In his preparations for the departure of the travellers the old priest had surpassed himself. For every single person connected with the expedition, down to the humblest carriers and menials, the most sumptuous equipment was provided. It was indeed hard to imagine how in these few weeks such elaborate preparations could possibly have been made. The arrangements for Genji’s own comfort were of the most extraordinary ingenuity; in fact the luxuries forced upon him filled so many boxes that it required quitean army of porters to carry all his luggage. Genji was indeed equipped more like a traveller setting out from the Capital than like one returning from the provinces. There seemed to be no imaginable contingency which the old priest had not thought of. To the travelling cloak which had been specially designed for that day’s journey the Lady of Akashi attached the poem: ‘That this cloak of travel, cut and folded by the salt sea-shore, should bear a stain or two of spray, you will not take amiss!’ Despite the noise and confusion of departure, he found a moment in which to write the answer: ‘Though for a while I must wear it in remembrance, yet soon as certain days and months are safely passed, once more no garment shall divide us.’ This message he sent privately, and when he put on the new cloak he was at pains to tell those about him that it was a present from the old priest and worn at his especial desire. The cloak which he had previously been wearing he sent to the house on the hill, where for long afterwards the sight of it and the smell of the rare scent with which it was perfumed awakened tantalizing memories in those from whose thoughts he would in any case seldom have been absent.
The priest excused himself from accompanying the expedition even so far as the frontier of the province, saying that in his present state of grief and agitation he did not feel equal to so great an exertion. ‘Pray do not think me impertinent,’ he added, ‘but I ought perhaps to remind you ... in fact, we none of us doubt for an instant.... But quite at your own time and convenience, of course!’ He did not dare go beyond these brief, disjointed hints, but Genji, so far from taking offence, was extremely sorry for the old man, who, it was evident, had taken the business to heart in the most unfortunate way. ‘There is now a particular reason why I should cherish andremember her,’ said Genji presently; ‘you may be sure that in a very little while I shall see to it that she has her due. To leave you all at such a moment grieves me more than I can say. But what would you have me do?’ The lady herself was in a strange state of mind. She was still convinced that the difference in rank between them precluded any lasting union and was certain that in the long run she had no more chance of happiness at the City than she had if left behind here in the wilds. But when it came to his actually starting, she could not bear to be left behind. Try as she might, she could not control herself. His image perpetually haunted her and every effort to banish it ended in a wild fit of sobbing. ‘It would have saved the poor girl untold misery,’ said the mother, having in vain tried every means to distract her, ‘if this wretched business had never begun. And how unnecessary it all is! Nothing of the kind need ever have entered the child’s head, but for the odious and perverse advice which certain people....’ ‘Hold your tongue,’ the old priest said angrily. ‘This will all come right in the end; he has told me so himself. He knows about her condition and will do all that he can for her.’ ‘Come, child,’ he said, bringing her a basin of hot water in his own hands; ‘you must get up at once and let yourself be dressed. You really must not go on like this. It is terrible, you know, terrible,’ and he stood at the corner of the bed looking at her encouragingly. Not only the mother, but the girl’s old nurse and most of the confidential servants were in a state of indignation against their master and went about saying that his misguided promptings had brought them all into this terrible trouble. But the old man’s evident misery soon dismissed their anger. He went about muttering to himself: ‘To think that I should have waited all these years for a chance to do something that would help her! And just when I thought everything wasgoing so well, I find I have only made the poor thing unhappy....’
So much did his mistake (for such he was now convinced that it was) afflict the old man, that he became a little queer in the head. During the day he did little but doze; but at night he would suddenly get up and seated in an attitude of prayer would fumble with his hands as though he had forgotten even how to use his rosary. One night his disciples managed to persuade him to go for a walk in the moonlight. Mumbling prayers as he went and quite unaware of his surroundings he stumbled and fell headlong into the moat. He was soon fished out; but in falling he had caught his leg against a large stone and done himself considerable injury. During the illness which followed, his mind, strangely enough, seemed to be somewhat easier and he appeared to be worrying less about the unfortunate situation of his daughter.
Meanwhile Genji was on his homeward way. At Naniwa he halted to perform the customary ceremony of Purification. He did not on this occasion go to the Shrine of Sumiyoshi himself but sent a messenger to inform the authorities that he was intending to perform his devotions there quietly on some future occasion. He was now travelling so hurriedly and with so large a retinue that a personal visit was impossible. Apart from the halt at Naniwa he made no unnecessary discursions or digressions, but pressed on with all possible speed to the Capital.
Upon his arrival the Nijō-in presented an extraordinary spectacle. The friends who had accompanied him on the journey were here joined by numerous others who had awaited him in the City. All of them now surged in wild excitement through the Palace, some hurraying lustily, some weeping with joy, and the scene soon became one of indescribable noise and disorder.
And now Murasaki, who at the moment of his departure had vowed in her poem that ‘could it but purchase an hour of respite, life itself was a price she would not grudge to pay,’ was glad that the gift which in her despair she had bartered so lightly, had not indeed been taken from her!
In these three years she had grown even handsomer than before. At first he could not make out in what way it was that her appearance was altered. But when they were alone together he noticed that her hair, which even before he went away had begun to be almost too thick, had been cleverly thinned out. He had to confess that this new way of wearing it became her very well. But suddenly, while he watched her with fond satisfaction, the pleasant thought that she would always be near him was interrupted by a very different image. There rose before his mind the figure of the lady whom he had left behind in that sad mansion above the bay. Plainly as though she were with him he saw her loneliness, her misery, her despair. Why was it that time after time he of all people should find himself in this odious position? Lest Murasaki should feel that things were passing through his mind which he must hide from her, he began telling her about the lady of the shore. But he took such evident pleasure in dilating upon this subject that his frankness had the effect of convincing her that the matter was a far more serious one than she had before supposed. ‘It is not for myself I mind,’19she quoted, only half meaning him to understand. How terrible that he had lost three whole years of her company, and lost them, too, in punishment for those very infidelities which he would now have given so much to undo!
Soon after his return all his original titles were restored and he was accorded the rank of supernumerary President of Council; while his supporters were re-established in offices equivalent to those of which they had been deprived. Indeed so wide an amnesty was proclaimed that the Court soon wore the aspect of a withered tree that one spring morning suddenly begins to sprout again.
A message came summoning Genji to the Palace. Great excitement prevailed among the Court attendants. It seemed to them that he looked more handsome and flourishing than ever. Had he really spent the last three years under such harrowing conditions as rumour had reported? Among the gentlewomen present were some who had served the old Emperor his father and these old ladies, who had always taken his side, now pressed round him chattering and weeping. The Emperor had been somewhat nervous about this interview. Anxious to make a good impression, he had spent an immense while over his toilet. On this particular day he was feeling somewhat stronger; but for a long while he had been seriously out of health and he was looking sadly altered. They talked quietly till nightfall. It was the fifteenth day of the month. The weather was calm and fine and, as he sat in the moonlight, such a host of memories crowded to the young Emperor’s mind that he shed a few tears. He was indeed at that time full of the darkest forebodings. ‘Nothing entertaining has happened here,’ he said at last. ‘I used to like it when you played to me; but of course it is a long time since you did that....’ Genji answered with the poem: ‘For as many years as the leech-baby20could not stand upon its feet have I been set adrift upon the wide plains of the sea.’ The Emperor, who felt the sting of this allusion, skilfully parried the thrustwith the verse: ‘Round the Palace Pillar21long enough have we played hide-and-seek; let us forget the rancour of wasted springtimes that we in amity might better have employed.’
After this visit Genji’s first care was to perform the ceremonial Eight Readings of the Lotus Sūtra in memory of his father the late Emperor. He next visited the Crown Prince and found him grown almost beyond recognition. The child was surprised and delighted to recover his old playmate, whom he perfectly well remembered. Genji was relieved to discover that the boy was unusually quick at his studies and promised, so far as could at present be judged, to make a very satisfactory successor to the Throne.
His agitation upon being admitted to Fujitsubo was not indeed such as it would have been some years ago; but the meeting was an affecting one and they had much to discuss together. One thing I had almost forgot: by one of the priest’s servants who had come with them all the way to the Capital he sent a number of letters to Akashi; among them a long one to the priest’s daughter, in which, as he was able to convey it to her secretly, he did his best, by dint of tender messages and allusions, to comfort and console her. In it was the poem: ‘At Akashi is all night spent22in weeping? And do the mists of morning hide the long-looked-for light of day?’
At last Lady Gosechi,23who silently and unknown to all the world had been grieving bitterly at Genji’s exile, was able to relieve her feelings by taking action. It was natural and proper that she should write to congratulate him uponhis recall. She did so, but left him to guess from whom the letter came. With it was the poem: ‘A seafarer that with reluctant heart floated past Suma’s shore would fain you saw her sleeve that since that day has never once grown dry.’ Her fine handwriting at once betrayed her and he replied: ‘With better cause might I make tearful plaint, to whom you steered so close, yet would not stay your course.’ Brief as their meeting had been, he still preserved the happiest recollections of it and this sudden reminder of her made him for a moment hope that their friendship might one day be renewed. But what was he thinking of! Now and henceforward there were to be no more frivolities of that kind. Thus he cautioned himself, and the result was that even the Lady at the Village of Falling Flowers received only a formal intimation of his return. To know that he was to be seen and not to see him was worse than his being utterly out of reach, and the poor lady was unhappier than ever now that he was again at the Nijō-in.
1Instituted in China in the 6th century. It centred round the reading of theJēn Wang Ching(Nanjio No. 17) in which Buddha instructs the great kings of the earth how to preserve their countries from calamity.
2A Court title. Yoshikiyo was son of the Governor of Harima and had courted the Lady of Akashi. See vol. i, p. 138, where, following another text, I have called him Yoshizane.
3It would be said that he was running after the Lady of Akashi, the old recluse’s daughter.
4Lao Tzŭ, say the commentators; but this saying does not occur in theTao Tē Ching.
5The mirror-poem, p.108.
6Evidently a Chinese tune. Attempts to identify it have hitherto been very unconvincing.
7Priests who collected money for their community by going round playing thebiwaat street-corners.
8Which he had taught to Murasaki.
9898–930. Sixtieth Emperor of Japan.
10810–823. Fifty-second Emperor of Japan.
11Po Chü-i. The reference is to his poemThe Lute Girl’s Song.
12A service performed at dawn, sunrise, midday, sunset, dusk and nightfall.
13A double paper; light blue on a white ground.
14Rokujō.
15Buddha.
16There is some doubt about the punctuation of this and the following sentence.
17See vol. i, pp. 137 seq. Some texts call Yoshikiyo ‘Yoshizane,’ as I have done in vol. i. See above, p.113.
18Which remained unaltered whatever tuning was adopted.
19‘It is not for myself I mind; but since the Gods are just, for him who is forsworn I am indeed afraid.’ No. 38 of theHundred Poems; it is by Lady Ukon, 10th century.
20The Royal Gods Izanagi and Isanami bore a leech-child; as at the age of three it could not stand they cast it adrift in a boat.
21After a sort of game of hide-and-seek round the Pillar of the Palace of Heaven these Gods met face to face and Izanagi exclaimed: ‘I have met a lovely maiden’; whereupon they became husband and wife and bore the leech-child.
22Akashimeans ‘spending the whole night.’
23See p.129.