He brought back some twigs of maple, whose hues, when compared with
those in his own garden, he perceived were far more beautiful.
those in his own garden, he perceived were far more beautiful.
Epiphanius Wilson - Japanese Literature
All sorts of exorcisms
were duly performed, and some spirits came forth and gave their names.
But among them was a spirit, apparently a "living one,"[83] which
obstinately refused to be transmitted to the third party. It caused
her great suffering, and seemed not to be of a casual nature, but a
permanent hostile influence. Some imagined this to be the effect of
fearful jealousy of some one who was intimately known to Genji and who
had most influence over him; but the spirit gave no information to
this effect. Hence some even surmised that the wandering spirit of
some aged nurse, or the like, long since dead, still haunted the
mansion, and might have seized the opportunity of the lady's delicate
health, and taken possession of her. Meanwhile at the mansion of
Rokjio, the lady, when she was informed of the sufferings of Lady Aoi,
felt somewhat for her, and began to experience a sort of compassion.
This became stronger when she was told that the sufferings of the Lady
Aoi were owing to some living spirit. She thought that she never
wished any evil to her; but, when she reflected, there were several
times when she began to think that a wounded spirit, such as her own,
might have some influence of the kind. She had sometimes dreams, after
weary thinking, between slumber and waking, in which she seemed to fly
to some beautiful girl, apparently Lady Aoi, and to engage in bitter
contention and struggle with her. She became even terrified at these
dreams; but yet they took place very often. "Even in ordinary
matters," she thought, "it is too common a practice, to say nothing of
the good done by people, but to exaggerate the bad; and so, in such
cases, if it should be rumored that mine was that living spirit which
tormented Lady Aoi, how trying it would be to me! It is no rare
occurrence that one's disembodied spirit, after death, should wander
about; but even that is not a very agreeable idea. How much more,
then, must it be disagreeable to have the repute that one's living
spirit was inflicting pain upon another! "
These thoughts still preyed upon her mind, and made her listless and
depressed.
In due course, the confinement of Lady Aoi approached. At the same
time, the jealous spirit still vexed her, and now more vigorous
exorcising was employed. She became much affected by it, and cried
out, "Please release me a little; I have something to tell the
Prince. "
Hereupon he was ushered into the room. The curtain was dropped, and
the mother of the lady left the room, as she thought her daughter
might prefer to speak to him in private. The sound of the spells
performed in the next chamber ceased, and Hoke-kio was read in its
place. The lady was lying on her couch, dressed in a pure white
garment, with her long tresses unfastened. He approached her, and
taking her hand, said: "What sad affliction you cause us! " She then
lifted her heavy eyelids, and gazed on Genji for some minutes.
He tried to soothe her, and said, "Pray don't trouble yourself too
much about matters. Everything will come right. Your illness, I think,
will soon pass away. Even supposing you quit this present world, there
is another where we shall meet, and where I shall see you once more
cheerful, and there will be a time when your mother and father will
also join you. "
"Ah! no. I only come here to solicit you to give me a little rest. I
feel extremely disturbed. I never thought of coming here in such a
way; but it seems the spirit of one whose thoughts are much
disconcerted wanders away unknown even to itself.
Oh, bind my wandering spirit, pray,
Dear one, nor let it longer stray. "
The enunciation of these words was not that of Lady Aoi herself; and
when Genji came to reflect, it clearly belonged to the Lady of Rokjio.
Always before, when anyone had talked with him about a living spirit
coming to vex Lady Aoi, he felt inclined to suppress such ideas; but
now he began to think that such things might really happen, and he
felt disturbed. "You speak thus," said Genji, as if he was addressing
the spirit, "but you do not tell me who you are. Do, therefore, tell
me clearly. " At these words, strange to say, the face of the Lady Aoi
seemed momentarily to assume the likeness of that of Rokjio. On this,
Genji was still more perplexed and anxious, and put a stop to the
colloquy. Presently she became very calm, and people thought that she
was a little relieved. Soon after this, the lady was safely delivered
of a child.
Now, to perform due thanksgiving for this happy deliverance, the head
of the monastery on Mount Hiye and some other distinguished priests
were sent for. They came in all haste, wiping off the perspiration
from their faces as they journeyed; and, from the Emperor and Royal
princes down to the ordinary nobles, all took an interest in the
ceremony of Ub-yashinai (first feeding), and the more so as the child
was a boy.
To return to the Lady of Rokjio. When she heard of the safe delivery
of Lady Aoi, a slightly jealous feeling once more seemed to vex her;
and when she began to move about, she could not understand how it was,
but she perceived that her dress was scented with a strange odor. [84]
She thought this most surprising, and took baths and changed her
dress, in order to get rid of it; but the odor soon returned, and she
was disgusted with herself.
Some days passed, and the day of autumn appointments arrived. By this
time, Lady Aoi's health seemed progressing favorably, and Genji left
her in order to attend the Court.
When he said good-by to her, there was a strange and unusual look in
her eyes. Sadaijin also went to Court, as well as his sons, who had
some expectation of promotion, and there were few people left in the
mansion.
It was in the evening of that day that Lady Aoi was suddenly attacked
by a spasm, and before the news of this could be carried to the Court,
she died.
These sad tidings soon reached the Court, and created great distress
and confusion: even the arrangements for appointments and promotion
were disturbed. As it happened late in the evening there was no time
to send for the head of the monastery, or any other distinguished
priest. Messengers of inquiry came one after another to the mansion,
so numerous that it was almost impossible to return them all answers.
We need not add how greatly affected were all her relations.
As the death took place from a malign spiritual influence, she was
left untouched during two or three days, in the hope that she might
revive; but no change took place, and now all hope was abandoned. In
due course the corpse was taken to the cemetery of Toribeno. Numerous
mourners and priests of different churches crowded to the spot, while
representatives of the ex-Emperor, Princess Wistaria, and the
Heir-apparent also were present. The ceremony of burial was performed
with all solemnity and pathos.
Thus the modest and virtuous Lady Aoi passed away forever.
Genji forthwith confined himself to his apartment in the grand mansion
of Sadaijin, for mourning and consolation. To-no-Chiujio, who was now
elevated to the title of Sammi, constantly bore him company, and
conversed with him both on serious and amusing subjects. Their
struggle in the apartment of Gen-naishi, and also their rencontre in
the garden of the "Saffron Flower," were among the topics of their
consoling conversation.
It was on one of these occasions that a soft shower of rain was
falling. The evening was rendered cheerless, and To-no-Chiujio came to
see him, walking slowly in his mourning robes of a dull color. Genji
was leaning out of a window, his cheek resting on his hand; and,
looking out upon the half-fading shrubberies, was humming--
"Has she become rain or cloud?
'Tis now unknown. "
To-no-Chiujio gently approached him. They had, as usual, some pathetic
conversation, and then the latter hummed, as if to himself--
"Beyond the cloud in yonder sky,
From which descends the passing rain,
Her gentle soul may dwell,
Though we may cease to trace its form in vain. "
This was soon responded to by Genji:--
"That cloudy shrine we view on high,
Where my lost love may dwell unseen,
Looks gloomy now to this sad eye
That looks with tears on what has been. "
There was among the faded plants of the garden a solitary
Rindo-nadeshko. [85] When To-no-Chiujio had gone, Genji picked this
flower, and sent it to his mother-in-law by the nurse of the infant
child, with the following:--
"In bowers where all beside are dead
Survives alone this lovely flower,
Departed autumn's cherished gem,
Symbol of joy's departed hour. "[86]
Genji still felt lonely. He wrote a letter to the Princess Momo-zono
(peach-gardens). He had known her long. He admired her, too. She had
been a spectator, with her father, on the day of the consecration of
the Saiin, and was one of those to whom the appearance of Genji was
most welcome. In his letter he stated that she might have a little
sympathy with him in his sorrow, and he also sent with it the
following:--
"Many an autumn have I past
In gloomy thought, but none I ween
Has been so mournful as the last,
Which rife with grief and change hath been. "
There was, indeed, nothing serious between Genji and this princess;
yet, as far as correspondence was concerned, they now and then
exchanged letters, so she did not object to receiving this
communication. She felt for him much, and an answer was returned, in
which she expressed her sympathy at his bereavement.
Now, in the mansion of Sadaijin every performance of requiem was
celebrated. The forty-ninth day had passed, and the mementoes of the
dead, both trifling and valuable, were distributed in a due and
agreeable manner; and Genji at length left the grand mansion with the
intention of first going to the ex-Emperor, and then of returning to
his mansion at Nijio. After his departure, Sadaijin went into the
apartment occupied till lately by him. The room was the same as
before, and everything was unchanged; but his only daughter, the
pride of his old days, was no more, and his son-in-law had gone too.
He looked around him for some moments. He saw some papers lying about.
They were those on which Genji had been practising penmanship for
amusement--some in Chinese, others in Japanese; some in free style,
others in stiff. Among these papers he saw one on which the words "Old
pillows and old quilts" were written, and close to these the
following:--
"How much the soul departed, still
May love to linger round this couch,
My own heart tells me, even I
Reluctant am to leave it now. "
And on another of these papers, accompanying the words, "The white
frost lies upon the tiles," the following:--
"How many more of nights shall I
On this lone bed without thee lie;
The flower has left its well-known bed,
And o'er its place the dews are shed. "
As Sadaijin was turning over these papers a withered flower, which
seems to have marked some particular occasion, dropped from amongst
them.
Return we now to Genji. He went to the ex-Emperor, to whom he still
seemed thin and careworn. He had some affectionate conversation with
him, remained till evening, and then proceeded to his mansion at
Nijio. He went to the western wing to visit the young Violet. All were
habited in new winter apparel, and looked fresh and blooming.
"How long it seems since I saw you! " he exclaimed. Violet turned her
glance a little aside. She was apparently shy, which only increased
her beauty.
He approached, and after having a little conversation, said, "I have
many things to say to you, but now I must have a little rest," and
returned to his own quarters.
The next morning, first of all he sent a letter to Sadaijin's, making
inquiry after his infant child.
At this time he confined himself more than usual to his own house, and
for companionship he was constantly with Violet, who was now
approaching womanhood. He would sometimes talk with her differently
from the manner in which he would speak to a mere girl; but on her
part she seemed not to notice the difference, and for their daily
amusement either Go or Hentski[87] was resorted to, and sometimes they
would play on till late in the evening.
Some weeks thus passed away, and there was one morning when Violet did
not appear so early as usual. The inmates of the house, who did not
know what was the reason, were anxious about her, thinking she was
indisposed. About noon Genji came. He entered the little room, saying,
"Are you not quite well? Perhaps you would like to play at Go again,
like last night, for a change;" but she was more than ever shy.
"Why are you so shy? " he exclaimed; "be a little more cheerful--people
may think it strange," said he, and stayed with her a long time trying
to soothe her; but to no effect--she still continued silent and shy.
This was the evening of Wild Boar's day, and some _mochi_ (pounded
rice cake) was presented to him, according to custom, on a tray of
plain white wood.
He called Koremitz before him and said, "To-day is not a very
opportune day; I would rather have them to-morrow evening. Do send in
some to-morrow. [88] It need not be of so many colors. " So saying, he
smiled a little, and sharp Koremitz soon understood what he meant. And
this he accordingly did on the morrow, on a beautiful flower-waiter.
Up to this time nothing about Violet had been publicly known, and
Genji thought it was time to inform her father about his daughter; but
he considered he had better have the ceremony of Mogi first performed,
and ordered preparations to be made with that object.
Let us here notice that the young daughter of Udaijin, after she saw
Genji, was longing to see him again. This inclination was perceived by
her relations. It seems that her father was not quite averse to this
liking, and he told his eldest daughter, the reigning Emperor's
mother, that Genji was recently bereaved of his good consort, and that
he should not feel discontented if his daughter were to take the place
of Lady Aoi; but this the royal mother did not approve. "It would be
far better for her to be introduced at Court," she said, and began
contriving to bring this about.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 80: The sacred virgin of the temple of Ise. ]
[Footnote 81: The same of Kamo, which is situated in the neighborhood
of Kioto, the then capital. ]
[Footnote 82: "Ajiro" means woven bamboo, and here it signifies a
carriage made of woven bamboo. ]
[Footnote 83: Before proceeding with the story, it is necessary for
the reader to peruse the following note: In Japan there existed, and
still more or less exists, a certain superstition which is
entertained, that the spirits of the dead have the power of inflicting
injury on mankind; for instance, a woman when slighted or deserted,
dies, her spirit often works evil on the man who forsook her, or on
her rival. This is the spirit of the dead. There is also another
belief that the spirits of the living have sometimes the same power,
but in this case it only takes place when one is fiercely jealous.
When this spirit works upon the rival, the owner of the spirit is not
aware of it; but she herself becomes more gloomy, as if she had, as it
were, lost her own spirit. These spirits can be exorcised, and the act
is performed by a certain sect of priests; but the living one is
considered far more difficult to exorcise than the other, because it
is imagined that the dead spirit can be easily "laid," or driven back
to the tomb, while the living one, being still in its present state,
cannot be settled so easily. The method of exorcism is as follows:
Certain spells are used on the sufferer, and certain religious
addresses are read from the Buddhist bibles, and then the sufferer is
made to speak out all his subjects of complaint; but it is supposed
not to be the man himself who speaks and tells these causes of
complaint, but the spirit of which he is possessed. This process is
sometimes performed on a third party; in that case the priest
temporarily transmits the spirit from the sufferer to the substitute
and makes it speak with his mouth. When he has told all the causes of
his complaint and wrongs, the priest sometimes argues with him,
sometimes chides, sometimes soothes, and sometimes threatens, and at
last says to the spirit, "If you do not go out quietly, I will confine
you by my sacred power. " By such means the spirit is exorcised; the
process resembles mesmerism in some points, but of course has no
sensible foundation. In other cases the spirits of those who have
either recently, or even years before, met with cruel wrongs or death,
may in their wanderings seize upon some person in the vicinity, though
totally unconnected with the crime done upon them, and may cause them
suffering, or even spirits, who from any cause, are unable to obtain
rest, may do the same thing. ]
[Footnote 84: In the ceremony of exorcism a sacred perfume is burnt,
and it was this scent which the Lady of Rokjio perceived in her
garment because her spirit was supposed to go to and fro between
herself and Lady Aoi, and to bring with it the smell of this perfume. ]
[Footnote 85: A kind of pink; some translate it Gentian. ]
[Footnote 86: Here the flower is compared to the child, and autumn to
the mother. ]
[Footnote 87: "Hentski," a children's game. It consists in choosing
beforehand a "hen" or half-character, opening a book and seeing which
of the players can most quickly pick out the words beginning with this
"hen. "]
[Footnote 88: It seemed to have been the ancient custom, that on the
third night of a wedding, the same kind of rice cake, but only of one
color, was served up. ]
CHAPTER X
DIVINE TREE
The departure of the Saigu, the daughter of the Lady of Rokjio, for
her destination in the Temple of Ise, which was postponed from time to
time, owing to different circumstances, was at length arranged to take
place in September. This definite arrangement delighted the Saigu, to
whom the uncertainty of the event had been somewhat tiresome. Her
mother also made up her mind to accompany her to the temple. Although
there was no precedent for the mother of the Saigu accompanying her
daughter, this lady made up her mind to do so, because she would not
allow her young daughter to go alone.
In a suburban field the "field palace" was built. [89] It was of wood,
and surrounded by a fence of newly cut branches of trees. In front
stood a huge _torii_[90] of logs, and within the compound were the
quarters of the Kandzkasa. [91] Here the Saigu took up her residence,
where her mother also accompanied her. When the sixteenth of
September, which was fixed for the departure, arrived, the ceremony of
her last consecration was duly performed on the banks of the River
Katzra, whence the sacred virgin went to the Imperial Palace to have
the farewell audience with the Emperor. She was accompanied by her
mother. The father of the latter had been a great personage of State,
and she had been married to a Royal Prince at sixteen, when there had
been every possibility of her coming to the Court in a position far
superior to what she now enjoyed. She was, however, bereaved of him at
the age of twenty; and now at thirty she comes to take leave at her
departure for a far-off province with her only daughter. The Saigu was
about fourteen years of age, was extremely delicate and fair to look
upon, and when presented to the Emperor he was struck by the charms
of her youthful appearance.
Numerous carriages were ranged at the front of eight State departments
to see her off in state, besides many others along the road, full of
spectators.
Late in the afternoon her party left the palace, and turned away from
Nijio round to the highway of Toin, and passed by the mansion of
Genji, who witnessed their passing, and sent the following to the
lady-mother with a twig of Sakaki (divine tree):--
"Bravely you quit this scene, 'tis true;
But though you dauntless fly so far,
Your sleeve may yet be wet with dew,
Before you cross Suzukah. "[92]
The answer to this was sent to him from beyond the barrier of Ausaka
(meeting-path) in the following form:--
"Whether my sleeve be wet or not,
In the waters of the Suzukah,
Who will care? Too soon forgot
Will Ise be that lies so far. "
And thus the Lady of Rokjio and her daughter disappear for some time
from our scenes in the capital.
It was about this time that the ex-Emperor was indisposed for some
time, and in October his state became precarious. The anxiety of the
public was general, and the Emperor went to visit him. Notwithstanding
his weakness, the former gave him every injunction, first about the
Heir-apparent, then about Genji, and said:--
"Regard him as your adviser, both in large and small matters, without
reserve, and not otherwise than if I were still alive. He is not
incapable of sharing in the administration of public affairs,
notwithstanding his youth. He has a physiognomy which argues great
qualities, and for this reason, I made him remain in an ordinary
position, without creating him a Royal Prince, with the object that he
should be able to take part in public affairs. Do not misconstrue
these ideas. "
There were some more injunctions given of like nature relating to
public matters, and the Emperor sorrowfully and repeatedly assured him
that he would not neglect them. Such, however, are not subjects which
we women are supposed to understand, and even thus much that I have
mentioned is given not without some apprehension.
A few days after the visit of the Emperor the Heir-apparent was
brought before his dying father. There had been some idea that he
should be brought on the day when the Emperor paid his visit, but it
was postponed to avoid any possible confusion. The boy Prince was
apparently more pleased at seeing his father than concerned at his
illness. To him the ex-Emperor told many things, but he was too young
to heed them. Genji was also present, and the ex-Emperor explained to
him in what way he should serve the Government, and how he should look
after this young Prince. When their interview concluded it was already
merging towards the evening, and the young Prince returned to the
palace.
The Royal mother of the reigning Emperor (formerly Koki-den-Niogo)
would also have visited the ex-Emperor but for her repugnance to
encounter the Princess Wistaria, who never left his side.
In the course of a few days the strength of the Emperor began to
decline, and at last he quietly and peacefully passed away.
And now the Court went into general mourning, and Genji, being one of
the principal mourners, put on a dress of Wistaria cloth;[93] so
frequently did misfortune fall on him in the course of a few years,
and his cares became really great.
The funeral and the weekly requiems were performed with all due pomp
and ceremony, and when the forty-ninth day had passed, all the private
household of his late Majesty dispersed in the midst of the dreary
weather of the latter part of December to their own homes; the
Princess Wistaria retiring to her own residence in Sanjio, accompanied
by her brother, Prince Hiobkio.
True, it is that his late Majesty had been for some time off the
throne, but his authority had by no means diminished on that account.
But his death now altered the state of things, and the ascendancy of
the family of Udaijin became assured. The people in general
entertained great fear that infelicitous changes would take place in
public affairs, and among these Genji and the Princess Wistaria were
the most disturbed by such anxieties.
The new year came in, but nothing joyful or exciting accompanied its
presence--the world was still.
Genji kept himself to his mansion. In those days, when his father was
still in power, his courtyard was filled with the carriages of
visitors, especially when the days of the appointments were
approaching; but now this was changed, and his household secretaries
had but little to occupy them.
In January the Princess Momo-zono (peach-gardens) was chosen for the
Saiin, of the Temple of Kamo, her predecessor having retired from
office, on account of the mourning for her father, the late
ex-Emperor.
There were not many precedents for Princesses of the second generation
being appointed to this position; but this Princess was so chosen,
owing, it seems, to the circumstance that there was no immediate issue
of the Imperial blood suitable for this office.
In February the youngest daughter of the Udaijin became the
Naishi-no-Kami,[94] in the place of the former one, who had left
office and become a nun after the death of the ex-Emperor.
She took up her residence in the Kokiden, which was till lately
occupied by her sister, the Empress-mother, who at this period spent
most of her time at her father's, and who when she came to the Court
made the Ume-Tsubo (the plum-chamber) her apartment.
Meanwhile the Empress-mother, who was by nature sagacious and
revengeful, and who during the late Emperor's life had been fain to
disguise her spiteful feelings, now conceived designs of vengeance
against those who had been adverse to her; and this spirit was
directed especially against Genji and his father-in-law,
Sadaijin--against the latter because he had married his only daughter
to Genji against the wishes of the Emperor when Heir-apparent, and
because during the life of the late Emperor his influence eclipsed
that of her father, Udaijin, who had long been his political
adversary.
The Emperor, it is true, never forgot the dying injunctions of his
father, and never failed in sympathy with Genji; but he was still
young, with a weak mind, and therefore he was under the influence of
his mother and grandfather, Udaijin, and was often constrained by
them in his actions to go contrary to his own wishes.
Such being the state of things, Sadaijin seldom appeared at Court, and
his loss of influence became manifest. Genji, too, had become less
adventurous and more steady in his life; and in his mansion Violet
became the favorite object of attraction, in whose behalf the ceremony
of Mogi had been duly performed some time before, and who had been
presented to her father. The latter had for a long time regarded her
as lost, and even now he never forgave the way in which his daughter
had been taken away by Genji.
The summer had passed without any particular events, and autumn
arrived. Genji, wishing to have a little change, went to the monastery
of Unlinin,[95] and spent some days in the chamber of a rissh
(discipline-master), who was a brother of his mother. Maple-trees were
changing their tints, and the beautiful scenery around this spot made
him almost forget his home. His daily amusement was to gather together
several monks, and make them discuss before him.
He himself perused the so-called "sixty volumes,"[96] and would get
the monks to explain any point which was not clear to his
understanding.
When he came to reflect on the various circumstances taking place in
the capital, he would have preferred remaining in his present
retirement; but he could not forget one whom he had left behind there,
and this caused him to return. After he had requested a splendid
expiatory service to be performed, he left the monastery. The monks
and the neighbors came to see him depart. His carriage was still
black, and his sleeves were still of Wistaria, and in this gloomy
state he made his return to his mansion in Nijio.
He brought back some twigs of maple, whose hues, when compared with
those in his own garden, he perceived were far more beautiful. He,
therefore, sent one of these to the residence of Princess Wistaria,
who had it put in a vase, and hung at the side of her veranda.
Next day he went to the Imperial Palace, to see his brother the
Emperor, who was passing a quiet and unoccupied leisure, and soon
entered into a pleasant conversation on matters both past and present.
This Emperor, it must be remembered, was a person of quiet ways and
moderate ambition. He was kind in heart, and affectionate to his
relatives. His eyes were shut to the more objectionable actions of
Genji. He talked with him on different topics of literature, and asked
his opinions on different questions. He also talked on several
poetical subjects, and on the news of the day--of the departure of the
Saigu.
The conversation then led to the little Prince, the Heir-apparent. The
Emperor said, "Our father has enjoined me to adopt him as my son, and
to be kind to him in every way; but he was always a favorite of mine,
and this injunction was unnecessary, for I could not be any more
particularly kind to him. I am very glad that he is very clever for
his age in penmanship and the like. "
Genji replied, "Yes, I also notice that he is of no ordinary promise;
but yet we must admit that his ability may be only partial. "
After this conversation Genji left. On his way he came across a nephew
of the Empress-mother, who seems to have been a person of rather
arrogant and rough character. As he crossed Genji's path he stopped
for a minute, and loudly reciting,
"The white rainbow crossed the sun,
And the Prince was frightened,"[97]
passed on. Genji at once understood what it was intended for, but
prudently proceeded on his way homeward without taking any notice of
it.
Let us now proceed to the Princess Wistaria. Since she had been
bereaved of the late Emperor she retired to her private residence. She
fully participated in all those inglorious mortifications to which
Genji and his father-in-law were subjected. She was convinced she
would never suffer such cruel treatment as that which Seki-Foojin[98]
did at the hands of her rival, but she was also convinced that some
sort of misfortune was inevitable. These thoughts at last led her to
determine to give up the world. The fortune of her child, however, had
been long a subject of anxiety to her; and though she had determined
to do so, the thought of him had affected her mind still more keenly.
She had hitherto rarely visited the Court, where he was residing; for
her visits might be unpleasing to the feelings of her rival, the other
ex-Empress, and prejudicial to his interests.
However, she now went there unceremoniously, in order to see him
before she carried out her intention to retire. In the course of her
chatting with him, she said, "Suppose, that while I do not see you for
some time, my features become changed, what would you think? "
The little Prince, who watched her face, replied, "Like
Shikib? [99]--no--that can't be. " The Princess smiled a little, and
said, "No, that is not so; Shikib's is changed by age, but suppose
mine were different from hers, and my hair became shorter than hers,
and I wore a black dress like a chaplain-in-waiting, and I could not
see you often, any longer. " And she became a little sad, which made
the Prince also a little downcast.
Serene was his face, and finely pencilled were his eyebrows. He was
growing up fast, and his teeth were a little decayed and
blackened,[100] which gave a peculiar beauty to his smile, and the
prettiness of his appearance only served to increase her regret; and
with a profound pensiveness she returned to her residence.
In the middle of December she performed Mihakko (a grand special
service on the anniversary of death), which she was carefully
preparing for some days. The rolls of the Kio (Buddhist Bible) used
for this occasion were made most magnificently--the spindle of jade,
the covering of rich satin, and its case of woven bamboo ornamented
likewise, as well as the flower-table.
The first day's ceremony was for her father, the second for her
mother, and the third for the late Emperor. Several nobles were
present, and participated, Genji being one of them. Different presents
were made by them all. At the end of the third day's performance her
vows of retirement were, to the surprise of all, announced by the
priest. At the conclusion of the whole ceremony, the chief of the Hiye
monastery, whom she had sent for, arrived, and from whom she received
the "commandments. " She then had her hair cut off by her uncle, Bishop
of Yokogawa.
These proceedings cast a gloom over the minds of all present, but
especially on those of Hiob-Kio, her brother, and Genji; and soon
after every one departed for his home.
Another New Year came in, and the aspect of the Court was brighter. A
royal banquet and singing dances were soon expected to take place, but
the Princess Wistaria no longer took any heed of them, and most of her
time was devoted to prayer in a new private chapel, which she had had
built expressly for herself in her grounds.
Genji came to pay his New Year's visit on the seventh day, but he saw
no signs of the season. All nobles who used to pay visits of
felicitation, now shunned her house and gathered at the mansion of
Udaijin, near her own. The only things which caught Genji's attention
in her mansion was a white horse,[101] which was being submitted to
her inspection as on former occasions. When he entered, he noticed
that all the hangings of the room and the dresses of the inmates were
of the dark hues of conventual life. The only things that there seemed
to herald spring, were the melting of the thin ice on the surface of
the lake, and the budding of the willows on its banks. The scene
suggested many reflections to his mind; and, after the usual greetings
of the season, and a short conversation, he quitted the mansion.
It should be here noticed that none of her household officers received
any promotion or appointment to any sinecure office, or honorary
title, even where the merit of the individual deserved it, or the
Court etiquette required it. Nay, even the proper income for her
household expenses was, under different pretexts, neglected. As for
the Princess, she must have been prepared for such inevitable
consequences of her giving up the world; but it ought not to be taken
as implying that the sacrifice should be so great. Hence these facts
caused much disappointment to her household, and the mind of the
Princess herself was sometimes moved by feelings of mortification.
Nevertheless, troubled about herself no longer, she only studied the
welfare and prosperity of her child, and persevered in the most
devout prayers for this. She also remembered a secret sin, still
unknown to the world, which tormented the recesses of her soul, and
she was constantly praying to Buddha to lighten her burden.
About the same time, tired of the world, both public and private,
Sadaijin sent in his resignation. The Emperor had not forgotten how
much he was respected by the late ex-Emperor, how the latter had
enjoined him always to regard him as a support of the country, and he
several times refused to accept his resignation; but Sadaijin
persevered in his request, and confined himself to his own mansion.
This gave complete ascendancy to the family of Udaijin. All the sons
of Sadaijin, who formerly had enjoyed considerable distinction at
Court, were now fast sinking into insignificance, and had very little
influence. To-no-Chiujio, the eldest of them, was one of those
affected by the change of circumstances. True, he was married to the
fourth daughter of Udaijin; but he passed little time with her, she
still residing with her father, and he was not among the favorite
sons-in-law. His name was also omitted in the appointment list on
promotion day, which seems to have been intended by his father-in-law
as a warning.
Under such circumstances he was constantly with Genji, and they
studied and played together. They both well remembered how they used
to compete with each other in such matters as studying and playing,
and they still kept their rivalry alive. They would sometimes send for
some scholars, and would compose poems together, or play the "Covering
Rhymes. "[102] They seldom appeared at Court, while in the outer world
different scandals about them were increasing day by day.
One day in summer To-no-Chiujio came to pay his usual visit to Genji.
He had brought by his page several interesting books, and Genji also
ordered several rare books from his library. Many scholars were sent
for, in such a manner as not to appear too particular; and many nobles
and University students were also present. They were divided into two
parties, the right and the left, and began betting on the game of
"Covering Rhymes. " Genji headed the right, and To-no-Chiujio the left.
To his credit the former often hit on the most difficult rhymes, with
which the scholars were puzzled. At last the left was beaten by the
right, consequently To-no-Chiujio gave an entertainment to the party,
as arranged in their bet.
They also amused themselves by writing prose and verse. Some roses
were blossoming in front of the veranda, which possessed a quiet charm
different from those of the full season of spring.
The sight of these afforded them a delightful enjoyment while they
were partaking of refreshment. A son of To-no-Chiujio, about eight or
nine years old, was present. He was the second boy by his wife,
Udaijin's daughter, and a tolerable player on the Soh-flute. Both his
countenance and disposition were amiable. The party was in full
enjoyment when the boy rose and sang "Takasago" (high sand). [103] When
he proceeded to the last clause of his song,
"Oh, could I see that lovely flower,
That blossomed this morn! "
To-no-Chiujio offered his cup to Genji, saying,
"How glad am I to see your gentleness,
Sweet as the newly blooming flower! "
Genji, smiling, took the cup as he replied,
"Yet that untimely flower, I fear,
The rain will beat, the wind will tear,
Ere it be fully blown. "
And added,
"Oh, I myself am but a sere leaf. "
Genji was pressed by To-no-Chiujio to take several more cups, and his
humor reached its height. Many poems, both in Chinese and Japanese,
were composed by those present, most of whom paid high compliment to
Genji. He felt proud, and unconsciously exclaimed, "The son of King
Yuen, the brother of King Mu;" and would have added, "the King Ching's
----"[104] but there he paused.
To describe the scene which followed at a time such as this, when
every mind is not in due equilibrium, is against the warning of
Tsurayuki, the poet, so I will here pass over the rest.
Naishi-no-Kami, the young daughter of Udaijin, now retired to her home
from the Court, having been attacked by ague; and the object of her
retirement was to enjoy rest and repose, as well as to have spells
performed for her illness.
This change did her great good, and she speedily recovered from the
attack.
We had mentioned before that she always had a tender yearning for
Genji, and she was the only one of her family who entertained any
sympathy or good feeling towards him. She had seen, for some time, the
lack of consideration and the indifference with which he was treated
by her friends, and used to send messages of kind inquiry. Genji, on
his part also, had never forgotten her, and the sympathy which she
showed towards him excited in his heart the most lively appreciation.
These mutual feelings led at length to making appointments for meeting
during her retirement. Genji ran the risk of visiting her secretly in
her own apartments. This was really hazardous, more especially so
because her sister, the Empress-mother, was at this time staying in
the same mansion. We cannot regard either the lady or Genji as
entirely free from the charge of imprudence, which, on his part, was
principally the result of his old habits of wandering.
It was on a summer's evening that Genji contrived to see her in her
own apartment, and while they were conversing, a thunderstorm suddenly
broke forth, and all the inmates got up and ran to and fro in their
excitement. Genji had lost the opportunity of escape, and, besides,
the dawn had already broken.
When the storm became lighter and the thunder ceased, Udaijin went
first to the room of his royal daughter, and then to that of
Naishi-no-Kami. The noise of the falling rain made his footsteps
inaudible, and all unexpectedly he appeared at the door and said:
"What a storm it has been! Were you not frightened? "
This voice startled both Genji and the lady. The former hid himself on
one side of the room, and the latter stepped forth to meet her father.
Her face was deeply flushed, which he soon noticed. He said, "You seem
still excited; is your illness not yet quite passed? " While he was so
saying he caught sight of the sash of a man's cloak, twisted round her
skirt.
"How strange! " thought he. The next moment he noticed some papers
lying about, on which something had been scribbled. "This is more
strange! " he thought again; and exclaimed, "Whose writings are these? "
At this request she looked aside, and all at once noticed the sash
round her skirt, and became quite confused. Udaijin was a man of quiet
nature; so, without distressing her further, bent down to pick up the
papers, when by so doing he perceived a man behind the screen, who was
apparently in great confusion and was endeavoring to hide his face.
However, Udaijin soon discovered who he was, and without any further
remarks quitted the room, taking the papers with him.
The troubled state of Genji and the lady may be easily imagined, and
in great anxiety he left the scene.
Now it was the character of Udaijin that he could never keep anything
to himself, even his thoughts. He therefore went to the eldest
daughter--that is, the Empress-mother, and told her that he had found
papers which clearly were in the handwriting of Genji, and that though
venturesomeness is the characteristic of men, such conduct as that
which Genji had indulged in was against all propriety. "People said,"
continued Udaijin, "that he was always carrying on a correspondence
with the present Saiin. Were this true, it would not only be against
public decorum, but his own interest; although I did not entertain any
suspicion before. "
When the sagacious Empress-mother heard this, her anger was something
fearful. "See the Emperor," she said; "though he is Emperor, how
little he is respected! When he was Heir-apparent, the ex-Sadaijin,
not having presented his daughter to him, gave her to Genji, then a
mere boy, on the eve of his Gembuk; and now this Genji boldly dares to
carry on such intrigues with a lady who is intended to be the Royal
consort! How daring, also, is his correspondence with the sacred
Saiin! On the whole, his conduct, in every respect, does not appear to
be as loyal as might be expected, and this only seems to arise from
his looking forward to the ascent of the young Prince to the throne. "
Udaijin somehow felt the undesirability of this anger, and he began to
change his tone, and tried to soothe her, saying: "You have some
reason for being so affected; yet don't disclose such matters to the
public, and pray don't tell it to the Emperor. It is, of course, an
impropriety on the part of the Prince, but we must admit that our
girl, also, would not escape censure. We had better first warn her
privately among ourselves; and if the matter does not even then come
all right, I will myself be responsible for that. "
The Empress-mother, however, could not calm her angry feelings. It
struck her as a great disrespect to her dignity, on Genji's part, to
venture to intrude into the very mansion where she was staying. And
she began to meditate how to turn this incident into a means of
carrying out the design which she had been forming for some time.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 89: A temporary residence expressly built for the Saigu to
undergo purification. ]
[Footnote 90: A peculiar gate erected in front of the sacred places. ]
[Footnote 91: Shinto priests. ]
[Footnote 92: Name of a river of the province of Ise, which the
travellers had to cross. ]
[Footnote 93: A dress made of the bark of the Wistaria was worn by
those who were in deep mourning for near relatives. ]
[Footnote 94: This was an office held by a Court lady, whose duty it
was to act as a medium of communication in the transmitting of
messages between the Emperor and State officials. ]
[Footnote 95: It is said that the tomb of the authoress of this work
is to be found at this spot. ]
[Footnote 96: In the Tendai sect of Buddhists there are sixty volumes
of the theological writings which are considered most authoritative
for their doctrine. ]
[Footnote 97: A passage of a Chinese history. The story is, that a
Prince of a certain Chinese kingdom contrived to have assassinated an
Emperor, his enemy. When he sent off the assassin this event took
place. The allusion here seems to imply the allegation that Genji
intended high treason. ]
[Footnote 98: She was the favorite of the first Emperor of the Hung
dynasty in China, and the rival of the Empress. When the Emperor died,
the Empress, a clever and disdainful woman, revenged herself by
cutting off her feet, and her arms, and making away with her son. ]
[Footnote 99: This seems to have been the name of an aged attendant. ]
[Footnote 100: Among Japanese children it often happens that the milk
teeth become black and decayed, which often gives a charm to their
expression. ]
[Footnote 101: It was the custom to show a white horse on the seventh
day of the new year to the Empress, the superstition being that this
was a protestation against evil spirits. ]
[Footnote 102: A game consisting in opening Chinese poetry books and
covering the rhymes, making others guess them. ]
[Footnote 103: Name of a ballad. ]
[Footnote 104: In Chinese history it is recorded that in giving an
injunction to his son, Duke Choau, a great statesman of the eleventh
century B. C. , used these words: "I am the son of King Yuen, the
brother of King Mu, and the uncle of King Ching; but I am so ready in
receiving men in any way distinguished, that I am often interrupted
three times at my dinner, or in my bath. " It would seem that Genji, in
the pride of his feeling, unconsciously made the above quotation in
reference to himself. ]
CHAPTER XI
VILLA OF FALLING FLOWERS
The troubles of Genji increased day by day, and the world became
irksome to him. One incident, however, deserves a brief notice before
we enter into the main consequences of these troubles.
There was a lady who had been a Niogo at the Court of the late
ex-Emperor, and who was called Reikeiden-Niogo, from the name of her
chamber. She had borne no child to him, and after his death she,
together with a younger sister, was living in straitened
circumstances. Genji had long known both of them, and they were often
aided by the liberality with which he cheerfully assisted them, both
from feelings of friendship, and out of respect to his late father.
He, at this time, kept himself quiet at his own home, but he now paid
these ladies a visit one evening, when the weather, after a
long-continued rain, had cleared up. He conversed with them on topics
of past times until late in the evening. The waning moon threw her
faint light over the tall trees standing in the garden, which spread
their dark shadows over the ground. From among them an orange-tree in
full blossom poured forth its sweet perfume, and a Hototo-gisu[105]
flew over it singing most enchantingly.
"'Ah! how he recollects his own friend! '" said Genji, and continued:--
"To this home of 'falling flower,'
The odors bring thee back again,
And now thou sing'st, in evening hour,
Thy faithful loving strain. "
To this the elder lady replied:--
"At the home where one lives, all sadly alone,
And the shadow of friendship but seldom is cast,
These blossoms reach the bright days that are gone
And bring to our sadness the joys of the past. "
And, after a long and friendly conversation, Genji returned to his
home. One may say that the character of Genji was changeable, it is
true, yet we must do him justice for his kind-heartedness to his old
acquaintances such as these two sisters, and this would appear to be
the reason why he seldom estranged the hearts of those whom he liked.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 105: The name of a small bird which appears about the time
when the orange trees are in blossom. It sings, and is most active in
the evening. In poetry, therefore, the orange blossom and this bird
are associated, and they are both, the blossom and the bird, emblems
of old memories. ]
CHAPTER XII
EXILE AT SUMA
Genji at last made up his mind to undergo a voluntary exile, before
the opinion of the Imperial Court should be publicly announced against
him. He heard that the beautiful sea-coast along Suma was a most
suitable place for retirement, and that, though formerly populous,
there were now only a few fishermen's dwellings scattered here and
there. To Suma he finally determined to go into voluntary exile.
When he had thus made up his mind he became somewhat regretful to
leave the capital, although it had hitherto appeared ungenial. The
first thing which disturbed his mind was the young Violet, whom he
could not take with him. The young lady, also, in the "Villa of
Falling Flowers" (notwithstanding that he was not a frequent visitor)
was another object of his regret.
In spite of these feelings he prepared to set off at the end of March,
and at length it came within a few days of the time fixed for his
departure, when he went privately, under the cover of the evening, to
the mansion of the ex-Sadaijin, in an ajiro carriage, generally used
by women. He proceeded into the inner apartments, where he was greeted
by the nurse of his little child. The boy was growing fast, was able
to stand by this time and to toddle about, and run into Genji's arms
when he saw him. The latter took him on his knee, saying, "Ah! my good
little fellow, I have not seen you for some time, but you do not
forget me, do you? " The ex-Sadaijin now entered. He said, "Often have
I thought of coming to have a talk with you, but you see my health has
been very bad of late, and I seldom appear at Court, having resigned
my office. It would be impolitic to give cause to be talked about, and
for it to be said that I stretch my old bones when private matters
please me. Of course, I have no particular reason to fear the world;
still, if there is anything dreadful, it is the demagogical world.
When I see what unpleasant things are happening to you, which were no
more probable than that the heavens should fall, I really feel that
everything in the world is irksome to me. "
"Yes, what you say is indeed true," replied Genji. "However, all
things in the world--this or that--are the outcome of what we have
done in our previous existence. Hence if we dive to the bottom we
shall see that every misfortune is only the result of our own
negligence. Examples of men's losing the pleasures of the Court are,
indeed, not wanting. Some of these cases may not go so far as a
deprivation of titles and honors, as is mine;[106] still, if one thus
banished from the pleasures of Court, behaves himself as unconcernedly
as those to whom no such misfortune has happened, this would not be
becoming. So, at least, it is considered in a foreign country.
Repentance is what one ought to expect in such circumstances, and
banishment to a far-off locality is a measure generally adopted for
offences different from ordinary ones. If I, simply relying on my
innocence, pass unnoticed the recent displeasure of the Court, this
would only bring upon me greater dishonor. I have, therefore,
determined to go into voluntary exile, before receiving such a
sentence from the Court. "
Then the conversation fell back, as usual, on the times of the late
ex-Emperor, which made them sad; while the child also, who innocently
played near, made them still more gloomy. The ex-Sadaijin went on to
say:--"There is no moment when I ever forget the mother of the boy,
but now I almost dare to think that she was fortunate in being short
lived, and being free from witnessing the dreamlike sorrow we now
suffer. With regard to the boy, the first thing which strikes me as
unbearable is that he may pass some time of his lovely childhood away
from the gaze of your eyes. There are, as you say, no want of
instances of persons suffering a miserable fate, without having
committed any real offence; yet still, in such cases, there was some
pretext to justify their being so treated. I cannot see any such
against you.
were duly performed, and some spirits came forth and gave their names.
But among them was a spirit, apparently a "living one,"[83] which
obstinately refused to be transmitted to the third party. It caused
her great suffering, and seemed not to be of a casual nature, but a
permanent hostile influence. Some imagined this to be the effect of
fearful jealousy of some one who was intimately known to Genji and who
had most influence over him; but the spirit gave no information to
this effect. Hence some even surmised that the wandering spirit of
some aged nurse, or the like, long since dead, still haunted the
mansion, and might have seized the opportunity of the lady's delicate
health, and taken possession of her. Meanwhile at the mansion of
Rokjio, the lady, when she was informed of the sufferings of Lady Aoi,
felt somewhat for her, and began to experience a sort of compassion.
This became stronger when she was told that the sufferings of the Lady
Aoi were owing to some living spirit. She thought that she never
wished any evil to her; but, when she reflected, there were several
times when she began to think that a wounded spirit, such as her own,
might have some influence of the kind. She had sometimes dreams, after
weary thinking, between slumber and waking, in which she seemed to fly
to some beautiful girl, apparently Lady Aoi, and to engage in bitter
contention and struggle with her. She became even terrified at these
dreams; but yet they took place very often. "Even in ordinary
matters," she thought, "it is too common a practice, to say nothing of
the good done by people, but to exaggerate the bad; and so, in such
cases, if it should be rumored that mine was that living spirit which
tormented Lady Aoi, how trying it would be to me! It is no rare
occurrence that one's disembodied spirit, after death, should wander
about; but even that is not a very agreeable idea. How much more,
then, must it be disagreeable to have the repute that one's living
spirit was inflicting pain upon another! "
These thoughts still preyed upon her mind, and made her listless and
depressed.
In due course, the confinement of Lady Aoi approached. At the same
time, the jealous spirit still vexed her, and now more vigorous
exorcising was employed. She became much affected by it, and cried
out, "Please release me a little; I have something to tell the
Prince. "
Hereupon he was ushered into the room. The curtain was dropped, and
the mother of the lady left the room, as she thought her daughter
might prefer to speak to him in private. The sound of the spells
performed in the next chamber ceased, and Hoke-kio was read in its
place. The lady was lying on her couch, dressed in a pure white
garment, with her long tresses unfastened. He approached her, and
taking her hand, said: "What sad affliction you cause us! " She then
lifted her heavy eyelids, and gazed on Genji for some minutes.
He tried to soothe her, and said, "Pray don't trouble yourself too
much about matters. Everything will come right. Your illness, I think,
will soon pass away. Even supposing you quit this present world, there
is another where we shall meet, and where I shall see you once more
cheerful, and there will be a time when your mother and father will
also join you. "
"Ah! no. I only come here to solicit you to give me a little rest. I
feel extremely disturbed. I never thought of coming here in such a
way; but it seems the spirit of one whose thoughts are much
disconcerted wanders away unknown even to itself.
Oh, bind my wandering spirit, pray,
Dear one, nor let it longer stray. "
The enunciation of these words was not that of Lady Aoi herself; and
when Genji came to reflect, it clearly belonged to the Lady of Rokjio.
Always before, when anyone had talked with him about a living spirit
coming to vex Lady Aoi, he felt inclined to suppress such ideas; but
now he began to think that such things might really happen, and he
felt disturbed. "You speak thus," said Genji, as if he was addressing
the spirit, "but you do not tell me who you are. Do, therefore, tell
me clearly. " At these words, strange to say, the face of the Lady Aoi
seemed momentarily to assume the likeness of that of Rokjio. On this,
Genji was still more perplexed and anxious, and put a stop to the
colloquy. Presently she became very calm, and people thought that she
was a little relieved. Soon after this, the lady was safely delivered
of a child.
Now, to perform due thanksgiving for this happy deliverance, the head
of the monastery on Mount Hiye and some other distinguished priests
were sent for. They came in all haste, wiping off the perspiration
from their faces as they journeyed; and, from the Emperor and Royal
princes down to the ordinary nobles, all took an interest in the
ceremony of Ub-yashinai (first feeding), and the more so as the child
was a boy.
To return to the Lady of Rokjio. When she heard of the safe delivery
of Lady Aoi, a slightly jealous feeling once more seemed to vex her;
and when she began to move about, she could not understand how it was,
but she perceived that her dress was scented with a strange odor. [84]
She thought this most surprising, and took baths and changed her
dress, in order to get rid of it; but the odor soon returned, and she
was disgusted with herself.
Some days passed, and the day of autumn appointments arrived. By this
time, Lady Aoi's health seemed progressing favorably, and Genji left
her in order to attend the Court.
When he said good-by to her, there was a strange and unusual look in
her eyes. Sadaijin also went to Court, as well as his sons, who had
some expectation of promotion, and there were few people left in the
mansion.
It was in the evening of that day that Lady Aoi was suddenly attacked
by a spasm, and before the news of this could be carried to the Court,
she died.
These sad tidings soon reached the Court, and created great distress
and confusion: even the arrangements for appointments and promotion
were disturbed. As it happened late in the evening there was no time
to send for the head of the monastery, or any other distinguished
priest. Messengers of inquiry came one after another to the mansion,
so numerous that it was almost impossible to return them all answers.
We need not add how greatly affected were all her relations.
As the death took place from a malign spiritual influence, she was
left untouched during two or three days, in the hope that she might
revive; but no change took place, and now all hope was abandoned. In
due course the corpse was taken to the cemetery of Toribeno. Numerous
mourners and priests of different churches crowded to the spot, while
representatives of the ex-Emperor, Princess Wistaria, and the
Heir-apparent also were present. The ceremony of burial was performed
with all solemnity and pathos.
Thus the modest and virtuous Lady Aoi passed away forever.
Genji forthwith confined himself to his apartment in the grand mansion
of Sadaijin, for mourning and consolation. To-no-Chiujio, who was now
elevated to the title of Sammi, constantly bore him company, and
conversed with him both on serious and amusing subjects. Their
struggle in the apartment of Gen-naishi, and also their rencontre in
the garden of the "Saffron Flower," were among the topics of their
consoling conversation.
It was on one of these occasions that a soft shower of rain was
falling. The evening was rendered cheerless, and To-no-Chiujio came to
see him, walking slowly in his mourning robes of a dull color. Genji
was leaning out of a window, his cheek resting on his hand; and,
looking out upon the half-fading shrubberies, was humming--
"Has she become rain or cloud?
'Tis now unknown. "
To-no-Chiujio gently approached him. They had, as usual, some pathetic
conversation, and then the latter hummed, as if to himself--
"Beyond the cloud in yonder sky,
From which descends the passing rain,
Her gentle soul may dwell,
Though we may cease to trace its form in vain. "
This was soon responded to by Genji:--
"That cloudy shrine we view on high,
Where my lost love may dwell unseen,
Looks gloomy now to this sad eye
That looks with tears on what has been. "
There was among the faded plants of the garden a solitary
Rindo-nadeshko. [85] When To-no-Chiujio had gone, Genji picked this
flower, and sent it to his mother-in-law by the nurse of the infant
child, with the following:--
"In bowers where all beside are dead
Survives alone this lovely flower,
Departed autumn's cherished gem,
Symbol of joy's departed hour. "[86]
Genji still felt lonely. He wrote a letter to the Princess Momo-zono
(peach-gardens). He had known her long. He admired her, too. She had
been a spectator, with her father, on the day of the consecration of
the Saiin, and was one of those to whom the appearance of Genji was
most welcome. In his letter he stated that she might have a little
sympathy with him in his sorrow, and he also sent with it the
following:--
"Many an autumn have I past
In gloomy thought, but none I ween
Has been so mournful as the last,
Which rife with grief and change hath been. "
There was, indeed, nothing serious between Genji and this princess;
yet, as far as correspondence was concerned, they now and then
exchanged letters, so she did not object to receiving this
communication. She felt for him much, and an answer was returned, in
which she expressed her sympathy at his bereavement.
Now, in the mansion of Sadaijin every performance of requiem was
celebrated. The forty-ninth day had passed, and the mementoes of the
dead, both trifling and valuable, were distributed in a due and
agreeable manner; and Genji at length left the grand mansion with the
intention of first going to the ex-Emperor, and then of returning to
his mansion at Nijio. After his departure, Sadaijin went into the
apartment occupied till lately by him. The room was the same as
before, and everything was unchanged; but his only daughter, the
pride of his old days, was no more, and his son-in-law had gone too.
He looked around him for some moments. He saw some papers lying about.
They were those on which Genji had been practising penmanship for
amusement--some in Chinese, others in Japanese; some in free style,
others in stiff. Among these papers he saw one on which the words "Old
pillows and old quilts" were written, and close to these the
following:--
"How much the soul departed, still
May love to linger round this couch,
My own heart tells me, even I
Reluctant am to leave it now. "
And on another of these papers, accompanying the words, "The white
frost lies upon the tiles," the following:--
"How many more of nights shall I
On this lone bed without thee lie;
The flower has left its well-known bed,
And o'er its place the dews are shed. "
As Sadaijin was turning over these papers a withered flower, which
seems to have marked some particular occasion, dropped from amongst
them.
Return we now to Genji. He went to the ex-Emperor, to whom he still
seemed thin and careworn. He had some affectionate conversation with
him, remained till evening, and then proceeded to his mansion at
Nijio. He went to the western wing to visit the young Violet. All were
habited in new winter apparel, and looked fresh and blooming.
"How long it seems since I saw you! " he exclaimed. Violet turned her
glance a little aside. She was apparently shy, which only increased
her beauty.
He approached, and after having a little conversation, said, "I have
many things to say to you, but now I must have a little rest," and
returned to his own quarters.
The next morning, first of all he sent a letter to Sadaijin's, making
inquiry after his infant child.
At this time he confined himself more than usual to his own house, and
for companionship he was constantly with Violet, who was now
approaching womanhood. He would sometimes talk with her differently
from the manner in which he would speak to a mere girl; but on her
part she seemed not to notice the difference, and for their daily
amusement either Go or Hentski[87] was resorted to, and sometimes they
would play on till late in the evening.
Some weeks thus passed away, and there was one morning when Violet did
not appear so early as usual. The inmates of the house, who did not
know what was the reason, were anxious about her, thinking she was
indisposed. About noon Genji came. He entered the little room, saying,
"Are you not quite well? Perhaps you would like to play at Go again,
like last night, for a change;" but she was more than ever shy.
"Why are you so shy? " he exclaimed; "be a little more cheerful--people
may think it strange," said he, and stayed with her a long time trying
to soothe her; but to no effect--she still continued silent and shy.
This was the evening of Wild Boar's day, and some _mochi_ (pounded
rice cake) was presented to him, according to custom, on a tray of
plain white wood.
He called Koremitz before him and said, "To-day is not a very
opportune day; I would rather have them to-morrow evening. Do send in
some to-morrow. [88] It need not be of so many colors. " So saying, he
smiled a little, and sharp Koremitz soon understood what he meant. And
this he accordingly did on the morrow, on a beautiful flower-waiter.
Up to this time nothing about Violet had been publicly known, and
Genji thought it was time to inform her father about his daughter; but
he considered he had better have the ceremony of Mogi first performed,
and ordered preparations to be made with that object.
Let us here notice that the young daughter of Udaijin, after she saw
Genji, was longing to see him again. This inclination was perceived by
her relations. It seems that her father was not quite averse to this
liking, and he told his eldest daughter, the reigning Emperor's
mother, that Genji was recently bereaved of his good consort, and that
he should not feel discontented if his daughter were to take the place
of Lady Aoi; but this the royal mother did not approve. "It would be
far better for her to be introduced at Court," she said, and began
contriving to bring this about.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 80: The sacred virgin of the temple of Ise. ]
[Footnote 81: The same of Kamo, which is situated in the neighborhood
of Kioto, the then capital. ]
[Footnote 82: "Ajiro" means woven bamboo, and here it signifies a
carriage made of woven bamboo. ]
[Footnote 83: Before proceeding with the story, it is necessary for
the reader to peruse the following note: In Japan there existed, and
still more or less exists, a certain superstition which is
entertained, that the spirits of the dead have the power of inflicting
injury on mankind; for instance, a woman when slighted or deserted,
dies, her spirit often works evil on the man who forsook her, or on
her rival. This is the spirit of the dead. There is also another
belief that the spirits of the living have sometimes the same power,
but in this case it only takes place when one is fiercely jealous.
When this spirit works upon the rival, the owner of the spirit is not
aware of it; but she herself becomes more gloomy, as if she had, as it
were, lost her own spirit. These spirits can be exorcised, and the act
is performed by a certain sect of priests; but the living one is
considered far more difficult to exorcise than the other, because it
is imagined that the dead spirit can be easily "laid," or driven back
to the tomb, while the living one, being still in its present state,
cannot be settled so easily. The method of exorcism is as follows:
Certain spells are used on the sufferer, and certain religious
addresses are read from the Buddhist bibles, and then the sufferer is
made to speak out all his subjects of complaint; but it is supposed
not to be the man himself who speaks and tells these causes of
complaint, but the spirit of which he is possessed. This process is
sometimes performed on a third party; in that case the priest
temporarily transmits the spirit from the sufferer to the substitute
and makes it speak with his mouth. When he has told all the causes of
his complaint and wrongs, the priest sometimes argues with him,
sometimes chides, sometimes soothes, and sometimes threatens, and at
last says to the spirit, "If you do not go out quietly, I will confine
you by my sacred power. " By such means the spirit is exorcised; the
process resembles mesmerism in some points, but of course has no
sensible foundation. In other cases the spirits of those who have
either recently, or even years before, met with cruel wrongs or death,
may in their wanderings seize upon some person in the vicinity, though
totally unconnected with the crime done upon them, and may cause them
suffering, or even spirits, who from any cause, are unable to obtain
rest, may do the same thing. ]
[Footnote 84: In the ceremony of exorcism a sacred perfume is burnt,
and it was this scent which the Lady of Rokjio perceived in her
garment because her spirit was supposed to go to and fro between
herself and Lady Aoi, and to bring with it the smell of this perfume. ]
[Footnote 85: A kind of pink; some translate it Gentian. ]
[Footnote 86: Here the flower is compared to the child, and autumn to
the mother. ]
[Footnote 87: "Hentski," a children's game. It consists in choosing
beforehand a "hen" or half-character, opening a book and seeing which
of the players can most quickly pick out the words beginning with this
"hen. "]
[Footnote 88: It seemed to have been the ancient custom, that on the
third night of a wedding, the same kind of rice cake, but only of one
color, was served up. ]
CHAPTER X
DIVINE TREE
The departure of the Saigu, the daughter of the Lady of Rokjio, for
her destination in the Temple of Ise, which was postponed from time to
time, owing to different circumstances, was at length arranged to take
place in September. This definite arrangement delighted the Saigu, to
whom the uncertainty of the event had been somewhat tiresome. Her
mother also made up her mind to accompany her to the temple. Although
there was no precedent for the mother of the Saigu accompanying her
daughter, this lady made up her mind to do so, because she would not
allow her young daughter to go alone.
In a suburban field the "field palace" was built. [89] It was of wood,
and surrounded by a fence of newly cut branches of trees. In front
stood a huge _torii_[90] of logs, and within the compound were the
quarters of the Kandzkasa. [91] Here the Saigu took up her residence,
where her mother also accompanied her. When the sixteenth of
September, which was fixed for the departure, arrived, the ceremony of
her last consecration was duly performed on the banks of the River
Katzra, whence the sacred virgin went to the Imperial Palace to have
the farewell audience with the Emperor. She was accompanied by her
mother. The father of the latter had been a great personage of State,
and she had been married to a Royal Prince at sixteen, when there had
been every possibility of her coming to the Court in a position far
superior to what she now enjoyed. She was, however, bereaved of him at
the age of twenty; and now at thirty she comes to take leave at her
departure for a far-off province with her only daughter. The Saigu was
about fourteen years of age, was extremely delicate and fair to look
upon, and when presented to the Emperor he was struck by the charms
of her youthful appearance.
Numerous carriages were ranged at the front of eight State departments
to see her off in state, besides many others along the road, full of
spectators.
Late in the afternoon her party left the palace, and turned away from
Nijio round to the highway of Toin, and passed by the mansion of
Genji, who witnessed their passing, and sent the following to the
lady-mother with a twig of Sakaki (divine tree):--
"Bravely you quit this scene, 'tis true;
But though you dauntless fly so far,
Your sleeve may yet be wet with dew,
Before you cross Suzukah. "[92]
The answer to this was sent to him from beyond the barrier of Ausaka
(meeting-path) in the following form:--
"Whether my sleeve be wet or not,
In the waters of the Suzukah,
Who will care? Too soon forgot
Will Ise be that lies so far. "
And thus the Lady of Rokjio and her daughter disappear for some time
from our scenes in the capital.
It was about this time that the ex-Emperor was indisposed for some
time, and in October his state became precarious. The anxiety of the
public was general, and the Emperor went to visit him. Notwithstanding
his weakness, the former gave him every injunction, first about the
Heir-apparent, then about Genji, and said:--
"Regard him as your adviser, both in large and small matters, without
reserve, and not otherwise than if I were still alive. He is not
incapable of sharing in the administration of public affairs,
notwithstanding his youth. He has a physiognomy which argues great
qualities, and for this reason, I made him remain in an ordinary
position, without creating him a Royal Prince, with the object that he
should be able to take part in public affairs. Do not misconstrue
these ideas. "
There were some more injunctions given of like nature relating to
public matters, and the Emperor sorrowfully and repeatedly assured him
that he would not neglect them. Such, however, are not subjects which
we women are supposed to understand, and even thus much that I have
mentioned is given not without some apprehension.
A few days after the visit of the Emperor the Heir-apparent was
brought before his dying father. There had been some idea that he
should be brought on the day when the Emperor paid his visit, but it
was postponed to avoid any possible confusion. The boy Prince was
apparently more pleased at seeing his father than concerned at his
illness. To him the ex-Emperor told many things, but he was too young
to heed them. Genji was also present, and the ex-Emperor explained to
him in what way he should serve the Government, and how he should look
after this young Prince. When their interview concluded it was already
merging towards the evening, and the young Prince returned to the
palace.
The Royal mother of the reigning Emperor (formerly Koki-den-Niogo)
would also have visited the ex-Emperor but for her repugnance to
encounter the Princess Wistaria, who never left his side.
In the course of a few days the strength of the Emperor began to
decline, and at last he quietly and peacefully passed away.
And now the Court went into general mourning, and Genji, being one of
the principal mourners, put on a dress of Wistaria cloth;[93] so
frequently did misfortune fall on him in the course of a few years,
and his cares became really great.
The funeral and the weekly requiems were performed with all due pomp
and ceremony, and when the forty-ninth day had passed, all the private
household of his late Majesty dispersed in the midst of the dreary
weather of the latter part of December to their own homes; the
Princess Wistaria retiring to her own residence in Sanjio, accompanied
by her brother, Prince Hiobkio.
True, it is that his late Majesty had been for some time off the
throne, but his authority had by no means diminished on that account.
But his death now altered the state of things, and the ascendancy of
the family of Udaijin became assured. The people in general
entertained great fear that infelicitous changes would take place in
public affairs, and among these Genji and the Princess Wistaria were
the most disturbed by such anxieties.
The new year came in, but nothing joyful or exciting accompanied its
presence--the world was still.
Genji kept himself to his mansion. In those days, when his father was
still in power, his courtyard was filled with the carriages of
visitors, especially when the days of the appointments were
approaching; but now this was changed, and his household secretaries
had but little to occupy them.
In January the Princess Momo-zono (peach-gardens) was chosen for the
Saiin, of the Temple of Kamo, her predecessor having retired from
office, on account of the mourning for her father, the late
ex-Emperor.
There were not many precedents for Princesses of the second generation
being appointed to this position; but this Princess was so chosen,
owing, it seems, to the circumstance that there was no immediate issue
of the Imperial blood suitable for this office.
In February the youngest daughter of the Udaijin became the
Naishi-no-Kami,[94] in the place of the former one, who had left
office and become a nun after the death of the ex-Emperor.
She took up her residence in the Kokiden, which was till lately
occupied by her sister, the Empress-mother, who at this period spent
most of her time at her father's, and who when she came to the Court
made the Ume-Tsubo (the plum-chamber) her apartment.
Meanwhile the Empress-mother, who was by nature sagacious and
revengeful, and who during the late Emperor's life had been fain to
disguise her spiteful feelings, now conceived designs of vengeance
against those who had been adverse to her; and this spirit was
directed especially against Genji and his father-in-law,
Sadaijin--against the latter because he had married his only daughter
to Genji against the wishes of the Emperor when Heir-apparent, and
because during the life of the late Emperor his influence eclipsed
that of her father, Udaijin, who had long been his political
adversary.
The Emperor, it is true, never forgot the dying injunctions of his
father, and never failed in sympathy with Genji; but he was still
young, with a weak mind, and therefore he was under the influence of
his mother and grandfather, Udaijin, and was often constrained by
them in his actions to go contrary to his own wishes.
Such being the state of things, Sadaijin seldom appeared at Court, and
his loss of influence became manifest. Genji, too, had become less
adventurous and more steady in his life; and in his mansion Violet
became the favorite object of attraction, in whose behalf the ceremony
of Mogi had been duly performed some time before, and who had been
presented to her father. The latter had for a long time regarded her
as lost, and even now he never forgave the way in which his daughter
had been taken away by Genji.
The summer had passed without any particular events, and autumn
arrived. Genji, wishing to have a little change, went to the monastery
of Unlinin,[95] and spent some days in the chamber of a rissh
(discipline-master), who was a brother of his mother. Maple-trees were
changing their tints, and the beautiful scenery around this spot made
him almost forget his home. His daily amusement was to gather together
several monks, and make them discuss before him.
He himself perused the so-called "sixty volumes,"[96] and would get
the monks to explain any point which was not clear to his
understanding.
When he came to reflect on the various circumstances taking place in
the capital, he would have preferred remaining in his present
retirement; but he could not forget one whom he had left behind there,
and this caused him to return. After he had requested a splendid
expiatory service to be performed, he left the monastery. The monks
and the neighbors came to see him depart. His carriage was still
black, and his sleeves were still of Wistaria, and in this gloomy
state he made his return to his mansion in Nijio.
He brought back some twigs of maple, whose hues, when compared with
those in his own garden, he perceived were far more beautiful. He,
therefore, sent one of these to the residence of Princess Wistaria,
who had it put in a vase, and hung at the side of her veranda.
Next day he went to the Imperial Palace, to see his brother the
Emperor, who was passing a quiet and unoccupied leisure, and soon
entered into a pleasant conversation on matters both past and present.
This Emperor, it must be remembered, was a person of quiet ways and
moderate ambition. He was kind in heart, and affectionate to his
relatives. His eyes were shut to the more objectionable actions of
Genji. He talked with him on different topics of literature, and asked
his opinions on different questions. He also talked on several
poetical subjects, and on the news of the day--of the departure of the
Saigu.
The conversation then led to the little Prince, the Heir-apparent. The
Emperor said, "Our father has enjoined me to adopt him as my son, and
to be kind to him in every way; but he was always a favorite of mine,
and this injunction was unnecessary, for I could not be any more
particularly kind to him. I am very glad that he is very clever for
his age in penmanship and the like. "
Genji replied, "Yes, I also notice that he is of no ordinary promise;
but yet we must admit that his ability may be only partial. "
After this conversation Genji left. On his way he came across a nephew
of the Empress-mother, who seems to have been a person of rather
arrogant and rough character. As he crossed Genji's path he stopped
for a minute, and loudly reciting,
"The white rainbow crossed the sun,
And the Prince was frightened,"[97]
passed on. Genji at once understood what it was intended for, but
prudently proceeded on his way homeward without taking any notice of
it.
Let us now proceed to the Princess Wistaria. Since she had been
bereaved of the late Emperor she retired to her private residence. She
fully participated in all those inglorious mortifications to which
Genji and his father-in-law were subjected. She was convinced she
would never suffer such cruel treatment as that which Seki-Foojin[98]
did at the hands of her rival, but she was also convinced that some
sort of misfortune was inevitable. These thoughts at last led her to
determine to give up the world. The fortune of her child, however, had
been long a subject of anxiety to her; and though she had determined
to do so, the thought of him had affected her mind still more keenly.
She had hitherto rarely visited the Court, where he was residing; for
her visits might be unpleasing to the feelings of her rival, the other
ex-Empress, and prejudicial to his interests.
However, she now went there unceremoniously, in order to see him
before she carried out her intention to retire. In the course of her
chatting with him, she said, "Suppose, that while I do not see you for
some time, my features become changed, what would you think? "
The little Prince, who watched her face, replied, "Like
Shikib? [99]--no--that can't be. " The Princess smiled a little, and
said, "No, that is not so; Shikib's is changed by age, but suppose
mine were different from hers, and my hair became shorter than hers,
and I wore a black dress like a chaplain-in-waiting, and I could not
see you often, any longer. " And she became a little sad, which made
the Prince also a little downcast.
Serene was his face, and finely pencilled were his eyebrows. He was
growing up fast, and his teeth were a little decayed and
blackened,[100] which gave a peculiar beauty to his smile, and the
prettiness of his appearance only served to increase her regret; and
with a profound pensiveness she returned to her residence.
In the middle of December she performed Mihakko (a grand special
service on the anniversary of death), which she was carefully
preparing for some days. The rolls of the Kio (Buddhist Bible) used
for this occasion were made most magnificently--the spindle of jade,
the covering of rich satin, and its case of woven bamboo ornamented
likewise, as well as the flower-table.
The first day's ceremony was for her father, the second for her
mother, and the third for the late Emperor. Several nobles were
present, and participated, Genji being one of them. Different presents
were made by them all. At the end of the third day's performance her
vows of retirement were, to the surprise of all, announced by the
priest. At the conclusion of the whole ceremony, the chief of the Hiye
monastery, whom she had sent for, arrived, and from whom she received
the "commandments. " She then had her hair cut off by her uncle, Bishop
of Yokogawa.
These proceedings cast a gloom over the minds of all present, but
especially on those of Hiob-Kio, her brother, and Genji; and soon
after every one departed for his home.
Another New Year came in, and the aspect of the Court was brighter. A
royal banquet and singing dances were soon expected to take place, but
the Princess Wistaria no longer took any heed of them, and most of her
time was devoted to prayer in a new private chapel, which she had had
built expressly for herself in her grounds.
Genji came to pay his New Year's visit on the seventh day, but he saw
no signs of the season. All nobles who used to pay visits of
felicitation, now shunned her house and gathered at the mansion of
Udaijin, near her own. The only things which caught Genji's attention
in her mansion was a white horse,[101] which was being submitted to
her inspection as on former occasions. When he entered, he noticed
that all the hangings of the room and the dresses of the inmates were
of the dark hues of conventual life. The only things that there seemed
to herald spring, were the melting of the thin ice on the surface of
the lake, and the budding of the willows on its banks. The scene
suggested many reflections to his mind; and, after the usual greetings
of the season, and a short conversation, he quitted the mansion.
It should be here noticed that none of her household officers received
any promotion or appointment to any sinecure office, or honorary
title, even where the merit of the individual deserved it, or the
Court etiquette required it. Nay, even the proper income for her
household expenses was, under different pretexts, neglected. As for
the Princess, she must have been prepared for such inevitable
consequences of her giving up the world; but it ought not to be taken
as implying that the sacrifice should be so great. Hence these facts
caused much disappointment to her household, and the mind of the
Princess herself was sometimes moved by feelings of mortification.
Nevertheless, troubled about herself no longer, she only studied the
welfare and prosperity of her child, and persevered in the most
devout prayers for this. She also remembered a secret sin, still
unknown to the world, which tormented the recesses of her soul, and
she was constantly praying to Buddha to lighten her burden.
About the same time, tired of the world, both public and private,
Sadaijin sent in his resignation. The Emperor had not forgotten how
much he was respected by the late ex-Emperor, how the latter had
enjoined him always to regard him as a support of the country, and he
several times refused to accept his resignation; but Sadaijin
persevered in his request, and confined himself to his own mansion.
This gave complete ascendancy to the family of Udaijin. All the sons
of Sadaijin, who formerly had enjoyed considerable distinction at
Court, were now fast sinking into insignificance, and had very little
influence. To-no-Chiujio, the eldest of them, was one of those
affected by the change of circumstances. True, he was married to the
fourth daughter of Udaijin; but he passed little time with her, she
still residing with her father, and he was not among the favorite
sons-in-law. His name was also omitted in the appointment list on
promotion day, which seems to have been intended by his father-in-law
as a warning.
Under such circumstances he was constantly with Genji, and they
studied and played together. They both well remembered how they used
to compete with each other in such matters as studying and playing,
and they still kept their rivalry alive. They would sometimes send for
some scholars, and would compose poems together, or play the "Covering
Rhymes. "[102] They seldom appeared at Court, while in the outer world
different scandals about them were increasing day by day.
One day in summer To-no-Chiujio came to pay his usual visit to Genji.
He had brought by his page several interesting books, and Genji also
ordered several rare books from his library. Many scholars were sent
for, in such a manner as not to appear too particular; and many nobles
and University students were also present. They were divided into two
parties, the right and the left, and began betting on the game of
"Covering Rhymes. " Genji headed the right, and To-no-Chiujio the left.
To his credit the former often hit on the most difficult rhymes, with
which the scholars were puzzled. At last the left was beaten by the
right, consequently To-no-Chiujio gave an entertainment to the party,
as arranged in their bet.
They also amused themselves by writing prose and verse. Some roses
were blossoming in front of the veranda, which possessed a quiet charm
different from those of the full season of spring.
The sight of these afforded them a delightful enjoyment while they
were partaking of refreshment. A son of To-no-Chiujio, about eight or
nine years old, was present. He was the second boy by his wife,
Udaijin's daughter, and a tolerable player on the Soh-flute. Both his
countenance and disposition were amiable. The party was in full
enjoyment when the boy rose and sang "Takasago" (high sand). [103] When
he proceeded to the last clause of his song,
"Oh, could I see that lovely flower,
That blossomed this morn! "
To-no-Chiujio offered his cup to Genji, saying,
"How glad am I to see your gentleness,
Sweet as the newly blooming flower! "
Genji, smiling, took the cup as he replied,
"Yet that untimely flower, I fear,
The rain will beat, the wind will tear,
Ere it be fully blown. "
And added,
"Oh, I myself am but a sere leaf. "
Genji was pressed by To-no-Chiujio to take several more cups, and his
humor reached its height. Many poems, both in Chinese and Japanese,
were composed by those present, most of whom paid high compliment to
Genji. He felt proud, and unconsciously exclaimed, "The son of King
Yuen, the brother of King Mu;" and would have added, "the King Ching's
----"[104] but there he paused.
To describe the scene which followed at a time such as this, when
every mind is not in due equilibrium, is against the warning of
Tsurayuki, the poet, so I will here pass over the rest.
Naishi-no-Kami, the young daughter of Udaijin, now retired to her home
from the Court, having been attacked by ague; and the object of her
retirement was to enjoy rest and repose, as well as to have spells
performed for her illness.
This change did her great good, and she speedily recovered from the
attack.
We had mentioned before that she always had a tender yearning for
Genji, and she was the only one of her family who entertained any
sympathy or good feeling towards him. She had seen, for some time, the
lack of consideration and the indifference with which he was treated
by her friends, and used to send messages of kind inquiry. Genji, on
his part also, had never forgotten her, and the sympathy which she
showed towards him excited in his heart the most lively appreciation.
These mutual feelings led at length to making appointments for meeting
during her retirement. Genji ran the risk of visiting her secretly in
her own apartments. This was really hazardous, more especially so
because her sister, the Empress-mother, was at this time staying in
the same mansion. We cannot regard either the lady or Genji as
entirely free from the charge of imprudence, which, on his part, was
principally the result of his old habits of wandering.
It was on a summer's evening that Genji contrived to see her in her
own apartment, and while they were conversing, a thunderstorm suddenly
broke forth, and all the inmates got up and ran to and fro in their
excitement. Genji had lost the opportunity of escape, and, besides,
the dawn had already broken.
When the storm became lighter and the thunder ceased, Udaijin went
first to the room of his royal daughter, and then to that of
Naishi-no-Kami. The noise of the falling rain made his footsteps
inaudible, and all unexpectedly he appeared at the door and said:
"What a storm it has been! Were you not frightened? "
This voice startled both Genji and the lady. The former hid himself on
one side of the room, and the latter stepped forth to meet her father.
Her face was deeply flushed, which he soon noticed. He said, "You seem
still excited; is your illness not yet quite passed? " While he was so
saying he caught sight of the sash of a man's cloak, twisted round her
skirt.
"How strange! " thought he. The next moment he noticed some papers
lying about, on which something had been scribbled. "This is more
strange! " he thought again; and exclaimed, "Whose writings are these? "
At this request she looked aside, and all at once noticed the sash
round her skirt, and became quite confused. Udaijin was a man of quiet
nature; so, without distressing her further, bent down to pick up the
papers, when by so doing he perceived a man behind the screen, who was
apparently in great confusion and was endeavoring to hide his face.
However, Udaijin soon discovered who he was, and without any further
remarks quitted the room, taking the papers with him.
The troubled state of Genji and the lady may be easily imagined, and
in great anxiety he left the scene.
Now it was the character of Udaijin that he could never keep anything
to himself, even his thoughts. He therefore went to the eldest
daughter--that is, the Empress-mother, and told her that he had found
papers which clearly were in the handwriting of Genji, and that though
venturesomeness is the characteristic of men, such conduct as that
which Genji had indulged in was against all propriety. "People said,"
continued Udaijin, "that he was always carrying on a correspondence
with the present Saiin. Were this true, it would not only be against
public decorum, but his own interest; although I did not entertain any
suspicion before. "
When the sagacious Empress-mother heard this, her anger was something
fearful. "See the Emperor," she said; "though he is Emperor, how
little he is respected! When he was Heir-apparent, the ex-Sadaijin,
not having presented his daughter to him, gave her to Genji, then a
mere boy, on the eve of his Gembuk; and now this Genji boldly dares to
carry on such intrigues with a lady who is intended to be the Royal
consort! How daring, also, is his correspondence with the sacred
Saiin! On the whole, his conduct, in every respect, does not appear to
be as loyal as might be expected, and this only seems to arise from
his looking forward to the ascent of the young Prince to the throne. "
Udaijin somehow felt the undesirability of this anger, and he began to
change his tone, and tried to soothe her, saying: "You have some
reason for being so affected; yet don't disclose such matters to the
public, and pray don't tell it to the Emperor. It is, of course, an
impropriety on the part of the Prince, but we must admit that our
girl, also, would not escape censure. We had better first warn her
privately among ourselves; and if the matter does not even then come
all right, I will myself be responsible for that. "
The Empress-mother, however, could not calm her angry feelings. It
struck her as a great disrespect to her dignity, on Genji's part, to
venture to intrude into the very mansion where she was staying. And
she began to meditate how to turn this incident into a means of
carrying out the design which she had been forming for some time.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 89: A temporary residence expressly built for the Saigu to
undergo purification. ]
[Footnote 90: A peculiar gate erected in front of the sacred places. ]
[Footnote 91: Shinto priests. ]
[Footnote 92: Name of a river of the province of Ise, which the
travellers had to cross. ]
[Footnote 93: A dress made of the bark of the Wistaria was worn by
those who were in deep mourning for near relatives. ]
[Footnote 94: This was an office held by a Court lady, whose duty it
was to act as a medium of communication in the transmitting of
messages between the Emperor and State officials. ]
[Footnote 95: It is said that the tomb of the authoress of this work
is to be found at this spot. ]
[Footnote 96: In the Tendai sect of Buddhists there are sixty volumes
of the theological writings which are considered most authoritative
for their doctrine. ]
[Footnote 97: A passage of a Chinese history. The story is, that a
Prince of a certain Chinese kingdom contrived to have assassinated an
Emperor, his enemy. When he sent off the assassin this event took
place. The allusion here seems to imply the allegation that Genji
intended high treason. ]
[Footnote 98: She was the favorite of the first Emperor of the Hung
dynasty in China, and the rival of the Empress. When the Emperor died,
the Empress, a clever and disdainful woman, revenged herself by
cutting off her feet, and her arms, and making away with her son. ]
[Footnote 99: This seems to have been the name of an aged attendant. ]
[Footnote 100: Among Japanese children it often happens that the milk
teeth become black and decayed, which often gives a charm to their
expression. ]
[Footnote 101: It was the custom to show a white horse on the seventh
day of the new year to the Empress, the superstition being that this
was a protestation against evil spirits. ]
[Footnote 102: A game consisting in opening Chinese poetry books and
covering the rhymes, making others guess them. ]
[Footnote 103: Name of a ballad. ]
[Footnote 104: In Chinese history it is recorded that in giving an
injunction to his son, Duke Choau, a great statesman of the eleventh
century B. C. , used these words: "I am the son of King Yuen, the
brother of King Mu, and the uncle of King Ching; but I am so ready in
receiving men in any way distinguished, that I am often interrupted
three times at my dinner, or in my bath. " It would seem that Genji, in
the pride of his feeling, unconsciously made the above quotation in
reference to himself. ]
CHAPTER XI
VILLA OF FALLING FLOWERS
The troubles of Genji increased day by day, and the world became
irksome to him. One incident, however, deserves a brief notice before
we enter into the main consequences of these troubles.
There was a lady who had been a Niogo at the Court of the late
ex-Emperor, and who was called Reikeiden-Niogo, from the name of her
chamber. She had borne no child to him, and after his death she,
together with a younger sister, was living in straitened
circumstances. Genji had long known both of them, and they were often
aided by the liberality with which he cheerfully assisted them, both
from feelings of friendship, and out of respect to his late father.
He, at this time, kept himself quiet at his own home, but he now paid
these ladies a visit one evening, when the weather, after a
long-continued rain, had cleared up. He conversed with them on topics
of past times until late in the evening. The waning moon threw her
faint light over the tall trees standing in the garden, which spread
their dark shadows over the ground. From among them an orange-tree in
full blossom poured forth its sweet perfume, and a Hototo-gisu[105]
flew over it singing most enchantingly.
"'Ah! how he recollects his own friend! '" said Genji, and continued:--
"To this home of 'falling flower,'
The odors bring thee back again,
And now thou sing'st, in evening hour,
Thy faithful loving strain. "
To this the elder lady replied:--
"At the home where one lives, all sadly alone,
And the shadow of friendship but seldom is cast,
These blossoms reach the bright days that are gone
And bring to our sadness the joys of the past. "
And, after a long and friendly conversation, Genji returned to his
home. One may say that the character of Genji was changeable, it is
true, yet we must do him justice for his kind-heartedness to his old
acquaintances such as these two sisters, and this would appear to be
the reason why he seldom estranged the hearts of those whom he liked.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 105: The name of a small bird which appears about the time
when the orange trees are in blossom. It sings, and is most active in
the evening. In poetry, therefore, the orange blossom and this bird
are associated, and they are both, the blossom and the bird, emblems
of old memories. ]
CHAPTER XII
EXILE AT SUMA
Genji at last made up his mind to undergo a voluntary exile, before
the opinion of the Imperial Court should be publicly announced against
him. He heard that the beautiful sea-coast along Suma was a most
suitable place for retirement, and that, though formerly populous,
there were now only a few fishermen's dwellings scattered here and
there. To Suma he finally determined to go into voluntary exile.
When he had thus made up his mind he became somewhat regretful to
leave the capital, although it had hitherto appeared ungenial. The
first thing which disturbed his mind was the young Violet, whom he
could not take with him. The young lady, also, in the "Villa of
Falling Flowers" (notwithstanding that he was not a frequent visitor)
was another object of his regret.
In spite of these feelings he prepared to set off at the end of March,
and at length it came within a few days of the time fixed for his
departure, when he went privately, under the cover of the evening, to
the mansion of the ex-Sadaijin, in an ajiro carriage, generally used
by women. He proceeded into the inner apartments, where he was greeted
by the nurse of his little child. The boy was growing fast, was able
to stand by this time and to toddle about, and run into Genji's arms
when he saw him. The latter took him on his knee, saying, "Ah! my good
little fellow, I have not seen you for some time, but you do not
forget me, do you? " The ex-Sadaijin now entered. He said, "Often have
I thought of coming to have a talk with you, but you see my health has
been very bad of late, and I seldom appear at Court, having resigned
my office. It would be impolitic to give cause to be talked about, and
for it to be said that I stretch my old bones when private matters
please me. Of course, I have no particular reason to fear the world;
still, if there is anything dreadful, it is the demagogical world.
When I see what unpleasant things are happening to you, which were no
more probable than that the heavens should fall, I really feel that
everything in the world is irksome to me. "
"Yes, what you say is indeed true," replied Genji. "However, all
things in the world--this or that--are the outcome of what we have
done in our previous existence. Hence if we dive to the bottom we
shall see that every misfortune is only the result of our own
negligence. Examples of men's losing the pleasures of the Court are,
indeed, not wanting. Some of these cases may not go so far as a
deprivation of titles and honors, as is mine;[106] still, if one thus
banished from the pleasures of Court, behaves himself as unconcernedly
as those to whom no such misfortune has happened, this would not be
becoming. So, at least, it is considered in a foreign country.
Repentance is what one ought to expect in such circumstances, and
banishment to a far-off locality is a measure generally adopted for
offences different from ordinary ones. If I, simply relying on my
innocence, pass unnoticed the recent displeasure of the Court, this
would only bring upon me greater dishonor. I have, therefore,
determined to go into voluntary exile, before receiving such a
sentence from the Court. "
Then the conversation fell back, as usual, on the times of the late
ex-Emperor, which made them sad; while the child also, who innocently
played near, made them still more gloomy. The ex-Sadaijin went on to
say:--"There is no moment when I ever forget the mother of the boy,
but now I almost dare to think that she was fortunate in being short
lived, and being free from witnessing the dreamlike sorrow we now
suffer. With regard to the boy, the first thing which strikes me as
unbearable is that he may pass some time of his lovely childhood away
from the gaze of your eyes. There are, as you say, no want of
instances of persons suffering a miserable fate, without having
committed any real offence; yet still, in such cases, there was some
pretext to justify their being so treated. I cannot see any such
against you.
