No More Learning

To do her justice, she had no thought of
wandering from one to another; but circumstances often make things
appear as if we did so. She was, by nature, extremely reserved, so
that she did not like to speak out her feelings to others, but rather
suffered in silence by herself. This, perhaps, you also have noticed. "

"Then it was so, after all. She was the Tokonatz of To-no-Chiujio,"
thought Genji; and now it also transpired that all that Koremitz had
stated about To-no-Chiujio's visiting her at the Yugao house was a
pure invention, suggested by a slight acquaintance with the girl's
previous history.

"The Chiujio told me once," said Genji, "that she had a little one.
Was there any such? "

"Yes, she had one in the spring of the year before last--a girl, a
nice child," replied Ukon.

"Where is she now? " asked Genji, "perhaps you will bring her to me
some day. I should like to have her with me as a memento of her
mother. I should not mind mentioning it to her father, but if I did
so, I must reveal the whole sad story of her mother's fate, and this
would not be advisable at present; however, I do not see any harm if I
were to bring her up as my daughter. You might manage it somehow
without my name being mentioned to any one concerned. "

"That would be a great happiness for the child," exclaimed Ukon,
delighted, "I do not much appreciate her being brought up where she
is. "

"Well, I will do so, only let us wait for some better chance. For the
present be discreet. "

"Yes, of course. I cannot yet take any steps towards that object; we
must not unfurl our sails before the storm is completely over. "

The foliage of the ground, touched with autumnal tints, was beginning
to fade, and the sounds of insects (_mushi_) were growing faint, and
both Genji and Ukon were absorbed by the sad charm of the scene. As
they meditated, they heard doves cooing among the bamboo woods.

To Genji it brought back the cries of that strange bird, which cry he
had heard on that fearful night in Rokjio, and the subject recurred to
his mind once more, and he said to Ukon, "How old was she? "

"Nineteen. "

"And how came you to know her? "

"I was the daughter of her first nurse, and a great favorite of her
father's, who brought me up with her, and from that time I never left
her. When I come to think of those days I wonder how I can exist
without her. The poet says truly, 'The deeper the love, the more
bitter the parting. ' Ah! how gentle and retiring she was. How much I
loved her! "

"That retiring and gentle temperament," said Genji, "gives far greater
beauty to women than all beside, for to have no natural pliability
makes women utterly worthless. "

The sky by this time became covered, and the wind blew chilly. Genji
gazed intently on it and hummed:--

"When we regard the clouds above,
Our souls are filled with fond desire,
To me the smoke of my dead love,
Seems rising from the funeral pyre. "

The distant sound of the bleacher's hammer reached their ears, and
reminded him of the sound he had heard in the Yugao's house. He bade
"Good-night" to Ukon, and retired to rest, humming as he went:--

"In the long nights of August and September. "

On the forty-ninth day (after the death of the Yugao) he went to the
Hokke Hall in the Hiye mountain, and there had a service for the dead
performed, with full ceremony and rich offerings. The monk-brother of
Koremitz took every pains in its performance.

The composition of requiem prayers was made by Genji himself, and
revised by a professor of literature, one of his intimate friends. He
expressed in it the melancholy sentiment about the death of one whom
he had dearly loved, and whom he had yielded to Buddha. But who she
was was not stated. Among the offerings there was a dress. He took it
up in his hands and sorrowfully murmured,

"With tears to-day, the dress she wore
I fold together, when shall I
Bright Elysium's far-off shore
This robe of hers again untie? "

And the thought that the soul of the deceased might be still wandering
and unsettled to that very day, but that now the time had come when
her final destiny would be decided,[59] made him pray for her more
fervently.

So closed the sad event of Yugao.

Now Genji was always thinking that he should wish to see his beloved
in a dream.

The evening after his visit to the Hokke Hall, he beheld her in his
slumbers, as he wished, but at the same moment the terrible face of
the woman that he had seen on that fearful evening in Rokjio again
appeared before him; hence he concluded that the same mysterious being
who tenanted that dreary mansion had taken advantage of his fears and
had destroyed his beloved Yugao.

A few words more about the house in which she had lived. After her
flight no communication had been sent to them even by Ukon, and they
had no idea of where she had gone to. The mistress of the house was a
daughter of the nurse of Yugao. She with her two sisters lived there.
Ukon was a stranger to them, and they imagined that her being so was
the reason of her sending no intelligence to them. True they had
entertained some suspicions about the gay Prince, and pressed Koremitz
to confide the truth to them, but the latter, as he had done before,
kept himself skilfully aloof.

They then thought she might have been seduced and carried off by some
gallant son of a local Governor, who feared his intrigue might be
discovered by To-no-Chiujio.

During these days Kokimi, of Ki-no-Kami's house, still used to come
occasionally to Genji. But for some time past the latter had not sent
any letter to Cicada. When she heard of his illness she not
unnaturally felt for him, and also she had experienced a sort of
disappointment in not seeing his writing for some time, especially as
the time of her departure for the country was approaching. She
therefore sent him a letter of inquiry with the following:--

"If long time passes slow away,
Without a word from absent friend,
Our fears no longer brook delay,
But must some kindly greeting send. "

To this letter Genji returned a kind answer and also the following:--

"This world to me did once appear
Like Cicada's shell, when cast away,
Till words addressed by one so dear,
Have taught my hopes a brighter day. "

This was written with a trembling hand, but still bearing nice traits,
and when it reached Cicada, and she saw that he had not yet forgotten
past events, and the scarf he had carried away, she was partly amused
and partly pleased.

It was about this time that the daughter of Iyo-no-Kami was engaged to
a certain Kurando Shioshio, and he was her frequent visitor. Genji
heard of this, and without any intention of rivalry, sent her the
following by Kokimi:--

"Like the green reed that grows on high
By river's brink, our love has been,
And still my wandering thoughts will fly
Back to that quickly passing scene. "

She was a little flattered by it, and gave Kokimi a reply, as
follows:--

"The slender reed that feels the wind
That faintly stirs its humble leaf,
Feels that too late it breathes its mind,
And only wakes, a useless grief. "

Now the departure of Iyo-no-Kami was fixed for the beginning of
October.

Genji sent several parting presents to his wife, and in addition to
these some others, consisting of beautiful combs, fans, _nusa_,[60]
and the scarf he had carried away, along with the following, privately
through Kokimi:--

"I kept this pretty souvenir
In hopes of meeting you again,
I send it back with many a tear,
Since now, alas! such hope is vain. "

There were many other minute details, which I shall pass over as
uninteresting to the reader.

Genji's official messenger returned, but her reply about the scarf was
sent through Kokimi:--

"When I behold the summer wings
Cicada like, I cast aside;
Back to my heart fond memory springs,
And on my eyes, a rising tide. "

The day of the departure happened to be the commencement of the winter
season. An October shower fell lightly, and the sky looked gloomy.

Genji stood gazing upon it and hummed:--

"Sad and weary Autumn hours,
Summer joys now past away,
Both departing, dark the hours,
Whither speeding, who can say? "

All these intrigues were safely kept in strict privacy, and to have
boldly written all particulars concerning them is to me a matter of
pain. So at first I intended to omit them, but had I done so my
history would have become like a fiction, and the censure I should
expect would be that I had done so intentionally, because my hero was
the son of an Emperor; but, on the other hand, if I am accused of too
much loquacity, I cannot help it.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 52: Name of an ecclesiastical office. ]

[Footnote 53: Sasinuki is a sort of loose trousers, and properly worn
by men only, hence some commentators conclude, the attendant here
mentioned to mean a boy, others contend, this garment was worn by
females also when they rode. ]

[Footnote 54: A mythological repulsive deity who took part in the
building of a bridge at the command of a powerful magician. ]

[Footnote 55: A popular superstition in China and Japan believes foxes
to have mysterious powers over men. ]

[Footnote 56: Upasaka, a sect of the followers of Buddhism who are
laymen though they observe the rules of clerical life. ]

[Footnote 57: Meitreya, a Buddhisatva destined to reappear as a Buddha
after the lapse of an incalculable series of years. ]

[Footnote 58: It is the Oriental custom that when one offers up a
prayer, he first washes his hands, to free them from all impurity. ]

[Footnote 59: According to the Buddhist's doctrine of the Hosso sect,
all the souls of the dead pass, during seven weeks after death, into
an intermediate state, and then their fate is decided. According to
the Tendai sect, the best and the worst go immediately where they
deserve, but those of a medium nature go through this process. ]

[Footnote 60: An offering made of paper, to the God of roads, which
travellers were accustomed to make, before setting out on a journey. ]




CHAPTER V

YOUNG VIOLET


It was the time when Genji became subject to periodical attacks of
ague, that many exorcisms and spells were performed to effect a cure,
but all in vain. At length he was told by a friend that in a certain
temple on the northern mountain (Mount Kurama) there dwelt a famous
ascetic, and that when the epidemic had prevailed during the previous
summer, many people had recovered through his exorcisms. "If," added
the friend, "the disease is neglected it becomes serious; try
therefore, this method of procuring relief at once, and before it is
too late. "

Genji, therefore, sent for the hermit, but he declined to come, saying
that he was too old and decrepit to leave his retreat. "What shall I
do? " exclaimed Genji, "shall I visit him privately? " Eventually,
taking four or five attendants, he started off early one morning for
the place, which was at no great distance on the mountain.

It was the last day of March, and though the height of the season for
flowers in the capital was over, yet, on the mountain, the
cherry-trees were still in blossom. They advanced on their way further
and further. The haze clung to the surface like a soft sash does round
the waist, and to Genji, who had scarcely ever been out of the
capital, the scenery was indescribably novel. The ascetic lived in a
deep cave in the rocks, near the lofty summit. Genji did not, however,
declare who he was, and the style of his retinue was of a very private
character. Yet his nobility of manners was easily recognizable.

"Welcome your visit! " cried the hermit, saluting him. "Perhaps you are
the one who sent for me the other day? I have long since quitted the
affairs of this world, and have almost forgotten the secret of my
exorcisms. I wonder why you have come here for me. " So saying, he
pleasingly embraced him. He was evidently a man of great holiness. He
wrote out a talismanic prescription, which he gave to Genji to drink
in water, while he himself proceeded to perform some mysterious rite.
During the performance of this ceremony the sun rose high in the
heavens. Genji, meantime, walked out of the cave and looked around him
with his attendants. The spot where they stood was very lofty, and
numerous monasteries were visible, scattered here and there in the
distance beneath. There was immediately beyond the winding path in
which they were walking a picturesque and pretty building enclosed by
hedges. Its well arranged balconies and the gardens around it
apparently betokened the good taste of its inhabitants. "Whose house
may that be? " inquired Genji of his attendants. They told him it was a
house in which a certain priest had been living for the last two
years. "Ah! I know him," said Genji. "Strange, indeed, would it be if
he were to discover that I am here in this privacy. " They noticed a
nun and a few more females with her walking in the garden, who were
carrying fresh water for their offerings, and were gathering flowers.
"Ah! there are ladies walking there," cried the attendants in tones of
surprise. "Surely, the Reverend Father would not indulge in
flirtations! Who can they be? " And some of them even descended a
little distance, and peered over the enclosure, where a pretty little
girl was also seen amongst them.

Genji now engaged in prayer until the sun sank in the heavens. His
attendants, who were anxious about his disease, told him that it would
be good for him to have a change from time to time. Hereupon, he
advanced to the back of the temple, and his gaze fell on the far-off
Capital in the distance, which was enveloped in haze as the dusk was
setting in, over the tops of the trees around. "What a lovely
landscape! " exclaimed Genji. "The people to whom such scenery is
familiar, are perhaps happy and contented. " "Nay," said the
attendants, "but were you to see the beautiful mountain ranges and the
sea-coast in our various provinces, the pictures would indeed be found
lovely. " Then some of them described to him Fuji Yama, while others
told him of other mountains, diverting his attention by their animated
description of the beautiful bays and coasts of the Western Provinces;
thus as they depicted them to him, they cheered and gladdened his
mind. One of them went on to say: "Among such sights and at no great
distance, there is the sea-coast of Akashi, in the Province of
Harima, which is, I think, especially beautiful. I cannot, indeed,
point out in detail its most remarkable features, but, in general, the
blue expanse of the sea is singularly charming. Here, too, the home of
the former Governor of the Province constitutes an object of great
attraction. He has assumed the tonsure, and resides there with his
beautiful daughter. He is the descendant of a high personage, and was
not without hope of elevation at Court, but, being of an eccentric
character, he was strongly averse to society. He had formerly been a
Chiujio of the Imperial Guard, but having resigned that office, had
become Governor of Harima. He was not, however, popular in that
office. In this state of affairs he reflected within himself, no
doubt, that his presence in the Capital could not but be disagreeable.
When, therefore, his term of office expired, he determined still to
remain in the province. He did not, however, go to the mountainous
regions of the interior, but chose the sea-coast. There are in this
district several places which are well situated for quiet retirement,
and it would have seemed inconsistent in him had he preferred a part
of the sea-coast so near the gay world; nevertheless, a retreat in the
too remote interior would have been too solitary, and might have met
with objections on the part of his wife and child. For this reason, it
appears, that he finally selected the place which I have already
alluded to for the sake of his family. When I went down there last
time, I became acquainted with the history and circumstances of the
family, and I found that though he may not have been well received in
the Capital, yet, that here, having been formerly governor, he enjoys
considerable popularity and respect. His residence, moreover, is well
appointed and of sufficient magnitude, and he performs with
punctuality and devoutness his religious duties--nay, almost with more
earnestness than many regular priests. " Here Genji interrupted. "What
is his daughter like? " "Without doubt," answered his companion, "the
beauty of her person is unrivalled, and she is endowed with
corresponding mental ability. Successive governors often offer their
addresses to her with great sincerity, but no one has ever yet been
accepted. The dominant idea of her father seems to be this: 'What,
have I sunk to such a position! Well, I trust, at least, that my only
daughter may be successful and prosperous in her life! ' He often told
her, I heard, that if she survived him, and if his fond hopes for her
should not be realized, it would be better for her to cast herself
into the sea. "

Genji was much interested in this conversation, and the rest of the
company laughingly said, "Ah! she is a woman who is likely to become
the Queen of the Blue Main. In very truth her father must be an
extraordinary being! "

The attendant who had given this account of the ex-governor and his
daughter, was the son of the present Governor of the Province. He was
until lately a Kurand, and this year had received the title of Jugoi.
His name was Yoshikiyo, and he, too, was a man of gay habits, which
gave occasion to one of his companions to observe: "Ah! perhaps you
also have been trying to disappoint the hopes of the aged father. "
Another said, "Well, our friend has given us a long account, but we
must take it with some reserve. She must be, after all, a country
maiden, and all that I can give credit to is this much: that her
mother may be a woman of some sense, who takes great care of the girl.
I am only afraid that if any future governor should be seized with an
ardent desire to possess her, she would not long remain unattached. "

"What possible object could it serve if she were carried to the bottom
of the sea? The natives of the deep would derive no pleasure from her
charms," remarked Genji, while he himself secretly desired to behold
her.

"Ay," thought his companions, "with his susceptible temperament, what
wonder if this story touches him. "

The day was far advanced, and the Prince prepared to leave the
mountain. The Hermit, however, told him that it would be better to
spend the evening in the Temple, and to be further prayed for. His
attendants also supported this suggestion. So Genji made up his mind
to stay there, saying, "Then I shall not return home till to-morrow. "

The days at this season were of long duration, and he felt it rather
tiresome to pass a whole evening in sedate society, so, under the
cover of the shades of the evening, he went out of the Temple, and
proceeded to the pretty building enclosed by hedges. All the
attendants had been despatched home except Koremitz, who accompanied
him. They peeped at this building through the hedges. In the western
antechamber of the house was placed an image of Buddha, and here an
evening service was performed. A nun, raising a curtain before
Buddha, offered a garland of flowers on the altar, and placing a Kio
(or Sutra, i. e. , Buddhist Bible) on her "arm-stool," proceeded to read
it. She seemed to be rather more than forty years old. Her face was
rather round, and her appearance was noble. Her hair was thrown back
from her forehead and was cut short behind, which suited her very
well. She was, however, pale and weak, her voice, also, being
tremulous. Two maiden attendants went in and out of the room waiting
upon her, and a little girl ran into the room with them. She was about
ten years old or more, and wore a white silk dress, which fitted her
well and which was lined with yellow. Her hair was waved like a fan,
and her eyes were red from crying. "What is the matter? Have you
quarrelled with the boy? " exclaimed the nun, looking at her. There was
some resemblance between the features of the child and the nun, so
Genji thought that she possibly might be her daughter.

"Inuki has lost my sparrow, which I kept so carefully in the cage,"
replied the child.

"That stupid boy," said one of the attendants. "Has he again been the
cause of this? Where can the bird be gone? And all this, too, after we
had tamed it with so much care. " She then left the room, possibly to
look for the lost bird. The people who addressed her called her
Shionagon, and she appeared to have been the little girl's nurse.

"To you," said the nun to the girl, "the sparrow may be dearer than I
may be, who am so ill; but have I not told you often that the caging
of birds is a sin? Be a good girl; come nearer! "

The girl advanced and stood silent before her, her face being bathed
in tears. The contour of the child-like forehead and of the small and
graceful head was very pleasing. Genji, as he surveyed the scene from
without, thought within himself, "If she is thus fair in her girlhood,
what will she be when she is grown up? " One reason why Genji was so
much attracted by her was, that she greatly resembled a certain lady
in the Palace, to whom he, for a long time, had been fondly attached.
The nun stroked the beautiful hair of the child and murmured to
herself, "How splendid it looks! Would that she would always strive to
keep it thus. Her extreme youth makes me anxious, however. Her mother
departed this life when she only a very young girl, but she was quite
sensible at the age of this one.
Supposing that I were to leave her
behind, I wonder what would happen to her! " As she thus murmured, her
countenance became saddened by her forebodings.

The sight moved Genji's sympathy as he gazed. It seemed that the
tender heart of the child was also touched, for she silently watched
the expression of the nun's features, and then with downcast eyes bent
her face towards the ground, the lustrous hair falling over her back
in waves.

The nun hummed, in a tone sufficiently audible to Genji,

"The dews that wet the tender grass,
At the sun's birth, too quickly pass,
Nor e'er can hope to see it rise
In full perfection to the skies. "

Shionagon, who now joined them, and heard the above distich, consoled
the nun with the following:--

"The dews will not so quickly pass,
Nor shall depart before they see
The full perfection of the grass,
They loved so well in infancy. "

At this juncture a priest entered and said, "Do you know that this
very day Prince Genji visited the hermit in order to be exorcised by
him. I must forthwith go and see him. "

Genji observing this movement quickly returned to the monastery,
thinking as he went what a lovely girl he had seen. "I can guess from
this," thought he, "why those gay fellows (referring to his
attendants) so often make their expeditions in search of good fortune.
What a charming little girl have I seen to-day! Who can she be? Would
that I could see her morning and evening in the palace, where I can no
longer see the fair loved one whom she resembles! " He now returned to
the monastery, and retired to his quarters. Soon after a disciple of
the priest came and delivered a message from him through Koremitz,
saying, "My master has just heard of the Prince's visit to the
mountain, and would have waited on him at once, but thought it better
to postpone calling. Nevertheless he would be much pleased to offer a
humble welcome, and feels disappointed that he has not yet had an
opportunity of doing so. "

Genji said in reply, "I have been afflicted with constant attacks of
ague for the last few weeks, and, therefore, by the advice of my
friends, I came to this mountain to be exorcised. If, however, the
spells of the holy man are of no avail to me, his reputation might
suffer in consequence. For that reason I wish to keep my visit as
private as possible, nevertheless I will come now to your master. "
Thereupon the priest himself soon made his appearance, and, after
briefly relating the circumstances which had occasioned his retirement
to this locality, he offered to escort Genji to his house, saying, "My
dwelling is but a rustic cottage, but still I should like you to see,
at least, the pretty mountain streamlet which waters my garden. "

Genji accepted the offer, thinking as he went, "I wonder what the
priest has said at home about myself to those to whom I have not yet
been introduced. But it will be pleasant to see them once more. "

The night was moonless. The fountain was lit up by torches, and many
lamps also were lighted in the garden. Genji was taken to an airy room
in the southern front of the building, where incense which was burning
threw its sweet odors around. The priest related to him many
interesting anecdotes, and also spoke eloquently of man's future
destiny. Genji as he heard him, felt some qualms of conscience, for he
remembered that his own conduct was far from being irreproachable. The
thought troubled him that he would never be free from the sting of
these recollections through his life, and that there was a world to
come, too! "Oh, could I but live in a retreat like this priest! " As he
thus thought of a retreat, he was involuntarily taken by a fancy, that
how happy would he be if accompanied to such a retreat by such a girl
as he had seen in the evening, and with this fancy her lovely face
rose up before him.

Suddenly he said to the priest, "I had once a dream which made me
anxious to know who was living in this house, and here to-day that
dream has again come back to my memory! " The priest laughed, and said,
"A strange dream! even were you to obtain your wish it might not
gratify you. The late Lord Azechi Dainagon died long ago, and perhaps
you know nothing about him. Well! his widow is my sister, and since
her husband's death her health has not been satisfactory, so lately
she has been living here in retirement. "

"Ah, yes," said Genji, venturing upon a guess, "and I heard that she
bore a daughter to Dainagon. "

"Yes, she had a daughter, but she died about ten years ago. After her
father's death the sole care of her fell upon her widowed mother
alone. I know not how it came to pass, but she became secretly
intimate with Prince Hiobkio. But the Prince's wife was very jealous
and severe, so she had much to suffer and put up with. I saw
personally the truth that 'care kills more than labor. '"

"Ah, then," thought Genji, "the little one is her daughter, and no
wonder that she resembles the one in the palace (because Prince
Hiobkio was the brother of the Princess Wistaria). How would it be if
I had free control over her, and had her brought up and educated
according to my own notions? " So thinking, he proceeded to say how sad
it was that she died! "Did she leave any offspring? "

"She gave birth to a child at her death, which was also a girl, and
about this girl the grandmother is always feeling very anxious. "

"Then," said Genji, "let it not appear strange to you if I say this,
but I should be very happy to become the guardian of this girl. Will
you speak to her grandmother about it? It is true that there is one to
whom my lot is linked, but I care but little for her, and indeed
usually lead a solitary life. "

"Your offer is very kind," replied the priest, "but she is extremely
young. However every woman grows up under the protecting care of some
one, and so I cannot say much about her, only it shall be mentioned to
my sister. "

The priest said this with a grave and even a stern expression on his
countenance, which caused Genji to drop the subject.

He then asked the Prince to excuse him, for it was the hour for
vespers, and as he quitted the room to attend the service, said he
would return as soon as it was finished.

Genji was alone. A slight shower fell over the surrounding country,
and the mountain breezes blew cool. The waters of the torrent were
swollen, and the roar of them might be heard from afar. Broken and
indistinct, one might hear the melancholy sound of the sleepy
intonation of prayers. Even those people who have no sorrow of their
own often feel melancholy from the circumstances in which they are
placed. So Genji, whose mind was occupied in thought, could not
slumber here. The priest said he was going to vespers, but in reality
it was later than the proper time for them. Genji perceived that the
inmates had not yet retired to rest in the inner apartments of the
house. They were very quiet, yet the sound of the telling of beads,
which accidentally struck the lectern, was heard from time to time.
The room was not far from his own. He pulled the screen slightly
aside, and standing near the door, he struck his fan on his hand, to
summon some one.

"What can be the matter," said an attendant, and as she came near to
the Prince's room she added, "Perhaps my ear was deceived," and she
began to retire.

"Buddha will guide you; fear not the darkness, I am here," said Genji.

"Sir! " replied the servant, timidly.

"Pray do not think me presumptuous," said Genji; "but may I beg you to
transmit this poetical effusion to your mistress for me?

Since first that tender grass I viewed,
My heart no soft repose e'er feels,
But gathering mist my sleeve bedews,
And pity to my bosom steals. "

"Surely you should know, sir, that there is no one here to whom such
things can be presented! "

"Believe me, I have my own reasons for this," said Genji. "Let me
beseech you to take it. "

So the attendant went back, and presented it to the nun.

"I do not see the real intent of the effusion," thought the nun.
"Perhaps he thinks that she is already a woman. But"--she continued,
wonderingly--"how could he have known about the young grass? " And she
then remained silent for a while. At last, thinking it would be
unbecoming to take no notice of it, she gave orally the following
reply to the attendant to be given to Genji:--

"You say your sleeve is wet with dew,
'Tis but one night alone for you,
But there's a mountain moss grows nigh,
Whose leaves from dew are never dry. "

When Genji heard this, he said: "I am not accustomed to receive an
answer such as this through the mouth of a third person. Although I
thank the lady for even that much, I should feel more obliged to her
if she would grant me an interview, and allow me to explain to her my
sincere wishes. "

This at length obliged the nun to have an interview with the Prince.
He then told her that he called Buddha to witness that, though his
conduct may have seemed bold, it was dictated by pure and
conscientious motives.

"All the circumstances of your family history are known to me,"
continued he. "Look upon me, I pray, as a substitute for your once
loved daughter. I, too, when a mere infant, was deprived by death of
my best friend--my mother--and the years and months which then rolled
by were fraught with trouble to me. In that same position your little
one is now. Allow us, then, to become friends. We could sympathize
with each other. 'Twas to reveal these wishes to you that I came here,
and risked the chance of offending you in doing so. "

"Believe me, I am well disposed at your offer," said the nun; "but you
may have been incorrectly informed. It is true that there is a little
girl dependent upon myself, but she is but a child. Her society could
not afford you any pleasure; and forgive me, therefore, if I decline
your request. "

"Yet let there be no reserve in the expression of your ideas,"
interrupted Genji; but, before they could talk further, the return of
the priest put an end to the subject, and Genji retired to his
quarters, after thanking the nun for his kind reception.

The night passed away, and dawn appeared. The sky was again hazy, and
here and there melodious birds were singing among the mountain shrubs
and flowers that blossomed around. The deer, too, which were to be
seen here, added to the beauty of the picture. Gazing around at these
Genji once more proceeded to the temple. The hermit--though too infirm
to walk--again contrived to offer up his prayers on Genji's behalf,
and he also read from the Darani. [61] The tremulous accents of the old
man--poured forth from his nearly toothless mouth--imparted a greater
reverence to his prayers.

Genji's attendants now arrived from the capital, and congratulated him
on the improvement in his health. A messenger was despatched from the
Imperial Palace for the same purpose. The priest now collected wild
and rare fruits, not to be met with in the distant town, and, with all
respect, presented them to Genji, saying: "The term of my vow has not
yet expired; and I am, therefore, sorry to say that I am unable to
descend the mountain with you on your departure. " He then offered to
him the parting cup of _sake_.

"This mountain, with its waters, fill me with admiration," said Genji,
"and I regret that the anxiety of my father the Emperor obliges me to
quit the charming scene; but before the season is past, I will revisit
it: and--

The city's folk from me shall hear
How mountain cherries blossom fair,
And ere the Spring has passed away,
I'll bid them view the prospect gay. "

To this the priest replied--

"Your noble presence seems to me
Like the rare flowers of Udon tree,[62]
Nor does the mountain cherry white,
Attract my gaze while you're in sight. "

Genji smiled slightly, and said: "That is a very great compliment; but
the Udon tree does not blossom so easily. "

The hermit also raised the cup to his lips, and said:--

"Opening my lonely hermit's door,
Enclosed around by mountain pine,
A blossom never seen before
My eyes behold that seems divine. "

And he presented to him his _toko_ (a small ecclesiastical wand). On
seeing this, the priest also made him the following presents:--A
rosary of Kongoji (a kind of precious stone), which the sage Prince
Shotok obtained from Corea, enclosed in the original case in which it
had been sent from that country; some medicine of rare virtue in a
small emerald jar; and several other objects, with a spray of
Wistaria, and a branch of cherry blossoms.

Genji, too, on the other hand, made presents, which he had ordered
from the capital, to the hermit and his disciples who had taken part
in the religious ceremonies, and also to the poor mountaineers. He
also sent the following to the nun, by the priest's page:--

"In yester-eve's uncertain light,
A flower I saw so young and bright,
But like a morning mist. Now pain
Impels me yet to see again. "

A reply from the nun was speedily brought to him, which ran thus:--

"You say you feel, perhaps 'tis true,
A pang to leave these mountain bowers,
For sweet the blossoms, sweet the view,
To strangers' eyes of mountain flowers. "

While this was being presented to him in his carriage, a few more
people came, as if accidentally, to wait upon him on his journey.
Among them was To-no-Chiujio, and his brother Ben, who said: "We are
always pleased to follow you; it was unkind of you to leave us
behind. "

Just as the party were on the point of starting, some of them observed
that it was a pity to leave so lovely a spot without resting awhile
among the flowers. This was immediately agreed to, and they took their
seats on a moss-grown rock, a short distance from which a little
streamlet descended in a murmuring cascade.

They there began to drink _sake_, and To-no-Chiujio taking his flute,
evoked from it a rich and melodious strain; while Ben, tapping his fan
in concert, sang "The Temple of Toyora," while the Prince, as he
leaned against a rock, presented a picturesque appearance, though he
was pale and thin.

Among the attendants was one who blew on a long flute, called
Hichiriki, and another on a Shio flute. The priest brought a _koto_,
and begged Genji to perform upon it, saying: "If we are to have music
at all, let us have a harmonious concert. " Genji said that he was no
master of music; but, nevertheless, he played, with fair ability, a
pleasing air. Then they all rose up, and departed.

After they had quitted the mountain, Genji first of all went to the
Palace, where he immediately had an interview with the Emperor, who
considered his son to be still weak in health; and who asked him
several questions with regard to the efficacy of the prayers of the
reverend hermit. Genji gave him all particulars of his visit to the
mountain.

"Ah! " said the Emperor, "he may some day be entitled to become a dean
(Azali). His virtue and holiness have not yet been duly appreciated by
the government and the nation. "

Sadaijin, the father-in-law of the Prince, here entered, and entreated
Genji to accompany him to his mansion, and spend a few days. Genji did
not feel very anxious to accept this invitation, but was persuaded to
do so. Sadaijin conveyed him in his own carriage, and gave up to him
the seat of honor.

They arrived; but, as usual, his bride did not appear, and only
presented herself at last at the earnest request of her father. She
was one of those model princesses whom one may see in a picture--very
formal and very sedate--and it was very difficult to draw her into
conversation. She was very uninteresting to Genji. He thought that it
would only lead to a very unpleasant state of affairs, as years grew
on, if they were to be as cool and reserved to each other as they had
been hitherto. Turning to her, he said, with some reproachfulness in
his accents, "Surely you should sometimes show me a little of the
ordinary affection of people in our position! "

She made no reply; but, glancing coolly upon him, murmured with
modest, yet dignified, tone--

"When you cease to care for me,
What can I then do for thee? "

"Your words are few; but they have a sting in them. You say I cease to
care for you; but you do me wrong in saying so. May the time come when
you will no longer pain me thus," said Genji; and he made every effort
to conciliate her. But she was not easily appeased. He was
unsuccessful in his effort, and presently they retired to their
apartment, where he soon relapsed into sleepy indifference. His
thoughts began to wander back into other regions, and hopes of the
future growth and charms of the young mountain-violet again occupied
his mind. "Oh! how difficult it is to secure a prize," thought he.
"How can I do so? Her father, Prince Hiobkio, is a man of rank, and
affable, but he is not of prepossessing appearance. Why does his
daughter resemble so much, in her personal attractions, the lovely one
in the chamber of Wistaria. Is it that the mother of her father and of
Wistaria is the same person? How charming is the resemblance between
them! How can I make her mine? "

Some days afterwards he sent a letter to the mountain home, and also a
communication--perhaps with some hint in it--to the priest. In his
letter to the nun he said that her indifference made it desirable to
refrain from urging his wishes; but, nevertheless, that he should be
deeply gratified if she would think more favorably of the idea which
was now so deeply rooted in his mind. Inside the letter he enclosed a
small folded slip of paper, on which was written:--

"The mountain flower I left behind
I strive but vainly to forget,
Those lovely traits still rise to mind
And fill my heart with sad regret. "

This ludicrous effusion caused the nun to be partly amused and partly
vexed. She wrote an answer as follows:--

"When you came into our neighborhood your visit was very pleasing to
us, and your special message does us honor. I am, however, at a loss
how to express myself with regard to the little one, as yet she cannot
even manage the naniwadz. "[63]

Enclosed in the note were the following lines, in which she hinted as
to her doubts of the steadfastness of Genji's character:

"Your heart admires the lowly flower
That dwells within our mountain bower.
Not long, alas! that flower may last
Torn by the mountain's angry blast. "

The tenor of the priest's answer was much the same, and it caused
Genji some vexation.

About this time the Lady Wistaria, in consequence of an attack of
illness, had retired from the palace to her private residence, and
Genji, while sympathizing with the anxiety of the Emperor about her,
longed greatly for an opportunity of seeing her, ill though she was.
Hence at this time he went nowhere, but kept himself in his mansion at
Nijio, and became thoughtful and preoccupied. At length he endeavored
to cajole O Miobu, Wistaria's attendant, into arranging an opportunity
for him to see her. On Wistaria's part there were strong doubts as to
the propriety of complying with his request, but at last the
earnestness of the Prince overcame her scruples, and O Miobu managed
eventually to bring about a meeting between them. [64]

Genji gave vent to his feelings to the Princess, as follows:--

"Though now we meet, and not again
We e'er may meet, I seem
As though to die, I were full fain
Lost in this blissful dream. "

Then the Princess replied to him, full of sadness:--

"We might dream on but fear the name,
The envious world to us may give,
Forgetful of the darkened fame,
That lives when we no longer live. "

For some time after this meeting had taken place, Genji found himself
too timid to appear at his father's palace, and remained in his
mansion. The Princess, too, experienced a strong feeling of remorse.
She had, moreover, a cause of anxiety special in its nature and
peculiar to herself as a woman, for which she alone felt some
uneasiness of conscience.

Three months of the summer had passed away, and her secret began to
betray itself externally. The Emperor was naturally anxious about the
health of his favorite, and kind inquiries were sent from time to time
to her. But the kinder he was to her the more conscience-stricken she
felt.

Genji at this time was often visited by strange dreams. When he
consulted a diviner about them, he was told that something remarkable
and extraordinary might happen to him, and that it behooved him to be
cautious and prudent.

"Here is a pretty source of embarrassment," thought Genji.

He cautioned the diviner to be discreet about it, especially because
he said the dreams were not his own but another person's. When at last
he heard authentically about the condition of the Princess, he was
extremely anxious to communicate with her, but she now peremptorily
objected to any kind of correspondence between them, and O Miobu too
refused any longer to assist him.

In July Wistaria returned to the palace. There she was received by the
Emperor with great rejoicing, and he thought that her condition did
but add to her attractiveness.

It was now autumn, the season when agreeable receptions were often
held by the Emperor in Court, and it was awkward when Genji and the
Princess happened to face each other on these occasions, as neither of
them could be free from their tender recollections.

During these autumn evenings the thoughts of Genji were often directed
to the granddaughter of the nun, especially because she resembled the
Princess so much. His desire to possess her was considerably
increased, and the recollection of the first evening when he heard
the nun intoning to herself the verses about the tender grass,
recurred to his mind. "What," thought he, "if I pluck this tender
grass, would it then be, would it then grow up, as fair as now. "

"When will be mine this lovely flower
Of tender grace and purple hue?
Like the Wistaria of the bower,
Its charms are lovely to my view. "

The Emperor's visit to the Palace Suzak-in was now announced to take
place in October, and dancers and musicians were selected from among
the young nobles who were accomplished in these arts, and Royal
Princes and officers of State were fully engaged in preparation for
the _fete_. After the Royal festivities, a separate account of which
will be given hereafter, he sent again a letter to the mountain. The
answer, however, came only from the priest, who said that his sister
had died on the twentieth day of the last month; and added that though
death is inevitable to all of us, still he painfully felt her loss.

Genji pondered first on the precariousness of human life, and then
thought how that little one who had depended on her must be afflicted,
and gradually the memory of his own childhood, during which he too had
lost his mother, came back to his mind.

When the time of full mourning was over, Shionagon, together with the
young girl, returned to their house in the capital. There one evening
Genji paid them a visit. The house was rather a gloomy one, and was
tenanted by fewer inmates than usual.

"How timid the little girl must feel! " thought Genji, as he was shown
in. Shionagon now told him with tearful eyes every circumstance which
had taken place since she had seen him. She also said that the girl
might be handed over to her father, who told her that she must do so,
but his present wife was said to be very austere. The girl is not
young enough to be without ideas and wishes of her own, but yet not
old enough to form them sensibly; so were she to be taken to her
father's house and be placed with several other children, much misery
would be the result. Her grandmother suffered much on this account.
"Your kindness is great," continued she, "and we ought not, perhaps,
to think too anxiously about the future.