The Story of Princess Hase

Many, many years ago, in Nara, the old capital of Japan, there lived a wise minister of state called Prince Toyonari Fujiwara. His wife, Princess Murasaki, whose name means Violet, was noble, good and beautiful. Their families had arranged their marriage when they were young, and they had lived happily together ever since. Yet they had one great sorrow: as the years went by, no child came to them. They both longed for a child of their own to brighten their old age, carry on the family name and keep up the rites for their ancestors when they were gone.

After long talks and much thought, the prince and his lovely wife decided to make a pilgrimage to the temple of Hase-no-Kwannon, the Goddess of Mercy at Hase. Their faith taught that Kwannon, the Mother of Mercy, answers the prayers of mortals in whatever form they need most, and surely, after all their years of prayer, she would come to them now as a beloved child, the one thing their lives lacked. They had everything else this world could give, but none of it mattered while their hearts’ deepest wish went unanswered.

So Prince Toyonari and his wife went to the temple at Hase and stayed there a long time, burning incense and praying every day to Kwannon, the Heavenly Mother, to grant the wish of their lives. And their prayer was answered. At last Princess Murasaki gave birth to a daughter, and her heart overflowed with joy. When she showed the baby to her husband, they agreed to call her Hase-Hime, the Princess of Hase, because she was Kwannon’s gift from that place. They brought her up with great care and tenderness, and she grew strong and beautiful.

When the little girl was five, her mother fell gravely ill, and none of the doctors or their medicines could save her. Shortly before she died, she called her daughter to her and gently stroked her hair. “Hase-Hime, do you know that your mother cannot live much longer? Even when I am gone, you must grow up a good girl. Try your best not to give trouble to your nurse or anyone else in the family. Perhaps your father will marry a second time and someone will take my place as your mother. If so, don’t grieve for me, but treat your father’s new wife as your true mother, and be obedient and dutiful to her and to your father. When you are grown, remember to be humble toward those above you and kind to all those below you. Don’t forget this. I die hoping that you will grow up to be a fine woman.”

Hase-Hime listened respectfully and promised to do everything she was told. There is a proverb that says “As the soul is at three, so it is at a hundred,” and so Hase-Hime grew up as her mother had wished, a good and obedient little princess, though she was still too young to understand how much she had lost.

Not long after his first wife’s death, Prince Toyonari married a noblewoman called Princess Terute. Alas, she was nothing like the good, wise Princess Murasaki. She had a cruel and wicked heart. She did not love her stepdaughter at all and was often unkind to the motherless little girl, saying to herself, “This is not my child! This is not my child!”

But Hase-Hime bore every unkindness patiently. She waited on her stepmother kindly, obeyed her in everything and never made trouble, just as her own good mother had taught her, so that Lady Terute had nothing to complain of.

The little princess worked hard at her lessons, and her favorite studies were music and poetry. She practiced for hours every day, and her father found the most skillful masters he could to teach her the koto, a Japanese zither, as well as letter writing and verse. By the time she was twelve she played so beautifully that she and her stepmother were summoned to the palace to perform before the Emperor.

It was the Festival of the Cherry Blossoms, and the court was full of celebrations. The Emperor threw himself into the pleasures of the season and commanded that Princess Hase play the koto for him, with her stepmother, Princess Terute, accompanying her on the flute. He sat on a raised platform behind a curtain of fine split bamboo hung with purple tassels, so that he could see everything without being seen, for no ordinary subject was allowed to look on his sacred face.

Young as she was, Hase-Hime was a gifted musician who often amazed her teachers with her memory and talent, and on this great occasion she played well. But Princess Terute was lazy and never bothered to practice. She broke down in the middle of her part and had to ask one of the court ladies to take her place. It was a great disgrace, and she was wildly jealous that she had failed where her stepdaughter had succeeded. To make matters worse, the Emperor sent the little princess many lovely presents as a reward for playing so well at the palace.

There was now another reason for Princess Terute to hate her stepdaughter, for she had been lucky enough to have a son, and deep down she kept thinking, “If only Hase-Hime were out of the way, my son would have all his father’s love.” She had never learned to govern herself, and she let this wicked thought grow until it became a dreadful wish to take her stepdaughter’s life.

One day she secretly got hold of some poison and mixed it into some sweet wine, which she poured into a bottle. Into a second bottle just like it she poured good wine. It was the Boys’ Festival, on the fifth of May, and Hase-Hime was playing with her little brother. All his toy warriors and heroes were spread out, and she was telling him wonderful stories about each one. They were laughing happily with their attendants when his mother came in carrying the two bottles of wine and some delicious cakes.

“You are both so good and happy,” said wicked Princess Terute with a smile, “that I have brought you some sweet wine as a treat, and here are some nice cakes for my good children.” And she filled two cups from the two bottles.

Never dreaming of the terrible part her stepmother was playing, Hase-Hime took one cup and handed the other to her little brother. The wicked woman had marked the poisoned bottle carefully, but she had grown nervous as she came into the room, and in pouring the wine in a hurry she had given the poisoned cup to her own child without knowing it. All the while she watched the little princess anxiously, but to her astonishment the girl’s face did not change at all. Suddenly the little boy cried out and fell to the floor, doubled up in pain. His mother rushed to him, taking care to knock over the two little jars of wine as she went, and picked him up. The attendants ran for the doctor, but nothing could be done, and within the hour the child died in his mother’s arms. The cause remained hidden, and the household thought the wine had disagreed with the boy and brought on the fits that killed him.

Terute’s attempt to kill her stepdaughter had instead killed her own innocent child. But instead of blaming herself, in her bitterness and misery she hated Hase-Hime more than ever and watched eagerly for a chance to harm her. That chance was a long time coming.

By the age of thirteen, Hase-Hime was already spoken of as a poet of some talent, an accomplishment highly prized among the women of old Japan.

It was the rainy season in Nara, and every day brought news of flood damage nearby. The Tatsuta River, which ran through the grounds of the Imperial Palace, had risen to the top of its banks, and the roar of the torrent rushing along its narrow bed kept the Emperor awake day and night until he fell seriously ill with his nerves. An Imperial order went out to all the Buddhist temples, commanding the priests to pray without ceasing for Heaven to quiet the flood, but it did no good.

Then word went round the court that Princess Hase, daughter of Prince Toyonari Fujiwara, second minister of the court, was the finest poet of the day despite her youth, and her teachers agreed. The old biographers of the poet Ono-no-Komachi told how that lovely and gifted maiden had once moved Heaven with a prayer in verse and brought rain to a land dying of drought. If Princess Hase wrote a poem and offered it as a prayer, might it not silence the roaring river and cure the Emperor? The talk reached the Emperor himself at last, and he sent an order to that effect to Prince Toyonari.

Hase-Hime was frightened and astonished when her father called her and told her what was wanted of her. It was a heavy duty to lay on such young shoulders: to save the Emperor’s life by the worth of her verse.

At last the day came and her poem was ready, written on a sheet of paper thickly sprinkled with gold dust. With her father, her attendants and some court officials, she went down to the bank of the roaring torrent. Lifting her heart to Heaven, she read her poem aloud, holding it up toward the sky in both hands.

To everyone standing there it seemed marvelous. The waters stopped their roaring, and the river grew quiet in answer to her prayer. Soon afterward the Emperor recovered his health.

His Majesty was delighted. He called her to the palace and rewarded her with the rank of Chinjo, Lieutenant-General, to honor her. From then on she was known as Chinjo-hime, the Lieutenant-General Princess, and everyone loved and respected her.

Only one person was not pleased by Hase-Hime’s success, and that was her stepmother. Always brooding over the death of her own son, whom she had killed in trying to poison her stepdaughter, she now had the bitterness of watching the girl rise to power and honor, favored by the Emperor and admired by the whole court. Envy and jealousy burned in her heart like fire. She told her husband lie after lie about Hase-Hime, but it was no use. He would not listen to any of her stories and told her sharply that she was quite wrong.

At last, while her husband was away, the stepmother ordered one of her old servants to take the innocent girl to the Hibari Mountains, the wildest part of the country, and kill her there. She made up a terrible story about the young princess and claimed that killing her was the only way to save the family from disgrace.

Katoda was expected to obey his mistress, but he would not carry out her cruel order. While the girl’s father was away, he judged it safest to pretend to comply. So he put Hase-Hime in a palanquin and took her to the loneliest spot he could find in that wild region. The poor girl knew it was no use protesting to her unkind stepmother about being sent away so strangely, so she went as she was told.

But the old servant knew the young princess was innocent of everything her stepmother had accused her of, and he made up his mind to save her. Yet unless he killed her, he could not go back to his cruel mistress, so he decided to stay in the wilderness. With the help of some peasants he soon built a little cottage, and he sent secretly for his wife to join him. The two good old people did everything they could to look after the unfortunate princess. All the while she trusted in her father, knowing that as soon as he came home and found her gone, he would look for her.

After some weeks Prince Toyonari came home, and his wife told him that Hase-Hime had done something wrong and run away for fear of being punished. He was nearly sick with worry. Everyone in the house told the same story: Hase-Hime had suddenly disappeared, and no one knew why or where. Afraid of a scandal, he kept the matter quiet and searched every place he could think of, but all in vain.

One day, trying to forget his dreadful anxiety, he called his men together and told them to prepare for a hunt of several days in the mountains. They were soon mounted and waiting at the gate. He rode hard and fast toward the Hibari Mountains with a great company behind him, and before long he was far ahead of everyone, alone in a narrow, lovely valley.

As he looked round admiring the scenery, he noticed a tiny house on a hillside close by, and then he clearly heard a beautiful, clear voice reading aloud. Curious to know who could be studying so hard in such a lonely place, he got down, left his horse with his groom and walked up the hill toward the cottage. The nearer he came, the more surprised he was, for he could see that the reader was a beautiful girl. The cottage was open to the air, and she sat facing the view, reading the Buddhist scriptures with deep devotion. More and more curious, he hurried to the little gate, stepped into the garden, looked up and saw his lost daughter. She was so absorbed in her reading that she neither heard nor saw him until he spoke.

“Hase-Hime!” he cried. “It is you, my Hase-Hime!”

Taken by surprise, she could hardly believe that it was her own dear father calling her, and for a moment she could neither speak nor move. “My father, my father! It really is you, oh, my father!” was all she could say, and running to him she clutched his thick sleeve, hid her face in it and burst into a flood of tears.

Her father stroked her dark hair and gently asked her to tell him everything that had happened, but she only went on weeping, and he wondered whether he was dreaming.

Then the faithful old servant Katoda came out, bowed to the ground before his master and poured out the whole long story of the wrong that had been done, explaining how it came about that the prince had found his daughter in such a wild and lonely place with only two old servants to look after her.

The prince’s astonishment and anger knew no bounds. He gave up the hunt at once and hurried home with his daughter. One of his company galloped ahead to bring the household the happy news. When the stepmother heard what had happened, she was afraid to face her husband now that her wickedness was known. She fled the house and went home in disgrace to her father’s roof, and nothing more was heard of her.

Old Katoda was given the highest post in his master’s service and lived happily to the end of his days, devoted to the young princess, who never forgot that she owed her life to this faithful servant. Free from her unkind stepmother, she spent her days quietly and happily with her father.

Since Prince Toyonari had no son, he adopted a younger son of one of the court nobles to be his heir and to marry Hase-Hime, and in a few years the wedding took place. Hase-Hime lived to a good old age, and everyone said she was the wisest, most devout and most beautiful lady ever to rule over Prince Toyonari’s ancient house. She had the joy of presenting her son, the future head of the family, to her father shortly ahead of his retirement from public life.

Ozaki closes by describing a piece of needlework said to be kept in a Buddhist temple in Kioto in her day: a tapestry with the figure of Buddha embroidered in silky threads drawn from the stems of the lotus, and it is said to be the work of the good Princess Hase’s own hands.

About this story

“The Story of Princess Hase” is the seventh tale in Yei Theodora Ozaki’s Japanese Fairy Tales, where it carries the subtitle “A Story of Old Japan.” It is set in Nara, the ancient capital, and the princess takes her name from the temple of Kwannon, the Goddess of Mercy, at Hase, where her parents prayed for a child.

Ozaki ends with a detail from her own day: a tapestry of the Buddha, embroidered with thread drawn from lotus stems and said to be Princess Hase’s work, kept in a Buddhist temple in Kioto. She also mentions the poet Ono-no-Komachi, who was said to have brought rain with a prayer in verse.

Read the original: Japanese Fairy Tales (Project Gutenberg)

For older readers: includes the death of a parent, a child fatally poisoned, abuse and an order to murder a girl.

Katoda protects her by refusing an order

Hase follows her mother’s advice to be dutiful, but obedience cannot stop Terute’s violence. The decisive protection comes when Katoda refuses to kill her and, with his wife and local helpers, provides a safe place to live. Her father’s discovery matters because other people have already kept her alive.

The poisoned child is another victim of Terute’s actions, not a fitting payment for his mother’s guilt. Likewise, Hase’s talent and patience do not mean a child must be exceptionally good to deserve safety. The verse that quiets the river belongs to the tale’s religious wonder, rather than evidence about controlling floods.

Track protection, not just endurance

List what Katoda, his wife, the peasants and Hase’s father each do. Which action would fail if everyone obeyed the stepmother? Then rewrite one of the mother’s instructions as advice that preserves kindness while allowing Hase to seek help when harmed.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art identifies the koto as a zither. Ozaki’s closing tapestry attribution is a historical report in her retelling, not confirmation of an object’s present location or authorship. The broader Chūjō-hime tradition is explored by the Nara National Museum through the Taima Mandala and Pure Land belief.

Think about it

• How did Hase-Hime keep the promise she made to her mother?
• Why did Katoda only pretend to obey his mistress?
• Who is harmed by the stepmother’s plans, and why is the little boy’s death not his fault?

More stories like this

• The Mirror of Matsuyama — another daughter of old Japan who stays loving under a cruel stepmother
• The Bamboo-Cutter and the Moon-Child — a beautiful, gifted girl honored by the Emperor
• The Story of Prince Yamato Take — a tale of the old Japanese court