Warriors of Old Japan, and Other Stories — The Princess of the Bowl, Part 2

The mother's purpose in covering her daughter's head with the hideous bowl was at last made clear.

Fearing that her daughter's beauty would prove to be a peril to her, with no mother to watch over her, she had hidden it thus, and the intensity of her wish had assumed supernatural power, so that all attempts to remove it were useless till the moment came when it was no longer needed; then it broke off of its own accord.

At last the lovers stooped to pick up the pieces of the bowl, when to their amazement they found the ground strewn with treasures and all that a bride could possibly need for her portion.

There were many gold _kanzashi_ (ornamental pins for the hair), silver wine-cups, many precious stones and gold coins, and a wedding-garment of twelve folded _kimono_, and a _hakama_ of brilliant scarlet brocade.

"Oh, surely," said the Princess, "these treasures must be what my mother prepared for my marriage portion.

Indeed a mother's tender love is above everything!"

She wept with mingled feelings of joy and pain,--pain of the remembrance of her mother and joy at her present unlooked-for deliverance and the certainty of future happiness.

Saisho told her that there was now no need for her to leave the house.

She was not only a richly dowered bride, but now that her face was no longer hidden by the hideous bowl, so beautiful that even a king would be proud to wed her.

She need no longer fear to be present at the coming ceremony and feast.

So they both turned back, and hastened to prepare for the trial which awaited the Bowl-Wearer, but Bowl-Wearer now no longer.

As soon as day broke, the house was full of movement, servants hurrying to and fro to usher in and wait upon the relations, who now began to arrive.

The murmur of their chattering was like the sound of breaking waves on a distant shore, and the object of all this talk was nothing else than the poor little Princess.

The servants told every one that she was in her room getting ready for the approaching feast, and they all thought it strange that she had not fled away for shame.

Little did they dream of all that had happened to her!

At last the hour of the "Bride Comparing Ceremony" arrived.

The family and the relations all took their places at the upper end of the big guest-hall of thirty mats.

First entered the bride of the eldest son.

She was only twenty-two years of age, and as it was the season of autumn, she wore a brightly coloured kimono and walked into the room in a stately fashion, with her scarlet hakama trailing over the cream mats behind her.

Her costume was indeed beautiful to behold!

To her parents-in-law she brought gifts of ten rolls of rich silk and two suits of the ceremonial gown called _kosode_ (each _kosode_ consisting of twelve long _kimono_ folded one over the other), all of which she placed on a fine lacquer tray to present them.

Next came the bride of the second son.

She was twenty years of age, and was of the aristocratic type of beauty, thin and slender, with a long pale oval face.

She wore a heavy silk robe, and over this a flowing gown of gold brocade.

Her _hakama_ was embroidered profusely with crimson plum-blossoms.

She came into the room quietly, with a gentle bearing, and offered as her gifts of presentation thirty suits of silk robes to her husband's parents.

Then came the bride of the third son.

She was only eighteen years of age.

Quite different from the first two proud beauties, she was very pretty and dainty, and though small had more sweetness and charm in her manner than her sisters.

Her dress was of rich silk embroidered with cherry-blossoms.

She presented thirty pieces of rare and handsome crape to her parents-in-law.

The three sat side by side in their conscious pride and prosperity, their beauty enhanced by the sheen and splendour of their silken gowns.

As the father and mother, uncles and aunts and relations, all gazed upon them, no one could say who deserved the palm of superiority, for they were all lovely.

At the lower end of the room, far away from every one else, was placed a torn mat.

It was the seat destined for the Bowl-Wearer.

"We have seen the three elder brides of the house, and they are all so handsome and so beautifully robed that we are sure there are no women to compare with them in the whole province," said the relations.

"Now it is the turn of the Bowl-Wearer, who aspires to marry the youngest son of the house.

When she comes in with that ridiculous bowl on her head, let us greet her with a burst of laughter!"

The roomful of people eagerly waited for the Bowl-Wearer to come, even as the birds sitting on the eaves of a house long for the morning.

The three brides were also curious to see the cripple girl of whom they had heard so much.

How dared such a creature aspire to become their sister?

they haughtily asked each other.

But the mother felt differently.

She in no wise wished to see the girl appear, for she had arranged this day's ceremony, hoping that the Bowl-Wearer, knowing herself to be a deformed beggar-maid, would be too ashamed to appear before such a grand company and would flee away rather than face the trial.

On asking the servants, however, she was told that she was still in the house, and she wondered what the girl could be doing, and almost regretted what she had done.

Lord Yamakage and his wife at last grew impatient and sent word to the Bowl-Wearer that she was to hasten, as every one was waiting for her.

The servants went to the back of the house where the Bowl-Wearer had her little room of three mats, and gave her the message.

"I am coming now," she answered from within the paper screens.

The Princess now came out and entered the room of the "Bride Comparing Ceremony," where every one was waiting for her.

She was only sixteen years of age, but so beautiful that she reminded them of the weeping cherry-blossoms in the dew of a spring morning.

Her hair was as black as the sheen on a raven's wing, and her face was lovelier far than that of any human being they had ever seen.

Her under-robes were of rich white silk, and her upper kimono was purple, embroidered with white and pink plum-blossoms.

As the stars pale before the fuller glory of the moon, so the three elder brides shrank into insignificance beside the dazzling beauty of this maiden.

To all it seemed as if one of the _Amatsu Otome_ (heavenly virgins) who wait upon the Goddess of Mercy had glided into the room.

They had expected to see a poverty-stricken girl with a large bowl stuck upside down on the top of her head, and they were lost in astonishment when they beheld the Princess in all the radiance of her loveliness and the splendour of her rich clothes.

The Princess was about to sit down in the seat left for her, but Lord Yamakage made a place for her beside his wife, saying that he could not allow her to sit in such a lowly spot.

She now presented to her father-in-law a silver wine-cup on a gold pedestal, with one hundred _rye_ (old _yen_ in gold), and thirty rolls of silk which she brought in on a beautiful tray.

To his wife she presented the rarest and most delectable fruit of ancient Japan, Konan oranges and Kempo pears, and one hundred pieces of coloured cloth which she put upon a gold stand.

In her surpassing beauty, in the grace of her carriage, in the richness of her costume, in the sumptuousness of the gifts to her parents, she left the other brides far and away behind.

Speechless with wonder and admiration, every one present could not but gaze at her.

Before the Bowl-Wearer had appeared, the three elder brides had seemed beautiful enough, but now the difference was as marked as when a sparkling jewel is placed side by side with a crystal; and as the crystal suffers from the comparison, so did they.

Saisho's elder brothers were looking between the cracks of the sliding screens, and they were filled with envy at Saisho and his good fortune in becoming the husband of such a beautiful princess, for such they now felt she must be.

Not even her rivals could deny that she was bewilderingly fair to look upon; but they whispered among themselves that unless she were skilled in all womanly accomplishments, for all her beauty she would be no better than a common man's daughter.

She must play on the _koto_ at once.

No one could perform on that instrument without years of instruction.

If they waited till the next day, who knows, she was so clever that she might get Saisho to teach her.

So the jealous brides proposed aloud that they should all play a quartette; the eldest would play the _biwa_ (lute), the second the _sho_ (flute), the third the _tsuzumi_ (a kind of a small drum beaten with the hand), and they asked the Bowl-Wearer to join them and play the _koto_ (harp).

The Princess, who was very modest, at first refused; but on second thoughts, she said to herself: "They ask me to do this because they wish to try me, thinking me to be ignorant of such accomplishments.

Well, then, I will play, for my mother taught me."

She pulled the _koto_ near her, and slipping the ivory tips on her fingers began to stroke chords.

The astonishment of every one was great, for she played with great skill.

Saisho, who had hidden himself in the room behind a lacquer cabinet, and was watching with the utmost eagerness all that went on, could hardly keep in his hiding-place, he was so delighted.

The three brides, who were quite put out of countenance, for their performance could in no wise be compared to that of the little Princess, now proposed that she should write a poem.

"Write a poem, a _tanka_ [a poem of thirty-one syllables], which shall describe the character of each season, such as the blooming of the peach and the cherry-blossom in the spring, the orange and wistaria in summer, and the beauty of the chrysanthemum in autumn."

"Oh," said the Bowl-Wearer, "this is indeed a task too difficult for me.

Is there nothing else you will give me to do instead of this?

I can take care of the bath-room, and pull up water from the well, and heat the bath.

Since this is my daily occupation, how is it possible that I should even know how to write a poem, much less compose one?"

She blushed as she spoke.

But her rivals insisted, and so at last she took up a poem card and a brush and wrote:-- Haru wa hana, Natsu wa tachibana, Aki wa kiku, Izure to wakete, Tsuyu ya okuran.

The cherry-blossom of spring, The orange-flower of summer, The autumn chrysanthemum, Perplexed between them all, Alike on each the dew may fall.

She showed not the least hesitation in writing these lines, and her handwriting was so beautiful that even the famous Tofu[1] and her brush could not have surpassed it.

The three brides retired from the room, grumbling and speaking evil of the Bowl-Wearer.

"She must be a witch," they said.

"Probably the spirit of the ancient Tamamono Maye!"

Lord Yamakage, now quite pleased with her, handed her a cup of _saké_.

He gave his full consent to her marrying his son Saisho, and bestowed upon them as a settlement twenty-three hundred _cho_ of land, together with twenty-four servants to wait upon them, and for their bridal chamber he allotted them the Hall of Bamboos.

So Saisho and the Bowl-Wearer were at last married, and all their troubles ended.

Never was there such a merry wedding, such a lovely bride, or such a happy bridegroom.

The days flew into weeks, the weeks flew into months, for the flight of time is unnoticed when one is happy.

At last one day Saisho said to his wife: "I cannot believe you to be the daughter of a common man.

Will you not tell me who your father is?

I

should like to know.

Whatever wrong you have suffered, why hide your parentage any longer?"

The Princess knew that if she told her husband the truth, the name of her cruel stepmother would have to be mentioned, and it would be most unfilial to speak of the woman's cruelty, for she was her father's wife, so she decided not to tell Saisho to what family she belonged.

She made some excuse, saying that he should know all in good time, and begged him to wait a little longer.

[Illustration: SAISHO AND THE BOWL-WEARER WERE AT LAST MARRIED] When they had been happily married for a year, she gave birth to a son.

The bliss of the faithful young couple now seemed complete.

Yet with her ever-growing happiness her thoughts turned more and more to her father.

What had happened to him in these past years?

How she longed to show him her little son!

She said to herself that if this were granted she would be the happiest woman in the whole world.

Now let us turn back and see what happened to Lord Minetaka and his wicked wife.

As time went on, her vicious disposition only became worse.

At last it became so unbearable that all the servants took their leave.

There was now no one left to care for her child or the house, and the fortunes of the family gradually declined.

Lord Minetaka became poorer and poorer.

Where once in the days of the first wife there had been sweet peace and harmony, discord now reigned in the house.

Lord Minetaka grew weary of his life.

He decided to leave his home and set out on a pilgrimage.

He started at last to wander on foot from province to province and from temple to temple, learning from the priests all he could of Buddhist lore.

He had plenty of time for reflection; and no longer harassed by a scolding wife, he began to ponder over his past life.

No words can tell how much he regretted having listened to her slanderous stories about his little daughter; and when he thought of how he had allowed her to be driven from her home, like an outcast or a beggar, his nights were sleepless.

He asked himself every day what could have happened to her all this time.

He would search for her through the length and the breadth of the land, and if she were still alive, he told himself that he would surely meet with her again.

In every temple he came to he prayed that he might find her, wheresoever she might be.

On and on he wandered over the country, stopping for the night at the different villages he came to on his way.

At last he reached the famous Kwannon of the Hatsuse Temple, of the Yamato Province.

Kwannon, the Goddess of Mercy, grants to mortals whatever they need the most, the greatest desire of their hearts.

Here Minetaka ardently prayed for his lost daughter, prayed that she might be preserved from all ill, and that Kwannon would mercifully grant them a speedy meeting.

Saisho and his wife were devoted to this very temple, and often used to visit it to offer thanksgiving for their mutual happiness, and to pray for their children.

Now this day, as was their wont, they had come with their three little sons and some of their retainers.

The little boys were beautifully dressed in silk and crape, and the whole party had the appearance of a nobleman and his retinue.

The retainers went up the temple steps first to clear the way, and found a pilgrim before the temple shrine lost in earnest prayer.

"Oh, pilgrim!"

they cried, "out of the way!

Our lord comes to worship, make way instantly!"

The man, hearing himself spoken to in this way, got up and looked at the approaching party, moving aside at the same time to let them pass.

He was travel-stained and worn out with fatigue, and it was easy to see that he was broken down by some sorrow.

As the little boys passed him, he looked at them eagerly, and as he did so the tears fell from his eyes.

One of the retainers, who thought his behaviour strange, asked the pilgrim why he wept.

"Those children," answered Lord Minetaka, for it was he, "remind me so much of my daughter, for whom I am searching, that when I looked at their faces the tears fell in spite of myself;" and he told the man all that had happened, glad for once to find a sympathetic listener on his lonely wanderings.

When the Princess heard the story, she told the retainers to bring the pilgrim to her.

As soon as they led him to her a glance was enough for her to recognize that, aged and emaciated as he was, the pilgrim was none other than her father.

"I am the Bowl-Wearer!"

she exclaimed quickly, catching hold of her father's sleeve and bursting into tears, overcome with joy and filial affection at this unexpected meeting.

Saisho congratulated his wife and her father on their happy reunion, and after many bows and salutations on both sides, he said: "I felt sure that my wife was of noble birth, though she always remained silent when I questioned her as to her parentage.

Now I understand it all.

So, after all, she is the daughter of Lord Minetaka of Katano."

He then insisted that his father-in-law should give up his wanderings and make his home with them for the rest of his days.

So Lord Minetaka at last found his good daughter married to one of his own rank, and so happy that even in dreams he could have wished for nothing better for her.

What a joyous home-coming it was that day for the Bowl-Wearer, as she led her father back with her and presented her three little sons to him, and showed him her beautiful home, and told him how good and faithful her husband had been to her while she was only the unhappy and despised Bowl-Wearer!

They all felt that their cup of happiness was full, and lived together more harmoniously than ever, and in their mutual joy all past sorrow was forgotten.

Such is the story of the Bowl-Wearing Princess, which is told from grandmother to mother and from mother to daughter in all households in Japan.

[1] Tofu.

A lady famous for her beautiful handwriting.