No More Learning

Over their heads flocks of wild geese rustled on their way homeward
with their plaintive cry, which made the thoughts of the spectators
revert to their homes. Genji hummed this verse:--

"Those wandering birds above us flying,
Do they our far-off friends resemble.
With their voice of plaintive crying
Make us full of thoughtful sighing. "

Yoshikiyo took up the idea and replied:--

"Though these birds no friends of ours
Are, and we to them are nought,
Yet their voice in these still hours
Bring those old friends to our thought. "

Then Koremitz continued:--

"Before to-day I always thought
They flew on pleasure's wing alone,
But now their fate to me is fraught
With some resemblance to our own. "

Ukon-no-Jio added:--

"Though we, like them, have left our home
To wander forth, yet still for me
There's joy to think where'er I roam
My faithful friends are still with me. "

Ukon-no-Jio was the brother of Ki-no-Kami. His father, Iyo-no-Kami,
had now been promoted to be Hitachi-no-Kami (Governor of Hitachi), and
had gone down to that province, but Ukon-no-Jio did not join his
father, who would have gladly taken him, and faithfully followed
Genji.

This evening happened to be the fifteenth of August, on which day a
pleasant reunion is generally held at the Imperial Palace. Genji
looked at the silvery pale sky, and as he did so the affectionate face
of the Emperor, his brother, whose expression strikingly resembled
their father's, presented itself to his mind. After a deep and long
sigh, he returned to his couch, humming as he went:--

"Here is still a robe
His Majesty gave to me. "

It should be here noticed that he had been presented by the Emperor on
a certain occasion with a robe, and this robe he had never parted
with, even in his exile.

About this time Daini (the senior Secretary of the Lord-Lieutenant of
Kiusiu) returned to the capital with his family, having completed his
official term. His daughter had been a virgin dancer, and was known to
Genji. They preferred to travel by water, and slowly sailed up along
the beautiful coast. When they arrived at Suma, the distant sound of a
_kin_[109] was heard, mingled with the sea-coast wind, and they were
told that Genji was there in exile. Daini therefore sent his son
Chikzen-no-Kami to the Prince with these words: "Coming back from a
distant quarter I expected as soon as I should arrive in the capital
to have had the pleasure of visiting you and listening to your
pleasant voice, and talking of events which have taken place there,
but little did I think that you had taken up your residence in this
part of the country. How greatly do I sympathize with you! I ought to
land and see you at once, but there are too many people in the same
boat, therefore I think it better to avoid the slightest grounds which
may cause them to talk. However, possibly I shall pay you a visit
soon. "

This Chikzen-no-Kami had been for some time previously a Kurand (a
sort of equerry) to Genji, therefore his visit was especially welcome
to him. He said that since he had left the capital it had become
difficult to see any of his acquaintances, and that therefore this
especial visit was a great pleasure to him. His reply to the message
of Daini was to the same effect. Chikzen-no-Kami soon took his leave,
and returning to the boat, reported to his father and others all he
had seen. His sister also wrote to Genji privately thus: "Pray excuse
me if I am too bold.

Know you not the mind is swayed
Like the tow-rope of our boat,
At the sounds your Kin has made,
Which around us sweetly float. "

When Genji received this, his pleasure was expressed by his placid
smile, and he sent back the following:--

"If this music moves the mind
So greatly as you say,
No one would care to leave behind
These lonely waves of Suma's bay. "

This recalls to our mind that there was in the olden time an exile
who gave a stanza even to the postmaster of a village. [110] Why then
should not Genji have sent to her whom he knew this stanza?

In the meantime, as time went on, more sympathizers with Genji were
found in the capital, including no less a personage than the Emperor
himself. True it is that before Genji left, many even of his relatives
and most intimate friends refrained from paying their respects to him,
but in the course of time not a few began to correspond with him, and
sometimes they communicated their ideas to each other in pathetic
poetry. These things reached the ears of the Empress-mother, who was
greatly irritated by them. She said: "The only thing a man who has
offended the Court should do is to keep himself as quiet as possible.
It is most unpardonable that such a man should haughtily cause scandal
to the Court from his humble dwelling. Does he intend to imitate the
treacherous example of one who made a deer pass for a horse? [111]
Those who intrigue with such a man are equally blamable. " These
spiteful remarks once more put a stop to the correspondence.

Meanwhile, at Suma, the autumn passed away and winter succeeded, with
all its dreariness of scene, and with occasional falls of snow. Genji
often spent the evening in playing upon the Kin, being accompanied by
Koremitz's flute and the singing of Yoshikiyo. It was on one of these
evenings that the story of a young Chinese Court lady, who had been
sent to the frozen land of barbarians, occurred to Genji's mind. He
thought what a great trial it would be if one were obliged to send
away one whom he loved, like the lady in the tale, and as he reflected
on this, with some melancholy feelings, it appeared to him as vividly
as if it were only an event of yesterday, and he hummed:--

"The sound of the piper's distant strain
Broke on her dreams in the frozen eve. "

He then tried to sleep, but could not do so, and as he lay the distant
cry of Chidori reached his ears. [112] He hummed again as he heard
them:--

"Although on lonely couch I lie
Without a mate, yet still so near,
At dawn the cries of Chidori,
With their fond mates, 'tis sweet to hear. "

Having washed his hands, he spent some time in reading a Kio (Sutra),
and in this manner the winter-time passed away.

Towards the end of February the young cherry-trees which Genji had
planted in his garden blossomed, and this brought to his memory the
well-known cherry-tree in the Southern Palace, and the _fete_ in which
he had taken part. The noble countenance of the late ex-Emperor, and
that of the present one, the then Heir-apparent, which had struck him
much at that time, returned to his recollection with the scene where
he had read out his poem.

"While on the lordly crowd I muse,
Which haunts the Royal festive hours,
The day has come when I've put on
The crown of fairest cherry flowers. "

While thus meditating on the past, strange to say, To-no-Chiujio,
Genji's brother-in-law, came from the capital to see the Prince. He
had been now made Saishio (privy councillor). Having, therefore, more
responsibility, he had to be more cautious in dealing with the public.
He had, however, a personal sympathy with Genji, and thus came to see
him, at the risk of offending the Court.

The first thing which struck his eyes was, not the natural beauty of
the scenery, but the style of Genji's residence, which showed the
novelty of pure Chinese fashion. The enclosure was surrounded by "a
trellis-work of bamboo," with "stone steps," and "pillars of
pine-tree. "[113]

He entered, and the pleasure of Genji and To-no-Chiujio was immense,
so much so that they shed tears. The style of the Prince's dress next
attracted the attention of To-no-Chiujio. He was habited in a plain,
simple country style, the coat being of an unforbidden color, a dull
yellow, the trousers of a subdued green.

The furniture was all of a temporary nature, with Go and Sugorok
playing boards, as well as one for the game of Dagi. He noticed some
articles for the services of religion, showing that Genji was wont to
indulge in devotional exercises. The visitor told Genji many things on
the subject of affairs in the capital, which he had been longing to
impart to him for many months past; telling him also how the
grandfather of his boy always delighted in playing with him, and
giving him many more interesting details.

Several fishermen came with the fish which they had caught. Genji
called them in and made them show their spoils. He also led them to
talk of their lives spent on the sea, and each in his own peculiar
local dialect gave him a narration of his joys and sorrows. He then
dismissed them with the gift of some stuff to make them clothing. All
this was quite a novelty to the eyes of To-no-Chiujio, who also saw
the stable in which he obtained a glimpse of some horses. The
attendants at the time were feeding them. Dinner was presently served,
at which the dishes were necessarily simple, yet tasteful. In the
evening they did not retire to rest early, but spent their time in
continuing their conversation and in composing verses.

Although To-no-Chiujio had, in coming, risked the displeasure of the
Court, he still thought it better to avoid any possible slander, and
therefore he made up his mind to set out for his home early next
morning. The _sake_ cup was offered, and they partook of it as they
hummed,

"In our parting cup, the tears of sadness fall. "

Several presents had been brought from the capital for Genji by
To-no-Chiujio, and, in return, the former made him a present of an
excellent dark-colored horse, and also a celebrated flute, as a token
of remembrance.

As the sun shed forth his brilliant rays To-no-Chiujio took his leave,
and as he did so he said, "When shall I see you again, you cannot be
here long? " Genji replied,

"Yon noble crane that soars on high,[114]
And hovers in the clear blue sky,
Believe my soul as pure and light;
As spotless as the spring day bright.

However, a man like me, whose fortune once becomes adverse seldom
regains, even in the case of great wisdom, the prosperity he once
fully enjoyed, and so I cannot predict when I may find myself again in
the capital. "

So To-no-Chiujio, having replied as follows:--

"The crane mounts up on high, 'tis true,
But now he soars and cries alone,
Still fondly thinking of his friend,
With whom in former days he flew,"

set off on his homeward road, leaving Genji cast down for some time.

Now the coast of Akashi is a very short distance from Suma, and there
lived the former Governor of the province, now a priest, of whom we
have spoken before. Yoshikiyo well remembered his lovely daughter,
and, after he came to Suma with Genji, he wrote to her now and then.
He did not get any answer from her, but sometimes heard from her
father, to whom Genji's exile became soon known, and who wished to see
him for a reason not altogether agreeable to himself. It should be
remembered that this old man always entertained aspirations on behalf
of his daughter, and in his eyes the successive governors of the
province who came after him, and whose influence had been unbounded,
were considered as nobodies. To him, his young daughter was
everything; and he used to send her twice a year to visit the temple
of Sumiyoshi, in order that she might obtain good fortune by the
blessing of the god.

She was not of an ideal beauty, but yet expressive in countenance and
exalted in mind. She could, in this respect, rival any of those of
high birth in the capital.

The priest said one day to his wife, "Prince Genji, the imperial son
of the Koyi of Kiritsubo is now at Suma in exile, having offended the
Court. How fortunate it would be if we could take the opportunity of
presenting our child to him! "

The wife replied, "Ah, how dreadful, when I heard what the townspeople
talk, I understood that he has several mistresses. He went even so far
as to carry on a secret intimacy, which happened to be obnoxious to
the Emperor, and it is said that this offence was the cause of his
exile. "

"I have some reason for mentioning this to you," he interrupted,
impatiently; "it is not a thing which you understand, so make up your
mind, I shall bring the matter about, and take an opportunity of
making him come to us. "

"No matter how distinguished a personage he is," replied the wife, "it
is a fact that he has offended the Court and is exiled. I do not
understand why you could take a fancy to such a man for our maiden
daughter. It is not a joking matter. I hope you will take it into
graver consideration. "

"That a man of ability and distinction should meet with adverse
fortune is a very common occurrence," said he, still more obstinately,
"both in our empire and in that of China. How then do you venture to
say such things against the Prince? His mother was the daughter of an
Azechi Dainagon, who was my uncle. She enjoyed a good reputation, and
when she was introduced at Court, became both prosperous and
distinguished. Although her life was shortened by the suffering caused
by the fierce jealousy of her rivals, she left behind the royal child,
who is no other person than Prince Genji. A woman should always be
aspiring, as this lady was. What objection then is there in the idea
of introducing our only child to a man like him? Although I am now
only a country gentleman, I do not think he would withdraw his favor
from me. "

Such were the opinions of this old man, and hence his discouragement
of the advances of Yoshikiyo.

The first of March came, and Genji was persuaded by some to perform
Horai (prayer for purification) for the coming occasion of the
Third. [115] He therefore sent for a calendar-priest, with whom he went
out, accompanied by attendants, to the sea-shore. Here a tent was
erected ceremoniously, and the priest began his prayers, which were
accompanied by the launching of a small boat, containing figures
representing human images. On seeing this Genji said,

"Never thought I, in my younger day,
To be thrown on the wild sea-shore,
And like these figures to float away,
And perhaps see my home no more. "

As he contemplated the scene around him, he perceived that the wild
surface of the sea was still and calm, like a mirror without its
frame. He offered prayers in profound silence, and then exclaimed,

"Oh, all ye eight millions of gods,[116] hear my cry,
Oh, give me your sympathy, aid me, I pray,
For when I look over my life, ne'er did I
Commit any wrong, or my fellows betray. "

Suddenly, as he spoke these words, the wind arose and began to blow
fiercely. The sky became dark, and torrents of rain soon followed.
This caused great confusion to all present, and each ran back to the
house without finishing the ceremony of prayers. None of them were
prepared for the storm, and all got drenched with the rain. From this
the rain continued to pour down, and the surface of the sea became as
it were tapestried with white, over which the lightning darted and the
thunder rolled. It seemed as if thunderbolts were crashing overhead,
and the force of the rain appeared to penetrate the earth. Everyone
was frightened, for they thought the end of the world was near.

Genji occupied his time in quietly reading his Buddhist Bible. In the
evening, the thunder became less loud, though the wind still blew not
less violently than in the daytime. Everyone in the residence said
that they had heard of what is termed a flood-tide, which often caused
a great deal of damage, but they had never witnessed such a scene as
they had that day. Genji dropped off into a slumber, when indistinctly
the resemblance of a human figure came to him and said, "You are
requested to come to the palace, why don't you come? "

Genji was startled by the words, and awoke. He thought that the king
of the dragon palace[117] might have admired him, and was perhaps the
author of this strange dream. These thoughts made him weary of
remaining at Suma.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 106: When a person was exiled, he was generally deprived of
his own title, or was degraded. Genji appears to have been deprived of
his. ]

[Footnote 107: A favorite phrase in Chinese poems describing the
journey of exile. ]

[Footnote 108: Suma is about sixty miles from Kioto, the then
capital. ]

[Footnote 109: A musical instrument--often called a _koto. _]

[Footnote 110: When Sugawara, before referred to, arrived at Akashi,
on his way to exile, the village postmaster expressed his surprise.
Thereupon Sugawara gave him a stanza, which he composed:

"Oh, master, be not surprised to see
This change in my estate, for so
Once to bloom, and once to fade
Is spring and autumn's usual lot. "
]

[Footnote 111: In Chinese history it is recounted that a certain
artful intriguer made a fool of his Sovereign by bringing a deer to
the Court and presenting it before the Emperor, declaring it to be a
horse. All the courtiers, induced by his great influence, agreed with
him in calling it a horse, to the Emperor's great astonishment and
bewilderment. ]

[Footnote 112: The coast along by Suma is celebrated for Chidori, a
small sea-bird that always flies in large flocks. Their cries are
considered very plaintive, and are often spoken of by poets. ]

[Footnote 113: Expressions used in a poem by Hak-rak-ten, describing a
tasteful residence. ]

[Footnote 114: Here To-no-Chiujio is compared to the bird. ]

[Footnote 115: The third day of March is one of five festival days in
China and Japan, when prayers for purification, or prayers intended to
request the freeing one's self from the influence of fiends, are said
on the banks of a river. ]

[Footnote 116: In the Japanese mythology the number of gods who
assemble at their councils is stated to have been eight millions. This
is an expression which is used to signify a large number rather than
an exact one. ]

[Footnote 117: In Japanese mythology we have a story that there were
two brothers, one of whom was always very lucky in fishing, and the
other in hunting. One day, to vary their amusements, the former took
his brother's bow and arrows and went to the mountain to hunt. The
latter took the fishing-rod, and went to the sea, but unfortunately
lost his brother's hook in the water. At this he was very miserable,
and wandered abstractedly along the coast. The dragon god of the
dragon palace, under the blue main, admired his beauty, and wishing
him to marry his daughter, lured him into the dragon palace. ]




CHAPTER XIII

EXILE AT AKASHI


The storm and thunder still continued for some days, and the same
strange dream visited Genji over and over again.

This made him miserable. To return to the capital was not yet to be
thought of, as to do so before the imperial permission was given,
would only be to increase his disgrace. On the other hand, to render
himself obscure by seeking further retreat was also not to be thought
of, as it might cause another rumor that he had been driven away by
mere fear of the disturbed state of the ocean.

In the meantime, a messenger arrived from the capital with a letter
from Violet. It was a letter of inquiry about himself. It was written
in most affectionate terms, and stated that the weather there was
extremely disagreeable, as rain was pouring down continuously, and
that this made her especially gloomy in thinking of him. This letter
gave Genji great pleasure.

The messenger was of the lowest class. At other times Genji would
never have permitted such sort of people to approach him, but under
the present circumstances of his life he was only too glad to put up
with it. He summoned the man to his presence, and made him talk of all
the latest news in the capital.

The messenger told him, in awkward terms, that in the capital these
storms were considered to be a kind of heavenly warning, that a
Nin-wo-ye[118] was going to be held; and that many nobles who had to
go to Court were prevented from doing so by the storms, adding that he
never remembered such violent storms before.

From the dawn of the next day the winds blew louder, the tide flowed
higher, and the sound of the waves resounded with a deafening noise.
The thunder rolled and the lightning flashed, while everyone was
trembling in alarm, and were all, including Genji, offering up prayers
and vows to the God of Sumiyoshi, whose temple was at no great
distance, and also to other gods. Meanwhile a thunderbolt struck the
corridor of Genji's residence and set fire to it. The Prince and his
friends retired to a small house behind, which served as a kitchen.
The sky was as if blackened with ink, and in that state of darkness
the day ended. In the evening the wind gradually abated, the rain
diminished to a thin shower, and even the stars began to blink out of
the heavens.

This temporary retreat was now irksome, and they thought of returning
to their dwelling quarters, but they saw nothing but ruins and
confusion from the storm, so they remained where they were. Genji was
occupied in prayer. The moon began to smile from above, the flow of
the tide could be seen, and the rippling of the waves heard. He opened
the rude wooden door, and contemplated the scene before him. He seemed
to be alone in the world, having no one to participate in his
feelings. He heard several fishermen talking in their peculiar
dialect. Feeling much wearied by the events of the day, he soon
retired, and resigned himself to slumber, reclining near one side of
the room, in which there were none of the comforts of an ordinary
bedchamber.

All at once his late father appeared before his eyes in the exact
image of life, and said to him, "Why are you in so strange a place? "
and taking his hand, continued, "Embark at once in a boat, as the God
of Sumiyoshi[119] guides you, and leave this coast. "

Genji was delighted at this, and replied, "Since I parted from you I
have undergone many misfortunes, and I thought that I might be buried
on this coast. "

"It must not be thus," the phantom replied; "your being here is only a
punishment for a trifling sin which you have committed. For my own
part, when I was on the throne, I did no wrong, but I have somehow
been involved in some trifling sin, and before I expiated it I left
the world. Hurt, however, at beholding you oppressed with such
hardships I came up here, plunging into the waves, and rising on the
shore. I am much fatigued; but I have something I wish to tell the
Emperor, so I must haste away," and he left Genji, who felt very much
affected, and cried out, "Let me accompany you! " With this exclamation
he awoke, and looked up, when he saw nothing but the moon's face
shining through the windows, with the clouds reposing in the sky.

The image of his father still vividly remained before his eyes, and he
could not realize that it was only a dream. He became suddenly sad,
and was filled with regret that he did not talk a little more, even
though it was only in a dream. He could not sleep any more this night,
and dawn broke, when a small boat was seen approaching the coast, with
a few persons in it.

A man from the boat came up to the residence of Genji. When he was
asked who he was, he replied that the priest of Akashi (the former
Governor) had come from Akashi in his boat, and that he wished to see
Yoshikiyo, and to tell him the reason of his coming. Yoshikiyo was
surprised, and said, "I have known him for years, but there was a
slight reason why we were not the best of friends, and some time has
now passed without correspondence. What makes him come? "

As to Genji, however, the arrival of the boat made him think of its
coincidence with the subject of his dream, so he hurried Yoshikiyo to
go and see the new comers. Thereupon the latter went to the boat,
thinking as he went, "How could he come to this place amidst the
storms which have been raging? "

The priest now told Yoshikiyo that in a dream which he had on the
first day of the month, a strange being told him a strange thing, and,
said he, "I thought it too credulous to believe in a dream, but the
object appeared again, and told me that on the thirteenth of this
month he will give me a supernatural sign, directing me also to
prepare a boat, and as soon as the storm ceased, to sail out to this
coast. Therefore, to test its truth I launched a boat, but strange to
say, on this day the extraordinarily violent weather of rain, wind,
and thunder occurred. I then thought that in China there had been
several instances of people benefiting the country by believing in
dreams, so though this may not exactly be the case with mine, yet I
thought it my duty, at all events, to inform you of the fact. With
these thoughts I started in the boat, when a slight miraculous breeze,
as it were, blew, and drove me to this coast. I can have no doubt that
this was divine direction. Perhaps there might have been some
inspiration in this place, too; and I wish to trouble you to transmit
this to the Prince. "

Yoshikiyo then returned and faithfully told Genji all about his
conversation with the priest. When Genji came to reflect, he thought
that so many dreams having visited him must have some significance. It
might only increase his disgrace if he were to despise such divine
warnings merely from worldly considerations, and from fear of
consequences. It would be better to resign himself to one more
advanced in age, and more experienced than himself. An ancient sage
says, that "resigning one's self makes one happier," besides, his
father had also enjoined him in the dream to leave the coast of Suma,
and there remained no further doubt for taking this step. He,
therefore, gave this answer to the priest, that "coming into an
unknown locality, plunged in solitude, receiving scarcely any visits
from friends in the capital, the only thing I have to regard as
friends of old times are the sun and the moon that pass over the
boundless heavens. Under these circumstances, I shall be only too
delighted to visit your part of the coast, and to find there such a
suitable retreat. "

This answer gave the priest great joy, and he pressed Genji to set out
at once and come to him. The Prince did so with his usual four or five
confidential attendants. The same wind which had miraculously blown
the vessel of the priest to Suma now changed, and carried them with
equal favor and speed back to Akashi. On their landing they entered a
carriage waiting for them, and went to the mansion of the priest.

The scenery around the coast was no less novel than that of Suma, the
only difference being that there were more people there.
The building
was grand, and there was also a grand Buddha-hall adjoining for the
service of the priest. The plantations of trees, the shrubberies, the
rock-work, and the mimic lakes in the garden were so beautifully
arranged as to exceed the power of an artist to depict, while the
style of the dwelling was so tasteful that it was in no way inferior
to any in the capital.

The wife and the daughter of the priest were not residing here, but
were at another mansion on the hill-side, where they had removed from
fear of the recent high tides.

Genji now took up his quarters with the priest in this seaside
mansion. The first thing he did when he felt a little settled was to
write to the capital, and tell his friends of his change of residence.
The priest was about sixty years old, and was very sincere in his
religious service. The only subject of anxiety which he felt was, as
we have already mentioned, the welfare of his daughter. When Genji
became thoroughly settled he often joined the priest, and spent hours
in conversing with him. The latter, from his age and experience, was
full of information and anecdotes, many of which were quite new to
Genji, but the narration of them seemed always to turn upon his
daughter.

April had now come. The trees began to be clothed with a thick shade
of leaves, which had a peculiar novelty of appearance, differing from
that of the flowers of spring, or the bright dyes of autumn. The Kuina
(a particular bird of summer) commenced their fluttering. The
furniture and dresses were changed for those more suitable to the time
of year. The comfort of the house was most agreeable. It was on one of
these evenings that the surface of the broad ocean spread before the
eye was unshadowed by the clouds, and the Isle of Awaji floated like
foam on its face, just as it appeared to do at Suma. Genji took out
his favorite _kin_, on which he had not practised for some time, and
was playing an air called "Korio," when the priest joined him, having
left for awhile his devotions, and said that his music recalled to his
mind the old days and the capital which he had quitted so long. He
sent for a _biwa_ (mandolin)[120] and a _soh-koto_ from the hill-side
mansion, and, after the fashion of a blind singer of ballads to the
_biwa_, played two or three airs.

He then handed the _soh-koto_ to Genji, who also played a few tunes,
saying, as he did so, in a casual manner, "This sounds best when
played upon by some fair hand. " The priest smiled, and rejoined: "What
better hand than yours need we wish to hear playing; for my part, my
poor skill has been transmitted to me, through three generations, from
the royal hand of the Emperor Yenghi, though I now belong to the past;
but, occasionally, when my loneliness oppresses me, I indulge in my
old amusement, and there is one who, listening to my strains, has
learnt to imitate them so well that they resemble those of the Emperor
Yenghi himself. I shall be very happy, if you desire, to find an
opportunity for you to hear them. "

Genji at once laid aside the instrument, saying: "Ah, how bold! I did
not know I was among proficients," and continued, "From olden time the
_soh-koto_ was peculiarly adopted by female musicians. The fifth
daughter of the Emperor Saga, from whom she had received the secret,
was a celebrated performer, but no one of equal skill succeeded her.
Of course there are several players, but these merely strike or strum
on the instrument; but in this retreat there is a skilful hand. How
delightful it will be. "

"If you desire to hear, there is no difficulty. I will introduce her
to you. She also plays the _biwa_ very well. The _biwa_ has been
considered from olden time very difficult to master, and I am proud of
her doing so. "

In this manner the priest led the conversation to his own daughter,
while fruit and _sake_ were brought in for refreshment. He then went
on talking of his life since he first came to the coast of Akashi, and
of his devotion to religion, for the sake of future happiness, and
also out of solicitude for his daughter. He continued: "Although I
feel rather awkward in saying it, I am almost inclined to think your
coming to this remote vicinity has something providential in it, as an
answer, as it were, to our earnest prayers, and it may give you some
consolation and pleasure. The reason why I think so is this--it is
nearly eighteen years since we began to pray for the blessing of the
God Sumiyoshi on our daughter, and we have sent her twice a year, in
spring and autumn, to his temple. At the 'six-time' service,[121]
also, the prayers for my own repose on the lotus flower,[122] are only
secondary to those which I put up for the happiness of my daughter. My
father, as you may know, held a good office in the capital, but I am
now a plain countryman, and if I leave matters in their present state,
the status of my family will soon become lower and lower. Fortunately
this girl was promising from her childhood, and my desire was to
present her to some distinguished personage in the capital, not
without disappointment to many suitors, and I have often told her that
if my desire is not fulfilled she had better throw herself into the
sea. "

Such was the tedious discourse which the priest held on the subject of
his family affairs; yet it is not surprising that it awakened an
interest in the susceptible mind of Genji for the fair maiden thus
described as so promising. The priest at last, in spite of the shyness
and reserve of the daughter, and the unwillingness of the mother,
conducted Genji to the hill-side mansion, and introduced him to the
maiden. In the course of time they gradually became more than mere
acquaintances to each other. For some time Genji often found himself
at the hill-side mansion, and her society appeared to afford him
greater pleasure than anything else, but this did not quite meet with
the approval of his conscience, and the girl in the mansion at Nijio
returned to his thoughts. If this flirtation of his should become
known to her, he thought, it perhaps would be very annoying to her.
True, she was not much given to be jealous, but he well remembered the
occasional complaints she had now and then made to him while in the
capital. These feelings induced him to write more frequently and more
minutely to her, and he soon began to frequent the hill-side mansion
less often. His leisure hours were spent in sketching, as he used to
do in Suma, and writing short poetic effusions explanatory of the
scenery. This was also going on in the mansion at Nijio, where Violet
passed the long hours away in painting different pictures, and also in
writing, in the form of a diary, what she saw and did. What will be
the issue of all these things?

Now, since the spring of the year there had been several heavenly
warnings in the capital, and things in general were somewhat
unsettled. On the evening of the thirteenth of March, when the rain
and wind had raged, the late Emperor appeared in a dream to his son
the Emperor, in front of the palace, looking reproachfully upon him.
The Emperor showed every token of submission and respect when the dead
Emperor told him of many things, all of which concerned Genji's
interests. The Emperor became alarmed, and when he awoke he told his
mother all about his dream. She, however, told him that on such
occasions, when the storm rages, and the sky is obscured by the
disturbance of the elements, all things, especially on which our
thoughts have been long occupied, appear to us in a dream in a
disturbed sleep; and she continued, "I further counsel you not to be
too hastily alarmed by such trifles. " From this time he began to
suffer from sore eyes, which may have resulted from the angry glances
of his father's spirit. About the same time the father of the
Empress-mother died. His death was by no means premature; but yet,
when such events take place repeatedly, it causes the mind to imagine
there is something more than natural going on, and this made the
Empress-mother feel a little indisposed.

The Emperor then constantly told her that if Genji were left in his
present condition it might induce evil, and, therefore, it would be
better to recall him, and restore his titles and honors to him. She
obstinately opposed these ideas, saying, "If a person who proved to be
guilty, and has retired from the capital, were to be recalled before
the expiration of at least three years, it would naturally show the
weakness of authority. "

She gained her point, and thus the days were spent and the year
changed.

The Emperor still continually suffered from indisposition, and the
unsettled state of things remained the same as before. A prince had
been born to him, who was now about two years old, and he began to
think of abdicating the throne in favor of the Heir-apparent, the
child of the Princess Wistaria. When he looked around to see who would
best minister public affairs, he came to think that the disgrace of
Genji was a matter not to be allowed to continue, and at last,
contrary to the advice of his mother, he issued a public permission
for Genji's return to the capital, which was repeated at the end of
July. Genji therefore prepared to come back. Before, however, he
started, a month passed away, which time was mostly spent in the
society of the lady of the hill-side mansion. The expected journey of
Genji was now auspicious, even to him, and ought also to have been so
to the family of the priest, but parting has always something painful
in its nature. This was more so because the girl had by this time the
witness of their love in her bosom, but he told her that he would send
for her when his position was assured in the capital.

Towards the middle of August everything was in readiness, and Genji
started on his journey homeward. He went to Naniwa, where he had the
ceremony of Horai performed. To the temple of Sumiyoshi he sent a
messenger to say that the haste of his journey prevented him coming at
this time, but that he would fulfil his vows as soon as circumstances
would permit. From Naniwa he proceeded to the capital, and returned
once more, after an absence of nearly three years, to his mansion at
Nijio. The joy and excitement of the inmates of the mansion were
unbounded, and the development of Violet charmed his eyes. His delight
was great and the pleasure of his mind was of the most agreeable
nature; still, from time to time, in the midst of this very pleasure,
the recollection of the maiden whom he had left at Akashi occurred to
his thoughts. But this kind of perturbation was only the result of
what had arisen from the very nature of Genji's character.

Before the lapse of many days all his titles and honors were restored
to him, and he was soon created an extra Vice-Dainagon.

All those who had lost dignities or office on account of Genji's
complications were also restored to them. It seemed to these like a
sudden and unexpected return of spring to the leafless tree.

In the course of a few days Genji was invited by the Emperor to come
and see him. The latter had scarcely recovered from his indisposition,
and was still looking weak and thin. When Genji appeared before him,
he manifested great pleasure, and they conversed together in a
friendly way till the evening.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 118: A religious feast in the Imperial Palace, in which
Nin-wo-kio, one of the Buddhist Bibles, was read, an event which
rarely took place. Its object was to tranquillize the country. ]

[Footnote 119: The god of the sea. ]

[Footnote 120: The "biwa," more than any other instrument, is played
by blind performers, who accompany it with ballads. ]

[Footnote 121: The services performed by rigid priests were six times
daily--namely, at early morn, mid-day, sunset, early evening,
midnight, and after midnight. ]

[Footnote 122: The Buddhist idea that when we get into Paradise we
take our seat upon the lotus flower. ]




CHAPTER XIV

THE BEACON


Genji well remembered the dream which he had dreamt at Suma, and in
which his father, the late ex-Emperor, had made a faint allusion to
his fallen state. He was always thinking of having solemn service
performed for him, which might prove to be a remedy for evils.

He was now in the capital, and at liberty to do anything he wished. In
October, therefore, he ordered the grand ceremony of Mihakko to be
performed for the repose of the dead. Meanwhile the respect of the
public towards Genji had now returned to its former state, and he
himself had become a distinguished personage in the capital. The
Empress-mother, though indisposed, regretted she had not ruined Genji
altogether; while the Emperor, who had not forgotten the injunction of
the late ex-Emperor, felt satisfied with his recent disposition
towards his half-brother, which he believed to be an act of goodness.

This he felt the more, because he noticed the improvement in his
health continued from day to day, and he experienced a sensation of
fresh vigor. He did not, however, believe he should be long on the
throne, and when he found himself lonely, he often sent for Genji, and
spent hours conversing with him, without any reserve, on public
affairs.

In February of the next year the ceremony of the "Gembuk" of the
Heir-apparent, who was eleven years of age, was performed.

At the end of the same month the Emperor abdicated the throne in favor
of the Heir-apparent, and his own son was made the Heir-apparent to
the new Emperor.

The suddenness of these changes struck the Empress-mother with
surprise, but she was told by her son that his abdication had been
occasioned by his desire to enjoy quiet and repose.

The new reign opened with several changes in public affairs. Genji had
been made Naidaijin. He filled this extra office of Daijin because
there was no vacancy either in the Sadaijin or the Udaijin. He was to
take an active part in the administration, but as he was not yet
disposed to engage in the busy cares of official life, the
ex-Sadaijin, his father-in-law, was solicited to become the regent for
the young Emperor. He at first declined to accept the office, on the
ground that he was advanced in age, that he had already retired from
official life, and that the decline of his life left him insufficient
energy. There was, however, an example in a foreign State, where some
wise councillors, who resigned and had retired into the far-off
mountains when their country was in a disturbed state, came forth from
their retreat, with their snow-crowned heads, and took part in the
administration of affairs. Nor was it an unusual thing for a statesman
who had retired from political scenes to assume again a place under
another government.

So the ex-Sadaijin did not persist in his refusal, but finally
accepted the post of Dajiodaijin (the Premier). He was now sixty-three
years of age. His former retirement had taken place more on account of
his disgust with the world than from his indisposition, and hence,
when he accepted his new post, he at once showed how capable he was of
being a responsible Minister. To-no-Chiujio, his eldest son, was also
made the Gon-Chiunagon. His daughter by his wife, the fourth daughter
of Udaijin, was now twelve years old, and was shortly expected to be
presented at Court; while his son, who had sung the "high sand" at a
summer-day reunion at Genji's mansion, received a title. The young
Genji too, the son of the late Lady Aoi, was admitted to the Court of
the Emperor and of the Heir-apparent.

The attendants who faithfully served the young Genji, and those in the
mansion at Nijio, had all received a satisfactory token of
appreciation from Genji, who now began to have a mansion repaired,
which was situated to the east of the one in which he resided, and
which had formerly belonged to his father. This he did with a notion
of placing there some of his intimate friends, such as the younger one
of the ladies in the "Villa of Falling Flowers. "

Now the young maiden also, whom Genji had left behind at Akashi, and
who had been in delicate health, did not pass away from his thoughts.
He despatched a messenger there on the first of March, as he deemed
the happy event would take place about that time. When the messenger
returned, he reported that she was safely delivered of a girl on the
sixteenth of the month.

He remembered the prediction of an astrologer who had told him that an
Emperor would be born to him, and another son who would eventually
become a Dajiodaijin. He also remembered that a daughter, who would be
afterwards an Empress, would be also born to him, by a lady inferior
to the mothers of the other two children. When he reflected on this
prediction and on the series of events, he began thinking of the
remarkable coincidences they betrayed; and as he thought of sending
for her, as soon as the condition of the young mother's health would
admit, he hurried forward the repairs of the eastern mansion. He also
thought that as there might not be a suitable nurse at Akashi for the
child, he ought to send one from the capital. Fortunately there was a
lady there who had lately been delivered of a child. Her mother, who
had waited at Court when the late ex-Emperor lived, and her father,
who had been some time Court Chamberlain, were both dead. She was now
in miserable circumstances. Genji sounded her, through a certain
channel, whether she would not be willing to be useful to him. This
offer on his part she accepted without much hesitation, and was
despatched with a confidential servant to attend on the new-born
child. He also sent with her a sword and other presents. She left the
capital in a carriage, and proceeded by boat to the province of
Settsu, and thence on horseback to Akashi.

When she arrived the priest was intensely delighted, and the young
mother, who had been gradually improving in health, felt great
consolation. The child was very healthy, and the nurse at once began
to discharge her duties most faithfully.

Hitherto Genji did not confide the story of his relations with the
maiden of Akashi to Violet, but he thought he had better do so, as the
matter might naturally reach her ears. He now, therefore, informed her
of all the circumstances, and of the birth of the child, saying, "If
you feel any unpleasantness about the matter, I cannot blame you in
any way. It was not the blessing which I desired. How greatly do I
regret that in the quarter where I wished to see the heavenly gift,
there is none, but see it in another, where there was no expectation.
The child is merely a girl too, and I almost think that I need pay no
further attention. But this would make me heartless towards my
undoubted offspring. I shall send for it and show it to you, and hope
you will be generous to her. Can you assure me you will be so? " At
these words Violet's face became red as crimson, but she did not lose
her temper, and quietly replied:

"Your saying this only makes me contemptible to myself, as I think my
generosity may not yet be fully understood; but I should like to know
when and where I could have learnt to be ungenerous. "

"These words sound too hard to me," said he. "How can you be so cruel
to me? Pray don't attribute any blame to me; I never thought of it.
How miserable am I! " And he began to drop tears when he came to
reflect how faithful she had been all the time, and how affectionate,
and also how regular had been her correspondence. He felt sorry for
her, and continued, "In my anxious thoughts about this child, I have
some intentions which may be agreeable to you also, only I will not
tell you too hastily, since, if I do so now, they might not be taken
in a favorable light. The attractions of the mother seem only to have
arisen from the position in which she was placed. You must not think
of the matter too seriously. " He then briefly sketched her character
and her skill in music. But on the part of Violet she could not but
think that it was cruel to her to give away part of his heart, while
her thoughts were with no one but him, and she was quite cast down for
some time.

Genji tried to console her. He took up a _kin_ and asked her to play
and sing with him; but she did not touch it, saying that she could not
play it so well as the maiden of Akashi. This very manner of her mild
jealousy made her more captivating to him, and without further remarks
the subject was dropped.

The fifth of May was the fiftieth day of the birth of the child, so
Genji sent a messenger to Akashi a few days before the time when he
would be expected. At Akashi the feast for the occasion was arranged
with great pains, and the arrival of Genji's messenger was most
opportune.

Let us now relate something about the Princess Wistaria. --Though she
had become a nun, her title of ex-Empress had never been lost; and
now the change in the reigning sovereign gave her fresh honors. She
had been recognized as equivalent to an Empress-regnant who had
abdicated. A liberal allowance was granted to her, and a becoming
household was established for her private use. She, however, still
continued her devotion to religion, now and then coming to Court to
see her son, where she was received with all cordiality; so that her
rival, the mother of the ex-Emperor, whose influence was overwhelming
till lately, now began to feel like one to whom the world had become
irksome.

In the meantime, public affairs entirely changed their aspects, and
the world seemed at this time to have been divided between the
Dajiodaijin and his son-in-law, Genji, by whose influence all things
in public were swayed.

In August, of this year, the daughter of Gon-Chiunagon (formerly
To-no-Chiujio) was introduced at Court. She took up her abode in the
Kokiden, which had been formerly occupied by her maternal aunt, and
she was also styled from this time the Niogo of Kokiden. Prince
Hiob-Kio had also the intention of introducing his second daughter at
Court, but Genji took no interest in this. What will he eventually do
about this matter?

In the same autumn Genji went to the Temple of Sumiyoshi to fulfil his
vows. His party consisted of many young nobles and Court retainers,
besides his own private attendants.

By a coincidence the maiden of Akashi, who had been prevented from
coming to the Temple since the last year, happened to arrive there on
the same day. Her party travelled in a boat, and when it reached the
beach they saw the procession of Genji's party crossing before them.
They did not know what procession it was, and asked the bystanders
about it, who, in return, asked them sarcastically, "Can there be
anyone who does not know of the coming of Naidaijin, the Prince Genji,
here to-day to fulfil his vows? "

Most of the young nobles were on horseback, with beautifully made
saddles; and others, including Ukon-no-Jio, Yoshikiyo, and Koremitz,
in fine uniforms of different colors (blue, green, or scarlet),
according to their different ranks, formed the procession, contrasting
with the hue of the range of pine-trees on both sides of the road.

Genji was in a carriage, which was followed by ten boy pages, granted
by the Court in the same way as a late Sadaijin, Kawara, had been
honored. They were dressed in admirable taste, and their hair was
twisted up in the form of a double knot, with ribbons of gorgeous
purple. The young Genji was also in the procession on horseback, and
followed the carriage.

The maiden of Akashi witnessed the procession, but she avoided making
herself known. She thought she had better not go up to the Temple on
that day; but she could not sail back to Akashi, so she had her boat
moored in the bay of Naniwa for the night. As to Genji, he knew
nothing of the maiden being a spectator of the procession, and spent
the whole night in the Temple with his party in performing services
which might please the God.

It was then that he was informed by Koremitz that he had seen the
maiden of Akashi in a boat. On the morrow Genji and his party set off
for their homes. As they proceeded Genji hummed,

"Ima hata onaji Naniwa nal,"[123]

and he stopped, while contemplating the bay. Koremitz, who stood
beside him, and divined what he was thinking about, took out a small
pen from his pocket and presented it to Genji, who took it and wrote
the following on a piece of paper, which he sent to the maiden by one
of his attendants who knew her whereabouts:--

"Divinely led by love's bright flame,
To this lone temple's shrine we come;
And as yon beacon meets our eye,
To dream, perchance, of days gone by. "

A few words more. The change of the ruler had brought a change of the
Saigu; and the Lady of Rokjio, with her daughter, returned to the
capital. Her health, however, began to fail, and she became a nun, and
after some time died. Before her death Genji visited her, and with her
last breath she consigned her daughter to his care. Genji was
thinking, therefore, of introducing her at Court at some future time.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 123: A line of an old ode about the beacon in the bay of
Naniwa, at the same time expressing the desire of meeting with a loved
one. It is impossible to translate this ode literally, as in the
original there is a play upon words, the word beacon (in Japanese)
also meaning "enthusiastic endeavor. " The word "myo-tzkushi" (beacon) more properly means "water-marker" though disused in the
modern Japanese. In the translation a little liberty has been taken. ]




CHAPTER XV

OVERGROWN MUGWORT


When Genji was an exile on the sea-coast, many people had been longing
for his return. Among these was the Princess Hitachi. She was, as we
have seen, the survivor of his Royal father, and the kindness which
she had received from Genji was to her like the reflection of the
broad starlit sky in a basin of water. After Genji left the capital,
however, no correspondence ever passed between them. Several of her
servants left her, and her residence became more lonely than ever. A
fox might have found a covert in the overgrown shrubbery, and the cry
of the owl might have been heard among the thick branches. One might
imagine some mysterious "tree-spirit" to reign there. Nevertheless,
such grounds as these, surrounded with lofty trees, are more tempting
to those who desire to have a stylish dwelling. Hence there were
several Durios (local governors) who had become rich, and having
returned from different provinces, sounded the Princess to see if she
were inclined to part with her residence; but this she always refused
to do, saying that, however unfortunate she might be, she was not able
to give up a mansion inherited from her parents.

The mansion contained also a store of rare and antique articles.
Several fashionable persons endeavored to induce the Princess to part
with them; but such people appeared only contemptible to her, as she
looked upon them as proposing such a thing solely because they knew
she was poor. Her attendants sometimes suggested to her that it was by
no means an uncommon occurrence for one to dispose of such articles
when destiny necessitated the sacrifice; but her reply was that these
things had been handed down to her only that she might make use of
them, and that she would be violating the wishes of the dead if she
consented to part with them, allowing them to become the ornament of
the dwellings of some lowborn upstarts.

Scarcely anyone paid a visit to her dwelling, her only occasional
visitor being her brother, a priest, who came to see her when he came
to the capital, but he was a man of eccentric character, and was not
very flourishing in his circumstances.

Such being the state of affairs with the Princess Hitachi, the grounds
of her mansion became more and more desolate and wild, the mugwort
growing so tall that it reached the veranda. The surrounding walls of
massive earth broke down here and there and crumbled away, being
trampled over by wandering cattle. In spring and summer boys would
sometimes play there. In the autumn a gale blew down a corridor, and
carried away part of the shingle roof.