she gets a little better, then please return at once. I need you to dispel the boredom around here. I feel dreadfully gloomy.” The young lady had appended a poem:

toshi wo furu

When the aged leaves

ha wa sono kaze ni

(your elderly mother)

sasowareba

are beckoned by the wind,

nokoru kozue mo

What will become of the branches,

ika ni narinan

the child left behind?7

Tamamizu’s mother perused the letter for a little while, and her spirits improved. “What a gracious thing for her to say!” she cried. “If it weren’t for your service, how would she even know of my existence in the world? In any case, I’m deeply grateful. I think far more of you than any of the children I’ve borne myself.” She was very pleased.

Tsukisae had also written out a poem:

hatsuhana no

In her suffering

tsubomeru iro no

for the tint

kurushisa ni

of the first budding flowers,

ika ni ko no ha no

how is it for the mother-leaf

iro wo mikiku ni

to hear of their hue?8

But even upon seeing these words, Tamamizu’s mood did not brighten. In her reply, she wrote, “I could never fully express, or even put on paper, the gracious kindness of your letter. There is never a time when you are not in my thoughts, and although I would like to return to you, it would be too hard to abandon my mother. If she gets even a little bit better, I will return and tell you all these things myself.

chirinubeki

If the wind blows

oiki no hana no

through the fragile blossoms

kaze fukaba

of the aged tree,

nokoru kozue mo

even the remaining branches,

araji to zo omou

I think, will ill survive.”

To Tsukisae, too, she likewise replied:

kage tanomu

When the moldering cherry

kuchiki no sakura

on whose shade they once relied

kuchihateba

rots and disappears,

tsubomeru hana no

even the budding flowers’ hue

iro mo nokoraji

will likely not remain.

She sent these back to the capital.

At around that time, the mother’s affliction took a turn for the worse, and the family gathered together and grieved. But she soon seemed to rest a little easier, and everyone relaxed. As the night deepened and the house grew quiet, only Tamamizu remained awake. She suddenly saw a bald old fox, without a single hair, drawing near. Looking closely, she realized that it was her father’s brother. She called it away from her mother, whereupon the ailing woman settled in her sleep.

“How strange!” they both exclaimed. “What are you doing here?” Being herself a young fox, Tamamizu said, “Due to a certain little circumstance, I’ve come to rely on this woman as my mother. So please stay away from her and stop this suffering!”

“Absolutely not!” the old fox replied. “The reason is this: her father killed my child, who I was depending on, for no particular reason. So why shouldn’t I show him how it feels? I am going to break his heart by sickening his daughter and taking her life.”

“That makes sense,” Tamamizu said, “but being pulled by our karma,9 we wander lost through the Six Realms of Darkness. Because of our transgressions, we return to the same old Three Evil Realms,10 where flames erupt from our bodies. We are animals and therefore still remain mired in our karma. But even so, if we should plant good karmic roots, then why shouldn’t we be reborn as humans next time? What’s more, the human form is the form of the Buddha. So if our hearts don’t stray, then why wouldn’t we become buddhas the next time around? In this brief life of ours, if we let ourselves be pulled by a momentary thought—if you cause this woman’s death—you’ll have to bear both the sin of your deed and the weight of many people’s grief. Everything has its consequences, and as a result you, too, might end up falling prey to a hunter. And even if you don’t, see how quickly you return to the Three Evil Realms! Just leave this woman alone and save her life!”

The old fox glared and said, “It’s for those who are born into the human realm to follow the teachings of the buddhas. That’s why the buddhas, too, sometimes appear in the world and snatch away people’s lives. For me, this is no sin! People bring it on themselves, which is why it’s no fault of mine. I could sit and meditate all day, but I wouldn’t find any karmic seeds in my heart. By knowing moral principle, we take it to heart, and by taking the measure of principle and thinking it through, we make non-arising thought our principle. By sweeping away thought, we create virtue. Unless you understand this enemy, nothing you might believe will be of any use.

“The Engi emperor behaved with restraint until the end of his days, but because of the karma from his past, he fell to the depths of the Hell of No Respite.11 His foremost prince, the holy man Kōya Shōnin, was a man who turned his back on worldly ways, and people say that, following a revelation in a dream, he used a pair of metal tongs to pluck his father’s body—a thing like a large lump of charcoal—from the bottom of that abyss.12 So not even such a splendid emperor could escape the karma of his previous lives.

“Then there was the great snake that lived on Mount Shosha in Harima Province. He heard someone chanting the Lotus Sutra when he went looking for baby sparrows, and because of that, he was reborn as the empress of Emperor Shōmu.13 Now, if we dispel evil thoughts, cultivate a desire for enlightenment, and trust in the name of Amida Buddha, which guides even those sinners who are guilty of the ten wicked and five heinous crimes, then our rebirth in the next life will be ensured. Nevertheless, since you and I are both animals, we share the same karma and will experience the same effects. Which one of us, then, ought to preach to the other?”

“You know reason exceptionally well,” Tamamizu replied. “But your shape-shifting plan to take on the powers of a buddha is a one-time trick. One of Hōnen’s sayings sticks in my ears: that to learn and ask is to abhor neither good nor evil.14 When it comes to sin, right and wrong play no part. It is precisely because Prince Siddhârtha, the son of King Śuddhodana, left the royal palace that he became Shakyamuni Buddha.

“To distinguish between good and evil requires the karma to do so. If you take revenge on the enemy of your child, that would be evil. If you save her, that would be good. To determine good and evil in this case, then consider: Is your desire to kill the woman beyond thought? Rather, it is an undispelled thought. But if you can give up these wishes, then that is enlightenment. And to attain buddhahood in this very body is desirable indeed. You shouldn’t indulge in all the ten wicked and five heinous crimes and then seek to rely on Amida Buddha’s teachings. If you don’t resolve to do more, they will be of no avail.”

The old fox hung his head and nodded. “To encounter such wondrous wisdom must be my good fortune from a previous life,” he said. “Indeed, even if I were to kill this woman, it wouldn’t bring back my beloved child. Please pray for my child now with all your heart! I am going to become a monk, hide away in the deep mountains, and recite the nenbutsu.”15 He left the sick woman and withdrew. The mother thought that her daughter had been speaking with a person all this time.

Soon the sick mother began to feel better, and she spoke. When she heard that something had taken hold of her, she said that she had seen her assailant, although the daughter in whom she confided was the same sort of beast. “Truly, such things do occur,” Tamamizu replied, and she prayed for the dead fox that had been shot and performed all manner of services on its behalf. With her heart at ease, she left her mother and returned to the mansion.

The eleventh month had now arrived, and the ceremonies for the young lady’s Procession to the Palace were magnificent to behold. Out of her mistress’s thirty ladies-in-waiting and young attendants, Tamamizu was designated Lady Middle Captain, first among the women. But she was not particularly pleased, and when her mistress asked her about her persistent melancholy, she put her off, saying that she felt as if she somehow had a cold.

“You do seem to have something on your mind,” her mistress maintained. “Why do you keep it to yourself when I hold you in such close regard? Tell me, please, and give me some relief!” Tamamizu wept and replied, “You will surely understand in the end, but I cannot tell you just now. Please think of me kindly, even after I am gone.” Her mistress was most disturbed.

As the day of the procession drew near, Tamamizu thought long and hard: “Although I may be an animal, I’d like to approach my mistress and seal a lover’s bond. But how sorry I would feel for her if I did!16 And yet to go on simply seeing her and being beside her like this … it would be only a fleeting comfort! I’d like to tell her this to her face, but considering that I’ve kept it a secret until now, she would be utterly horrified. The Procession to the Palace—that’s when I’ll disappear! It’s a wonder that I haven’t been found out yet in this shape-shifting form.”

Tamamizu writes her confession. (From Tamamizu monogatari, courtesy of the Kyoto University Library)

Claiming to have a cold, Tamamizu shut herself up in her room and wrote down everything from the beginning: her condition when she first fell in love with her mistress, and all that had happened since. She collected the pages and placed them in a small box, which she took to her lady. “Lately,” she said, “I’ve somehow come to realize that the world is pointless and fleeting. In my wretchedness, it occurred to me that I might even just vanish in the night. So I would like to offer you this box. If something should happen to me, then please take a look inside.” She broke down and wept.

Her mistress thought this strange. “What could you be thinking to say such a thing?” she asked resentfully. “Perhaps you don’t intend to see me to my new home.”

“I’ll almost certainly accompany you on your journey to the palace,” Tamamizu lied, “but since I’ve been saddened by the thought that something might happen, I wanted to leave this box with you. It seems to me that at the time of the ceremony, there will be so many people watching that I might not be able to give it to you. Please, please consider it to be a precious treasure. Don’t even show it to your dear Tsukisae! There’s a reason for all this, so you shouldn’t show it to anyone else. Open the inner tray after some years have passed and you’ve come to brood on the world and think that you might leave it.”

Her mistress wept and replied, “I had thought that we would always be together, but since you speak like this of the world to come, it leaves me uneasy. I am deeply distressed!” As she took the box from Tamamizu, they both were choked with tears. Tsukisae arrived, and amid the bustle of people coming and going, Tamamizu took her leave. The young lady acted as though nothing had happened and hid the box away.

Now in the confusion of the Procession to the Palace, as the young lady and her attendants were boarding their carriages, Tamamizu slipped away. The Takayanagi Lord thought that she had accompanied his daughter to the court, and at the palace, everyone thought that she had remained behind, given that she had often said that she felt ill. The young lady was grief-stricken, and in her desolation she wondered what on earth could have happened. Two or three days passed. When she heard that Tamamizu was nowhere to be found, she had her father search here and there, but to no avail.

Five and then ten days passed, but even so the young lady thought that she might hear word. She waited in the hope that Tamamizu would return from some distant place, but she never did. “Where could she have disappeared?” she wondered. “Could someone have spirited her away?” Thus, in the midst of her joy at moving to the palace, the gloom in her heart increased all the more. Her ladies-in-waiting in the Women’s Quarters all wept and wailed together, and whatever they did, they thought, “If only she could be here with us!”

The Takayanagi Captain was promoted to Middle Counselor. “Tamamizu has become so famous that something terrible might have occurred,” he thought. Wondering whatever could have happened, he grieved for her as well.

The Takayanagi Captain’s daughter reads Tamamizu’s parting epistle. (From Tamamizu monogatari, courtesy of the Kyoto University Library)

The young lady felt drawn to the contents of the box, but with the emperor constantly present she had no time to spare, and thus the days passed. On one occasion, His Majesty visited the Council of State, and taking this to be a good opportunity, the young lady surreptitiously opened the box and looked inside. The fox had written down everything, from beginning to end. “What is this?” she thought, her heart aflutter; she was both horrified and filled with pity. “To think that he transformed himself like that for my sake, passing the days without ever revealing what he had done … he may be an animal, but how sad! And to have done those things while showing me such consideration—it’s so touching! What a noble heart!” As she read on, her eyes welling with tears, she saw that there was a long poem at the end of the scroll:

tsuka no ma mo

Even though my mound,

sarigatakarishi

for even a moment, was

waga sumika

a dwelling difficult to leave,

kimi wo aimite

ever since that time

sono nochi wa

when I happened to see you

shizugokoro naku

I languished

akugarete

with an unquiet heart.

uwa no sora ni mo

And while my mind wandered

mayoitsutsu

in the vast, spreading sky,

hakanaki mono wo

my life, though fleeting,

kazu naranu

grew wretched

ukimi narikeru

with concerns beyond count.

mono yue ni

All because of this

suzuro ni mi wo ba

I fretted myself away,

tsukushibune

like a boat from Tsukushi:

kogiwataredomo

though rowing out upon the deep,

hare yarade

I was adrift upon the waves,

nami ni tadayou

with no clear sky in sight,

sasagani no

weaker and more frail

ito suji yori mo

than a single thread

kasuka nite

of spider’s silk.

suginishi tsukihi

The days and months that passed—

kazoureba

when I counted them

tada yume to nomi

they seemed to have become

narinikeri

only a dream.

waga mi hitotsu wa

So what to do

ika ni sen

with this single life of mine?

kimi sae nagaki

To think that even you

urami wo ba

might bear

oinan koto no

a long-lasting grudge—

yoshinasa yo

how worthless it would be!

asa yū kimi wo

Even seeing you

miru koto mo

morning and evening,

mi no tagui zo to

“At least our bodies are alike!”

nagusamete

I comforted myself;

yume utsutsu to mo

and reality and dreams

wakigataku

were so hard to tell apart.

akashikurashitsu

This is how I spent my days.

omokage wo

Thinking through the night

itsu no yo made mo

that in whatever world to come

kawaraji to

my image of you

omoiakashi no

might remain unchanged,

ura ni idete

I walked out to Akashi Bay

shioi no kai mo

to gather seashells

hirou kana

from the shoreline.

ama no taku mono

And the evening smoke

yū keburi

of the fisherman’s fire—

tanabiku kata mo

seeing how it trailed off,

natsukashi ya

I thought fondly of you.

shima-zutai nite

Though I am not

mirume karu

a fisherman’s child

ama no kodomo ni

hunting for seaweed

aranedomo

from isle to isle,

kawaku ma mo naki

my sleeves still have no time to dry,

sode no ue ni

and even the wind

tobikuru kaze mo

that blows upon them

hoshikanete

can hardly make them so.

nabiku keshiki wo

When from afar

yoso ni mite

I see them trailing,

omoishirarenu

I feel that our lives,

mi no hodo mo

the span of which

tsui ni kainaki

we cannot know,

kokochi shite

are useless in the end.

tada hitofude wo

I can only ply my brush

susamioku

and set these things down.

tamazusa bakari

And with this letter alone

mi ni soete

to keep beside you

nagaki omoi no

as a witness of my

shirushi zo to

long-held affection,

tsune wa toburau

you must grieve, I think,

kokochi aran

with constant sorrow.

nochi no yo made no

Even if I should become

kakehashi to

a bridge for you

narite mo kimi wo

’twixt this life and the next,

mamoriten

I will protect you.

kakaru ukimi wo

I thought to keep my wretched lot

hito shirezu

unknown to others

toburawaji to wa

and unmourned by them,

Ono no yama

but my feelings color my face

mada aki naranu

like Mount Ono

iro ni idete

before autumn’s arrival.

mada tameshi naki

Wishing that you

tagui wo mo

might remember

omoiideyo no

our unprecedented bond,

kokoro nite

I simply keep on writing,

tada kakisusamu

letting my brush run as before.

mizukuki no

More than the waters

iwane wo izuru

of the mountain stream

yamagawa no

gushing from the rocks,

tanimizu yori mo

these tears overflow

tokoroseki

my dewy sleeves.

tamoto no tsuyu mo

Might you never for a moment

kimi wa shiraji na

know such sorrow!

 

iro ni idete

May you come to know

iwanu omoi no

through these leaves of words

aware wo mo

the pathos of my feelings,

kono koto no ha ni

unspoken yet betrayed

omoishiranan

by my blushing face.

 

moreidete

Having leaked out,

mata kaeramu to

this jeweled water—this Tamamizu—

tamamizu no

longs to come back again

nigori naki yo ni

and protect you in the clear pool

kimi wo mamoran

of an unsullied world.

He had written this poem and appended two shorter verses at the end. He wrote of some other things in great detail, and these moved the lady to believe that his feelings were far from shallow: “Although the years may pass, this box, if not despised, will not grow old; because its love for the one who keeps it will increase, I present it to you. Just as I told you, do not open the inner tray while I am privileged to be near you; it is when you have come to brood on the world and wish to leave it behind that you must open it and look inside.”

Although he may have been a beast, his heart was as gentle as these words, and it was to express the depth of his compassion that he wrote these things down.

TRANSLATION BY WILLIAM BRYANT AND KELLER KIMBROUGH; INTRODUCTION BY KELLER KIMBROUGH

 

 

The translation and illustrations are from the two-volume Tamamizu monogatari manuscript (undated) in the collection of the Kyoto University Library, typeset in Yokoyama Shigeru and Matsumoto Ryūshin, eds., Muromachi jidai monogatari taisei (Tokyo: Kadokawa Shoten, 1980), 8:570–84.

  1. The twenty-five features (normally thirty-two) are derived from the belief that a buddha has thirty-two distinguishing physical characteristics. In this case, the thirty-two features seem to have been conflated with the twenty-five bodhisattvas.

  2. The word omoine (longing in one’s sleep) contains the word ne (“chirp” or “cry”), which suggests the cuckoo’s song.

  3. Foxes are traditionally associated with Mount Inari and its Fushimi Inari Shrine.

  4. The phrase mi no uki (wretched self) is contained within mi no ukishizumu (a body [would] float and sink), adding to the density of the verse.

  5. We have translated this and some subsequent passages from the two-volume Tamamizu monogatari in the collection of the Kyoto University Kokugogaku Kokubungaku Kenkyūshitsu, which in some cases seems to be clearer than the Kyoto University Library text. See Kyoto Daigaku Bungakubu Kokugogaku Kokubungaku Kenkyūshitsu, ed., Kyoto daigaku zō Muromachi monogatari (Kyoto: Rinsen Shoten, 2000), 12:375.

  6. The last two lines of the poem are ambiguous. Alternatively translated, they might read, “May my feelings for another not change like this!”

  7. The poem contains puns on haha はは (mother) and ha wa はは (leaves + subject particle marker), and on nokoru ko (remaining child) and nokoru kozue (remaining tips of branches).

  8. The word ko no ha (tree leaf) suggests the homonymic ko no ha (leaves of the child) and ko no haha (mother of the child). In the text of Momiji awase (The Contest of Autumn Leaves), a variant of The Tale of Tamamizu in the Kyoto University Library, Tsukisae’s poem reads:

hatsuhana no

In her affinity

tsubomeru iro no

for the tint

yukashisa ni

of the first budding flowers,

ika ni kozue no

how she must hate to leave

yo wo oshimuran

the world of the branches!

As in her mistress’s poem, the word kozue (tips of branches) contains the word ko (child). See Momiji awase, in Muromachi jidai monogatari taisei, ed. Yokoyama Shigeru and Matsumoto Ryūshin (Tokyo: Kadokawa Shoten, 1985), 13:195a.

  9. Tamamizu recites what seems to be a garbled quotation from an unknown sutra, which we have glossed over in the translation.

10. The Six Realms of Darkness are the six planes of existence through which unenlightened sentient beings transmigrate according to their karma. They include the Three Evil Realms of animals, hungry ghosts, and hell.

11. The Engi emperor was Emperor Daigo (885–930, r. 897–930). The Hell of No Respite (Muken jigoku, Skt. Avīci) is the deepest and worst of the eight burning hells, where evildoers are tortured constantly without interruption.

12. According to The Contest of Autumn Leaves, it was Daigo’s “only child, the holy man Hōin Shōnin,” who plucked him out of hell. See Momiji awase, in Muromachi jidai monogatari taisei, ed. Yokoyama and Matsumoto, 13:196b.

13. Mount Shosha is the site of Enkyōji Temple. Emperor Shōmu (701–756) reigned from 724 to 749.

14. Hōnen (1133–1212) is traditionally recognized as the founder of the Pure Land sect of Japanese Buddhism. He appears, in this volume, as a character in Little Atsumori.

15. The nenbutsu is the ritual incantation of the name of Amida (Skt. Amitābha) Buddha.

16. In The Contest of Autumn Leaves, Tamamizu reasons that it would be easy enough to consummate their relationship, but that it would cause her mistress’s death if her mistress were to sleep with an animal. See Momiji awase, in Muromachi jidai monogatari taisei, ed. Yokoyama and Matsumoto, 13:198b.