“The wind that waked you,Came it from where my Lady lies,Waves of the shore, whose sighsEcho my sobbing?”
“The wind that waked you,Came it from where my Lady lies,Waves of the shore, whose sighsEcho my sobbing?”
“The wind that waked you,Came it from where my Lady lies,Waves of the shore, whose sighsEcho my sobbing?”
“The wind that waked you,
Came it from where my Lady lies,
Waves of the shore, whose sighs
Echo my sobbing?”
At this his followers awoke with a start and listened to his singing with wonder and delight. But the words filled them with an unendurable sadness, and there were some whose lips trembled while they rose and dressed.
What (Genji asked himself) must they think of him? For his sake they had given up their homes, parents, brothers, friends from whom they had never been absent for a day; abandoned everything in life which they had held dear. The thought that these unfortunate gentlemen should be involved in the consequences of his indiscretion was very painful to him. He knew that his own moodiness and ill humour had greatly contributed to their depression. Next day he tried to cheer them with jokes and amusing stories; and to make the time pass less tediously he set them to work to join strips of variegated paper into a long roll and did some writing practice, while on a piece of very fine Chinese silk he made a number of rough ink sketches which when pasted on to a screen looked very well indeed. Here before his eyes were all those hills and shores of which he had so often dreamed since the day long ago when they had been shown to him from a far-off height.11He nowmade good use of his opportunities and soon got together a collection of views which admirably illustrated the scenery of this beautiful coast-line. So delighted were his companions that they were anxious he should send for Chiyeda and Tsunenori12and make them use his sketches as models for proper-coloured paintings. His new affability soon made them forget all their troubles, and the four or five retainers who habitually served him felt that the discomforts of exile were quite outweighed by the pleasure of waiting upon such a master.
The flowers which had been planted in front of the cottage were blooming with a wild profusion of colour. One particularly calm and delightful evening Genji came out on to the verandah which looked towards the bay. He was dressed in a soft coat of fine white silk with breeches of aster-colour. A cloak of some dark material hung loosely over his shoulders. After reciting the formula of submission (‘Such a one, being a disciple of the Buddha Śākyamuni, does obeisance to him and craves that in the moonlit shelter of the Tree of Knowledge he may seek refuge from the clouds of sorrow and death’) he began in a low voice to read a passage from the Scriptures. The sunset, the light from the sea, the towering hills cast so strange a radiance upon him as he stood reading from the book, that to those who watched he seemed like some visitant from another world. Out beyond the bay a line of boats was passing, the fishermen singing as they rowed. So far off were these boats that they looked like a convoy of small birds afloat upon the high seas. With the sound of oars was subtly blended the crying of wild-geese, each wanderer’s lament swiftly matched by the voice of his close-following mate. How different his lot to theirs!And Genji raised his sleeve to brush away the tears that had begun to flow. As he did so the whiteness of his hand flashed against the black wooden beads of his rosary. Here indeed, thought those who were with him, was beauty enough to console them for the absence of the women whom they had left behind.
Among his followers was that same Ukon who had gone with him to the old Emperor’s tomb. Ukon’s father had become Governor of Hitachi and was anxious that he should join him in his province. He had chosen instead to go with Genji to Suma. The decision cost him a bitter struggle, but from Genji he hid all this, and appeared to be quite eager for the journey. This man, pointing to the wild-geese above, now recited the poem: ‘Like flocks that unafraid explore the shifting highways of the air, I have no fear but that my leader should outwing me in the empty sky.’
About this time the Secretary to the Viceroy came back to Court. As he was travelling with his wife, daughters and a very large staff of attendants he preferred to make the whole journey by water. They were proceeding in a leisurely fashion along the coast and had intended to stop at Suma which was said to be the most beautiful bay of all, when they heard that Genji was living there. The giddy young persons in the boat were immediately in the wildest state of excitement, though their father showed no signs of putting them ashore. If the other sisters, who did not know Genji, were in a flutter, it may be imagined what a commotion was going on in the breast of Lady Gosechi.13She could indeed hardly restrain herself from cutting the tow-cord, and when the boat put in so near the shore that a faint sound of string-music could be heard floating down from Genji’s cottage, the beauty of the shore, the proximityof so interesting a personage and the interrupted strains of the tune combined to make a powerful impression upon the imaginations of these young people, and the tears came into their eyes. The Secretary sent the following letter ashore: ‘I had hoped that after my long absence it would be from your lips that I should first hear all the gossip of the Capital. I now learn to my intense surprise and, if you will allow me to say so, to my deep regret, that you are at present living in retirement in this remote place. As we are a large and mixed party, I must excuse myself from troubling you, but I hope to have the pleasure of your society upon some other occasion.’ This letter was brought by his son the Governor of Echizen, a nobleman who had been one of Genji’s equerries and had been treated by him with particular kindness. He was distressed at his former master’s ill fortune and did not wish to seem ungrateful; but he knew that there were persons in his father’s train who had their eye upon him and would, if he lingered in Genji’s company, denounce him to the authorities. He therefore handed in the letter and at once hurried away. ‘You are the first of my friends to visit me since I left the Capital,’ said Genji. ‘I cannot sufficiently thank you for sparing me so much of your time....’ His reply to the Viceroy’s letter was couched in much the same terms. The young Governor returned in very low spirits, and his account of what he had seen and heard provoked loud expressions of sympathy not only from the ladies of the party but also from the Viceroy himself. Lady Gosechi contrived to send a short message on her own account, together with the poem: ‘Little you guessed that at the sound of your distant lute one hand was near indeed to severing the tow-cord of the boat.’ ‘Do not think me forward if under these strange circumstances I have ventured once more to address you,’ she added. He smiled as he read the letter.She seemed to have become very demure. ‘Had you in truth been minded to visit me, what easier than to cut the cable that drags you past this shore?’ So he wrote and again: ‘You are a little taken aback, I think, to find me “among the fishers at their toil.”’ So much did he long for some distraction that he would indeed have been delighted if she had found courage to come ashore; nor is this strange when we remember how not far away from this same place a mighty exile14found solace in the company of an ostler.
In the Capital Genji’s absence was still universally deplored. His step-brothers and some of the noblemen with whom he was most intimate had in the early days of his exile sent sometimes to enquire about him and had composed elegies in his honour, to which he had replied. This soon reached Kōkiden’s ears. She was furious at this proof of his continued popularity: ‘It is unheard of,’ she burst out angrily, ‘that a man condemned of offences against the Government of his country should be allowed to live as he pleases and even share in the literary pastimes of the Court. There he sits (by the way I hear he has got a very pretty house!) railing all day at the Government, and no doubt experimenting on loyal servants of the Crown for all the world like that man in the History Book who declared that a stag was a horse.’15Henceforward Genji received no letters from Court.
The lady at the Nijō-in remained inconsolable. The servants in the eastern wing had at first been somewhat reluctant to transfer their services to her; but after a whileher charming manners and amiable disposition completely won their hearts, and none of them showed any signs of seeking service elsewhere. Their employment had given them opportunity of observing, albeit at a distance, most of the great ladies of the Court. They were soon willing to allow that in beauty of character Murasaki far excelled them all, and they well understood why Genji had singled her out to be his pupil.
He, meanwhile, longed more and more to have her with him. But apart from the fact that the roughness of life at Suma would be utterly unsuited to her, he knew that his sending for her would be regarded as an impudent challenge to those who had achieved his downfall.
They were within easy distance of Akashi, and Yoshikiyo naturally thought of the strange lady whom he had once courted there, daughter of the eccentric recluse16who had made his home near the bay. He wrote to her several times, but received no reply. Finally a note came not from her but from her father, saying that he had something to tell Yoshikiyo and would be glad if he could find time to call. It was quite clear what this meant. The old man merely wanted to tell him that his suit was unwelcome. Yoshikiyo saw no point in going to the house on purpose to be snubbed, and left the letter unanswered. As a rule provincial governors seem to think that there are no reputable families in the land except those of other provincial governors, and it would never occur to them to marry their daughters into any other class. But this ex-Governor was a man who not only had ideas of his own but clung to them with passionate obstinacy. For years past, the sons of provincial officials had been courting his daughter, and one and all he had sent them about their business. His own notion of a husband was very different.Then came Genji’s arrival at Suma. So soon as he heard of it, the ex-Governor said to his wife: ‘I hear that Lady Kiritsubo’s boy, Prince Hikaru Genji, has got into some sort of trouble with the authorities and has come to live at Suma. I confess I am delighted to hear it. What a splendid opportunity for our girl....’
‘You must be mad!’ broke in the mother. ‘I have been told by people at Court, that he already keeps several ladies of the highest rank as his mistresses; and not content with that, it appears that he has now got into trouble about some lady in the Imperial Household. I cannot imagine why you suppose that a coxcomb of this kind is likely to take any interest in a simple, country girl....’ ‘You know nothing whatever about it,’ interrupted the father testily. ‘I have very good reasons for thinking as I do, and I must trouble you to fall in with my plans. I intend to invite Prince Genji over here at the earliest possible opportunity.’ He now spoke in a gentler tone, but it was evident that he meant to have his own way, and to his wife’s consternation he began to make the most lavish preparations for Genji’s entertainment.’ I cannot imagine,’ she said, ‘why you are so set upon marrying our daughter to this man. However exalted his position may once have been, that does not alter the fact that he has now been expelled from the City as a criminal. Even if by any chance he did take a fancy to her, the idea of accepting such a person as our son-in-law is one which you cannot surely entertain even as a joke....’ ‘What is all this about criminals?’ he growled. ‘Surely you know that some of the most distinguished men in history both here and in China have been forced at one time or another to retire from Court. There is nothing disgraceful about it. Just consider for a moment who this prince is. His mother was the daughter of my own uncle, the late Inspector ofProvinces, who having made a name for himself by his public services was able to obtain for her a position in the Imperial Palace. Here she at once became the idol of our beloved Monarch, and although the very exceptional favour with which she was treated aroused a good deal of jealousy and in the end brought about her undoing, her career cannot be considered unsuccessful, since she became the mother of His Majesty’s most cherished son. In short, the family with which his august father was not ashamed to ally himself is surely good enough for this young prince, and though our daughter is a country-bred girl, I do not think you will find he turns up his nose at her....’
The young woman in question was not remarkably handsome, but she had considerable distinction and charm. Indeed many of the greatest ladies at Court had, so far as good looks went, far less to boast of. She was painfully conscious of her own deficiencies and had made up her mind that no one of good position would ever take any notice of her. Men of her own rank in life she knew that she had no opportunity of meeting. Sooner or later her parents would die, and then she would either become a nun or else drown herself in the sea; she was not sure which. Her father brought her up with extreme strictness, and her only outings were pilgrimages to the Shrine of Sumiyoshi, whither he brought her regularly twice a year, secretly hoping that the God would be moved to assist his ambitious designs.
The New Year had begun. The days were growing longer and already there was a faint show of blossom on the cherry-trees which Genji had planted in his garden at Suma. The weather was delightful, and sitting idly in the sunshine he recalled a thousand incidents that were linked in his mind with former springs. The twentieth day of the second month! It was just a year ago that he left the Capital. All those painful scenes of farewell came back vividly to hismind, bringing with them a new access of longing. The cherry-trees of the Southern Hall must now be in full bloom. He remembered the wonderful Flower Feast of six years ago, saw his father’s face, the elegant figure of the young Crown Prince; and verses from the poems which he had himself made on that occasion floated back into his mind.
All this while Tō no Chūjō had been living at the Great Hall, with very little indeed to amuse him. He had been put down again into the Fourth Rank and was very much discouraged. It was essential to his prospects that he should not come under any further suspicion, but he was an affectionate creature and finding himself longing more and more for Genji’s society, he determined, even at the cost of offending the Government, to set out at once for Suma. The complete unexpectedness of his visit made it all the more cheering and delightful. He was soon admiring Genji’s rustic house, which seemed to him the most extraordinary place to be living in. He thought it more like some legendary hermit’s hut in a Chinese book than a real cottage. Indeed the whole place might have come straight out of a picture, with its hedge of wattled bamboo, the steps of unhewn stone, the stout pine-wood pillars and general air of improvisation. Chūjō was enchanted by the strangeness of it all. Genji was dressed in peasant style with a grey hunting-cloak and outer breeches over a suit of russet-brown. The way in which he played up to this rustic costume struck Chūjō as highly absurd and at the same time delighted him. The furniture was all of the simplest kind and even Genji’s seat was not divided off in any way from the rest of the room. Near it lay boards for the games ofgoandsugaroku, and chessmen, with other such gear as is met with in country houses. The meals, which were necessarily of a somewhat makeshift character, seemed to Chūjō positively exciting. One day some fishermenarrived with cockles to sell. Genji sent for them and inspected their catch. He questioned them about their trade and learned something of the life led year in and year out by those whose homes were on this shore. It was a story of painful unremitting toil, and though they told it in a jargon which he could only half understand, he realized with compassion that their feelings were, after all, very much like his own. He made them handsome presents from his wardrobe and they felt that these shells had indeed been life-giving.17
The stable was quite close by and in full view of the cottage. It amused Chūjō to watch the labourers fetching rice-husks from a queer building which seemed to be a sort of store-house or granary and using them as provender for the horses; and he would sing the ballad: ‘Sweet is the shade....’18
He had of course a great deal to tell to his friend, and it was sometimes with laughter, sometimes with tears that they went step by step over all that had happened in the long months of their separation. There were many stories of Aoi’s little son, happily still too young to understand what was going on in the world around him, of the old Minister, who now was sunk into a state of unremitting melancholy, and of a thousand other happenings at the Great Hall and Court, which could not possibly be recounted in full and would lose all interest if told incompletely. Neither of them had any inclination to sleep, and at dawn they were still exchanging Chinese odes.
Though Chūjō had said that he no longer cared what the authorities thought of him, he was reluctant to aggravatehis offence by lingering on this forbidden shore, and he now announced that he must start for home again immediately. This was a terrible blow to Genji who knew that so short a visit would leave him even more wretched than before. Wine was brought and as they drank the farewell cup they murmured in unison the words of Po Chü-i’s parting poem:
“Chin on hand by the candle we lay at dawnChanting songs of sadness, till the tears had splashedOur cup of new-made wine....”
“Chin on hand by the candle we lay at dawnChanting songs of sadness, till the tears had splashedOur cup of new-made wine....”
“Chin on hand by the candle we lay at dawnChanting songs of sadness, till the tears had splashedOur cup of new-made wine....”
“Chin on hand by the candle we lay at dawn
Chanting songs of sadness, till the tears had splashed
Our cup of new-made wine....”
Chūjō had brought with him some delightful presents from the Capital. With many apologies Genji offered him in return a black colt, saying as he did so: ‘I fear that it may be embarrassing for you to receive even so poor a gift as this from one in my position. But I beg of you to accept it as a symbol of my longing to return, for in theOld Poemit is written:
“The Tartar horse neighs into the northern wind;The bird of Yueh nests on the southern bough.”
“The Tartar horse neighs into the northern wind;The bird of Yueh nests on the southern bough.”
“The Tartar horse neighs into the northern wind;The bird of Yueh nests on the southern bough.”
“The Tartar horse neighs into the northern wind;
The bird of Yueh nests on the southern bough.”
It was in fact a magnificent horse and could hardly have been matched in all the kingdom. Among the presents brought by Chūjō was a celebrated flute which had long been in his possession, and many other small but beautiful objects such as could easily be secreted and would serve as tokens of his affection without exciting troublesome comment.
The morning was well advanced before Chūjō set out. He could hardly believe that the long-dreamed-of meeting was already over and looked back again and again to where his friend was standing. The sight of Genji gazing after him as the boat drew away made it more difficult than ever to endure so speedy a parting, and he cried out ‘When, when shall we meet again? I cannot think that they willlet you go on much longer....’ At which Genji answered him with the poem: ‘O crane, who travellest at will even to the very margin of the Land on High, look well upon me, whether in intent I be not cloudless as this new day of Spring.’19‘Sometimes for a while I have hope,’ he added; ‘but of those who before have been in my case even the most grave and virtuous have seldom managed to repair their fortunes. I fear I shall not see the precincts of the Capital again.’ ‘Hapless in cloudland shall your crane’s solitary voice re-echo till with his lost friend, wing to wing again, he can renew his flight.’ This was the poem that Chūjō now recited as his boat left the shore.
The third month was now beginning and some one who was supposed to be well up in these matters reminded Genji that one in his circumstances would do well to perform the ceremony of Purification on the coming Festival Day.20He loved exploring the coast and readily consented. It happened that a certain itinerant magician was then touring the province of Harima with no other apparatus than the crude back-scene21before which he performed his incantations. Genji now sent for him and bade him perform the ceremony of Purification. Part of the ritual consisted in the loading of a little boat with a number of doll-like figures and letting it float out to sea. While he watched this, Genji recited the poem: ‘How like these puppets am I too cast out to dwell amid the unportioned fallows of the mighty sea....’ These verses he recited standing out in the open with nothing but the wind and sky around him, and the magician, pausing to watch him, thought that he had never in his life encountered a creature of such beauty. Till now there had not been the least ripple on the face of the sea.Genji, wondering what would in the end become of him, began to review the whole course of his past life and the chances of better fortune in the future. He gazed on the quiet aspects of both sky and sea. ‘The Gods at least, the myriad Gods look kindly on my fate, knowing that sinful though I be, no penalty have I deserved such as I suffer in this desolate place.’ As he recited these words, the wind suddenly rose; the sky grew dark and without waiting to finish the ceremony every one began hastily preparing to make for home. Just when they had decided to return as quickly as possible, a squall of rain commenced, beginning so unexpectedly that there was no time even to put up umbrellas. The wind was now blowing with unparalleled violence and things which the calmness of the morning had tempted them to leave carelessly lying about the shore were soon scattered in every direction. The sea too was rapidly advancing and they were obliged to run for their lives. Looking back they saw that the whole surface of the bay was now covered with a blanket of gleaming white foam. Soon the thunder was rolling and great flashes of lightning fell across the sky. It was all they could do to make their way home. The peasants had never witnessed such a gale before. ‘It blows pretty stormy sometimes,’ they said; ‘but you can generally see it coming up a long while before.’ Of such a storm as this, coming on without a moment’s warning, they could make nothing at all. Still the thunder crashed, and the rain fell with such violence that each shaft struck deep into the earth. It seemed indeed as though the end of the world were come. Some of Genji’s servants became very restless and uneasy; but he himself settled quietly in his chair and read out loud from the Scriptures. Towards evening the thunder became less violent, but the wind remained very high all night. It was soon apparent that if the wind did not change, the waveswould carry away their house. Sudden high tides had often before done great damage on the coast, but it was agreed that such a sea as this had never been seen before. Towards dawn every one went off to get a little rest. Genji too began to doze a little. There appeared to him in his dream a vague and shadowy figure who said: ‘I have come from the Palace to fetch you. Why do you not follow me?’ He tried to obey the command, but suddenly awoke. He realized that the ‘Palace’ of his dream did not mean, as he had at first supposed, the Palace of the Emperor, but rather the dwelling of the Sea God. The whole import of the dream was that the Dragon King22had taken a fancy to him and wished to detain him yet longer on the shore of his domains. He became very depressed and from this time onwards took a dislike to the particular part of the coast in which he had chosen to reside.
1Fujitsubo.
2The dead Aoi, Genji’s first wife.
3Hyōbukyō’s wife. Murasaki was his illegitimate daughter.
4Genji.
5See vol. i, pp. 253 seq.
6The distance is about 60 miles. It could, says Moto-ori, in no circumstances have been covered in one day. He therefore concludes that the travellers spent a night at Naniwa (the modern Ōsaka) on the way. A much more probable solution is that Murasaki was herself rather vague about the time which such a journey would take.
7Near Naniwa. It was here that the returning Vestals of Ise lodged on their way back to the Capital.
8China.
9For the story of his exile, see the Nō playMatsukazein myNō Plays of Japan, p. 268.
10SeeNō Plays of Japan, p. 268.
11See vol. i, pp. 137 seq.
12Tsunenori was a famous painter, c. 950a.d.So presumably was Chiyeda. Some people say Chiyeda was a name used by Tsunenori.
13See above, p.96.
14The great statesman Sugawara no Michizane, 845–903.
15Chao Kao was plotting to overthrow the Second Emperor (3rd cent.b.c.). He brought his majesty a stag, telling him it was a horse. The Emperor laughed, but some of the Courtiers were so much afraid of Chao Kao that they sided with him and insisted that it was indeed a horse. Then Kao knew that they feared him more than the Emperor and definitely decided to revolt.
16See vol. i, p. 138.
17There is here a play on words. The other meaning is: ‘That life was indeed worth living.’
18‘Sweet is the shade, the lapping waters cool, and good the pasture for our weary steeds. By the well of Asuka, here let us stay.’ See vol. i, p. 46.
19I.e. You have access to the Emperor, put in a word on my behalf.
20The third day of the third month.
21Zeshō, a screen or in some cases curtain with a pine-tree painted on it used as a background to sacred performances.
22Sovereign of the Ocean.