THE BROOM-LIKE TREE
Hikal Genji--the name is singularly well known, and is the subject of
innumerable remarks and censures. Indeed, he had many intrigues in his
lifetime, and most of them are vividly preserved in our memories. He
had always striven to keep all these intrigues in the utmost secrecy,
and had to appear constantly virtuous. This caution was observed to
such an extent that he scarcely accomplished anything really romantic,
a fact which Katano-no-Shiôshiô[22] would have ridiculed.
Even with such jealous watchfulness, secrets easily transpire from one
to another; so loquacious is man! Moreover, he had unfortunately from
nature a disposition of not appreciating anything within easy reach,
but of directing his thought in undesirable quarters, hence sundry
improprieties in his career.
Now, it was the season of continuous rain (namely, the month of May),
and the Court was keeping a strict Monoimi.[23] Genji, who had now
been made a Chiûjiô,[24] and who was still continuing his residence in
the Imperial Palace, was also confined to his apartments for a
considerable length of time. His father-in-law naturally felt for him,
and his sons were sent to bear him company. Among these, Kurand
Shiôshiô, who was now elevated to the post of Tô-no-Chiûjiô, proved to
be the most intimate and interesting companion. He was married to the
fourth daughter of the Udaijin, but being a man of lively disposition,
he, too, like Genji, did not often resort to the mansion of the bride.
When Genji went to the Sadaijin's he was always his favorite
associate; they were together in their studies and in their sports,
and accompanied each other everywhere. And so all stiffness and
formality were dispensed with, and they did not scruple to reveal
their secrets to each other.
It was on an evening in the above-mentioned season. Rain was falling
drearily. The inhabitants of the Palace had almost all retired, and
the apartment of Genji was more than usually still. He was engaged in
reading near a lamp, but at length mechanically put his book aside,
and began to take out some letters and writings from a bureau which
stood on one side of the room. Tô-no-Chiûjiô happened to be present,
and Genji soon gathered from his countenance that he was anxious to
look over them.
"Yes," said Genji; "some you may see, but there may be others!"
"Those others," retorted Tô-no-Chiûjiô, "are precisely those which I
wish to see; ordinary ones, even your humble servant may have
received. I only long to look upon those which may have been written
by fair hands, when the tender writer had something to complain of, or
when in twilight hour she was outpouring all her yearning!"
Being so pressed, Genji allowed his brother-in-law to see them all. It
is, however, highly probable that any very sacred letters would not
have been loosely deposited in an ordinary bureau; and these would
therefore seem, after all, to have been of second-rate importance.
"What a variety," said Tô-no-Chiûjiô, as he turned them over, and he
asked several questions guessingly about this or that. About some he
guessed correctly, about others he was puzzled and suspicious.[25]
Genji smiled and spoke little, only making some obscure remark, and
continuing as he took the letters: "but _you_, surely, must have
collected many. Will not you show me some? And then my bureau also may
open more easily."
"You do not suppose that I have any worth reading, do you?" replied
Tô-no-Chiûjiô. "I have only just now discovered," continued he, "how
difficult it is to meet with a fair creature, of whom one can say,
'This is, indeed, _the_ one; here is, at last, perfection.' There are,
indeed, many who fascinate; many who are ready with their pens, and
who, when occasion may require, are quick at repartee. But how often
such girls as these are conceited about their own accomplishments, and
endeavor unduly to disparage those of others! There are again some who
are special pets of their parents, and most jealously watched over at
home. Often, no doubt, they are pretty, often graceful; and frequently
they will apply themselves with effect to music and to poetry, in
which they may even attain to special excellence. But then, their
friends will keep their drawbacks in the dark, and eulogize their
merits to the utmost. If we were to give full credence to this
exaggerated praise, we could not but fail in every single instance to
be more or less disappointed."
So saying Tô-no-Chiûjiô paused, and appeared as if he were ashamed of
having such an experience, when Genji smilingly remarked, "Can any one
of them, however, exist without at least one good point?"
"Nay, were there any so little favored as that, no one would ever be
misled at all!" replied Tô-no-Chiûjiô, and he continued, "In my
opinion, the most and the least favored are in the same proportion. I
mean, they are both not many. Their birth, also, divides them into
three classes. Those, however, who are especially well born, are often
too jealously guarded, and are, for the most part, kept secluded from
the outside gaze, which frequently tends to make their deportment shy
and timid. It is those of the middle class, who are much more
frequently seen by us, who afford us most chance of studying their
character. As for the lower class, it would be almost useless to
trouble ourselves with them."
Thus Tô-no-Chiûjiô appeared to be thoroughly at home in his
description of the merits of the fair sex, which made Genji amused,
and he said: "But how do you define the classes you have referred to,
and classify them into three? Those who are of high birth sink
sometimes in the social scale until the distinction of their rank is
forgotten in the abjectness of their present position. Others, again,
of low origin, rise to a high position, and, with self-important faces
and in ostentatious residences, regard themselves as inferior to none.
Into what class will you allot _these_?"
Just at this moment the Sama-no-Kami[26] and Tô Shikib-no-Jiô[27]
joined the party. They came to pay their respects to Genji, and both
of them were gay and light-hearted talkers. So Tô-no-Chiûjiô now made
over the discussion to them, and it was carried to rather questionable
lengths.
"However exalted a lady's position may be," said Sama-no-Kami, "if her
origin is an unenviable one, the estimation of the public for her
would be widely different from that which it shows to those who are
naturally entitled to it. If, again, adverse fortune assails one whose
birth is high, so that she becomes friendless and helpless,
degradation here will meet our eyes, though her heart may still remain
as noble as ever. Examples of both of these are very common. After
much reflection, I can only come to the conclusion that both of them
should be included in the middle class. In this class, too, must be
included many daughters of the Duriô,[28] who occupy themselves with
local administration. These ladies are often very attractive, and are
not seldom introduced at Court and enjoy high favor."
"And successes depend pretty much upon the state of one's fortune, I
fancy," interrupted Genji, with a placid smile.
"That is a remark very unlikely to fall from the lips of a champion of
romance," chimed in Tô-no-Chiûjiô.
"There may be some," resumed Sama-no-Kami, "who are of high birth, and
to whom public respect is duly paid, yet whose domestic education has
been much neglected. Of a lady such as this we may simply remark,
'Why, and how, is it that she is so brought up?' and she would only
cause discredit to her class. There are, of course, some who combine
in themselves every perfection befitting their position. These best of
the best are, however, not within every one's reach. But, listen!
Within an old dilapidated gateway, almost unknown to the world, and
overgrown with wild vegetation, perchance we might find, shut up, a
maiden charming beyond imagination. Her father might be an aged man,
corpulent in person, and stern in mien, and her brothers of repulsive
countenance; but there, in an uninviting room, she lives, full of
delicacy and sentiment, and fairly skilled in the arts of poetry or
music, which she may have acquired by her own exertions alone,
unaided. If there were such a case, surely she deserves our
attention, save that of those of us who themselves are highly exalted
in position."
So saying, Sama-no-Kami winked slyly at Shikib-no-Jiô. The latter was
silent: perhaps he fancied that Sama-no-Kami was speaking in the above
strain, with a hidden reference to his (Shikib's) sisters, who, he
imagined, answered the description.
Meantime, Genji may have thought, "If it is so difficult to choose one
even from the best class, how can--Ah!" and he began to close his eyes
and doze. His dress was of soft white silk, partly covered by the
_naoshi_,[29] worn carelessly, with its cord left loose and untied.
His appearance and bearing formed quite a picture.
Meanwhile, the conversation went on about different persons and
characters, and Sama-no-Kami proceeded: "It is unquestionable that
though at first glance many women appear to be without defects, yet
when we come to the actual selection of any one of them, we should
seriously hesitate in our choice.
"Let me illustrate my meaning by reference to the numerous public men
who may be aspiring to fulfil the duties of several important posts.
You will at once recognize the great difficulty there would be in
fixing upon the individual statesman under whose guardianship the
empire could best repose. And supposing that, if at last, by good
fortune, the most able man were designated, even then we must bear in
mind that it is not in the power of one or two individuals, however
gifted they may be, to carry on the whole administration of the
kingdom alone. Public business can only be tranquilly conducted when
the superior receives the assistance of subordinates, and when the
subordinate yields a becoming respect and loyalty to his superior, and
affairs are thus conducted in a spirit of mutual conciliation. So,
too, it is in the narrow range of the domestic circle. To make a good
mistress of that circle, one must possess, if our ideal is to be fully
realized, many important qualifications. Were we to be constantly
indulging in the severity of criticism, always objecting to this or
that, a perfect character would be almost unattainable. Men should
therefore bear with patience any trifling dissatisfaction which they
may feel, and strive constantly to keep alive, to augment, and to
cherish, the warmth of their early love. Only such a man as this can
be called faithful, and the partner of such a man alone can enjoy the
real happiness of affection. How unsatisfactory to us, however, seems
the actual world if we look round upon it. Still more difficult must
it be to satisfy such as you who seek your companions but from among
the best!
"How varied are the characters and the dispositions of women! Some who
are youthful and favored by Nature strive almost selfishly to keep
themselves with the utmost reserve. If they write, they write
harmlessly and innocently; yet, at the same time, they are choice in
their expressions, which have delicate touches of bewitching
sentiment. This might possibly make us entertain a suddenly conceived
fancy for them; yet they would give us but slight encouragement. They
may allow us just to hear their voices, but when we approach them they
will speak with subdued breath, and almost inaudibly. Beware, however,
lest among these you chance to encounter some astute artiste, who,
under a surface that is smooth, conceals a current that is deep. This
sort of lady, it is true, generally appears quite modest; but often
proves, when we come closer, to be of a very different temperament
from what we anticipated. Here is one drawback to be guarded against.
"Among characters differing from the above, some are too full of
sentimental sweetness--whenever occasion offers them romance they
become spoilt. Such would be decidedly better if they had less
sentiment, and more sense.
"Others, again, are singularly earnest--too earnest, indeed--in the
performance of their domestic duty; and such, with their hair pushed
back,[30] devote themselves like household drudges to household
affairs. Man, whose duties generally call him from home all the day,
naturally hears and sees the social movements both of public and
private life, and notices different things, both good and bad. Of such
things he would not like to talk freely with strangers, but only with
some one closely allied to him. Indeed, a man may have many things in
his mind which cause him to smile or to grieve. Occasionally something
of a political nature may irritate him beyond endurance. These matters
he would like to talk over with his fair companion, that she might
soothe him, and sympathize with him. But a woman as above described is
often unable to understand him, or does not endeavor to do so; and
this only makes him more miserable. At another time he may brood over
his hopes and aspirations; but he has no hope of solace. She is not
only incapable of sharing these with him, but might carelessly remark,
'What ails you?' How severely would this try the temper of a man!
"If, then, we clearly see all these, the only suggestion I can make is
that the best thing to do is to choose one who is gentle and modest,
and strive to guide and educate her according to the best ideal we may
think of. This is the best plan; and why should we not do so? Our
efforts would not be surely all in vain. But no! A girl whom we thus
educate, and who proves to be competent to bear us company, often
disappoints us when she is left alone. She may then show her
incapability, and her occasional actions may be done in such an
unbecoming manner that both good and bad are equally displeasing. Are
not all these against us men?--Remember, however, that there are some
who may not be very agreeable at ordinary times, yet who flash
occasionally upon us with a potent and almost irresistible charm."
Thus Sama-no-Kami, though eloquent, not having come to one point or
another, remained thoughtful for some minutes, and again resumed:--
"After all, as I have once observed, I can only make this suggestion:
That we should not too much consider either birth or beauty, but
select one who is gentle and tranquil, and consider her to be best
suited for our last haven of rest. If, in addition, she is of fair
position, and is blessed with sweetness of temper, we should be
delighted with her, and not trouble ourselves to search or notice any
trifling deficiency. And the more so as, if her conscience is clear
and pure, calmness and serenity of features can naturally be looked
for.
"There are women who are too diffident, and too reserved, and carry
their generosity to such an extent as to pretend not to be aware even
of such annoyances as afford them just grounds of complaint. A time
arrives when their sorrows and anxieties become greater than they can
bear. Even then, however, they cannot resort to plain speaking, and
complain. But, instead thereof, they will fly away to some remote
retreat among the mountain hamlets, or to some secluded spot by the
seaside, leaving behind them some painful letter or despairing verses,
and making themselves mere sad memories of the past. Often when a boy
I heard such stories read by ladies, and the sad pathos of them even
caused my tears to flow; but now I can only declare such deeds to be
acts of mere folly. For what does it all amount to? Simply to this:
That the woman, in spite of the pain which it causes her, and
discarding a heart which may be still lingering towards her, takes to
flight, regardless of the feelings of others--of the anguish, and of
the anxiety, which those who are dearest to her suffer with her. Nay,
this act of folly may even be committed simply to test the sincerity
of her lover's affection for her. What pitiable subtlety!
"Worse than this, the woman thus led astray, perhaps by ill advice,
may even be beguiled into more serious errors. In the depth of her
despairing melancholy she will become a nun. Her conscience, when she
takes the fatal vow, may be pure and unsullied, and nothing may seem
able to call her back again to the world which she forsook. But, as
time rolls on, some household servant or aged nurse brings her tidings
of the lover who has been unable to cast her out of his heart, and
whose tears drop silently when he hears aught about her. Then, when
she hears of his affections still living, and his heart still
yearning, and thinks of the uselessness of the sacrifice she has made
voluntarily, she touches the hair[31] on her forehead, and she becomes
regretful. She may, indeed, do her best to persevere in her resolve,
but if one single tear bedews her cheek, she is no longer strong in
the sanctity of her vow. Weakness of this kind would be in the eyes of
Buddha more sinful than those offences which are committed by those
who never leave the lay circle at all, and she would eventually wander
about in the 'wrong passage.'[32]
"But there are also women, who are too self-confident and obtrusive.
These, if they discover some slight inconsistency in men, fiercely
betray their indignation and behave with arrogance. A man may show a
little inconsistency occasionally, but yet his affection may remain;
then matters will in time become right again, and they will pass
their lives happily together. If, therefore, the woman cannot show a
tolerable amount of patience, this will but add to her unhappiness.
She should, above all things, strive not to give way to excitement;
and when she experiences any unpleasantness, she should speak of it
frankly but with moderation. And if there should be anything worse
than unpleasantness she should even then complain of it in such a way
as not to irritate the men. If she guides her conduct on principles
such as these, even her very words, her very demeanor, may in all
probability increase his sympathy and consideration for her. One's
self-denial and the restraint which one imposes upon one's self, often
depend on the way in which another behaves to us. The woman who is too
indifferent and too forgiving is also inconsiderate. Remember 'the
unmoored boat floats about.' Is it not so?"
Tô-no-Chiûjiô quickly nodded assent, as he said, "Quite true! A woman
who has no strength of emotion, no passion of sorrow or of joy, can
never be holders of us. Nay even jealousy, if not carried to the
extent of undue suspicion, is not undesirable. If we ourselves are not
in fault, and leave the matter alone, such jealousy may easily be kept
within due bounds. But stop"--added he suddenly--"Some women have to
bear, and do bear, every grief that they may encounter with
unmurmuring and suffering patience."
So said Tô-no-Chiûjiô, who implied by this allusion that his sister
was a woman so circumstanced. But Genji was still dozing, and no
remark came from his lips.
Sama-no-Kami had been recently made a doctor of literature, and (like
a bird) was inflating his feathers, so Tô-no-Chiûjiô, willing to draw
him out as much as possible, gave him every encouragement to proceed
with his discourse.
Again, therefore, he took up the conversation, and said, "Call to your
mind affairs in general, and judge of them. Is it not always true that
reality and sincerity are to be preferred to merely artificial
excellence? Artisans, for instance, make different sorts of articles,
as their talents serve them. Some of them are keen and expert, and
cleverly manufacture objects of temporary fashion, which have no fixed
or traditional style, and which are only intended to strike the
momentary fancy. These, however, are not the true artisans. The real
excellence of the true artisan is tested by those who make, without
defects or sensational peculiarities, articles to decorate, we will
say, some particular building, in conformity with correct taste and
high æsthetic principles. Look for another instance at the eminence
which has been attained by several of the artists of the Imperial
College of Painting. Take the case of draughtsmen in black ink.
Pictures, indeed, such as those of Mount Horai,[33] which has never
been beheld by mortal eye, or of some raging monstrous fish in a rough
sea, or of a wild animal of some far-off country, or of the imaginary
face of the demon, are often drawn with such striking vividness that
people are startled at the sight of them. These pictures, however, are
neither real nor true. On the other hand, ordinary scenery, of
familiar mountains, of calm streams of water, and of dwellings just
before our eyes, may be sketched with an irregularity so charming, and
with such excellent skill, as almost to rival Nature. In pictures such
as these, the perspective of gentle mountain slopes, and sequestered
nooks surrounded by leafy trees, are drawn with such admirable
fidelity to Nature that they carry the spectator in imagination to
something beyond them. These are the pictures in which is mostly
evinced the spirit and effectiveness of the superior hand of a master;
and in these an inferior artist would only show dulness and
inefficiency.
"Similar observations are applicable to handwriting.[34] Some people
boldly dash away with great freedom and endless flourishes, and appear
at the first glance to be elegant and skilful. But that which is
written with scrupulous neatness, in accordance with the true rules of
penmanship, constitutes a very different handwriting from the above.
If perchance the upstrokes and downstrokes do not, at first sight,
appear to be fully formed, yet when we take it up and critically
compare it with writing in which dashes and flourishes predominate, we
shall at once see how much more of real and sterling merit it
possesses.
"Such then is the nature of the case in painting, in penmanship, and
in the arts generally. And how much more then are those women
undeserving of our admiration, who though they are rich in outward and
in fashionable display, attempting to dazzle our eyes, are yet
lacking in the solid foundations of reality, fidelity, and truth! Do
not, my friends, consider me going too far, but let me proceed to
illustrate these observations by my own experience."
So saying, Sama-no-Kami advanced his seat, and Genji awoke.
Tô-no-Chiûjiô was quite interested in the conversation, and was
keeping his eye upon the speaker, leaning his cheek upon his hand.
This long discourse of Sama-no-Kami reminds us of the preacher's
sermon, and amuses us. And it seems that, on occasions like these, one
may easily be carried away by circumstances, until he is willing to
communicate even his own private affairs.
"It was at a time," continued Sama-no-Kami, "when I was in a still
more humble position, that there was a girl to whom I had taken a
fancy. She was like one of those whom I described in the process of my
discourse; not a regular beauty. Although for this reason my youthful
vanity did not allow me to pledge myself to her forever, I still
considered her a pleasant companion. Nevertheless, from occasional
fits of restlessness, I roamed often here and there. This she always
resented fiercely, and with so much indignation that I sighed for a
sweeter temper and more moderation. Indeed, there were times when her
suspicion and spitefulness were more than I could endure. But my
irritation was generally calmed down, and I even felt sorry myself,
when I reflected how strong and devoted her affection for me was, in
spite of the mean state of my circumstances. As to her general
character, her only endeavor seemed to be to do everything for my
sake, even what was beyond her powers, while she struggled to perfect
herself in anything in which she might be deficient, and took the most
faithful care of all my interests, striving constantly and earnestly
to please me. She appeared at first even too zealous, but in time
became more moderate. She seemed as if she felt uneasy lest her plain
face should cause me displeasure, and she even denied herself the
sight of other people, in order to avoid unbecoming comment.
"As time went by, the more I became accustomed to observe how really
simple-hearted she was, the more I sympathized with her. The one thing
that I could not bear, however, was that jealousy of hers. Sincere and
devoted as she is, thought I, is there no means of ridding her of this
jealous weakness? Could I but do that, it would not matter even if I
were to alarm her a little. And I also thought that since she was
devoted to me, if I showed any symptoms of getting tired of her, she
would, in all probability, be warned by it. Therefore, I purposely
behaved to her with great coolness and heartlessness. This she
resented as usual. I then said to her, that though our affection had
been of old date, I should not see her again; 'if you wish to sever
from me you may suspect me as much as you like. If you prefer to enjoy
long happiness with me in future, be modest and patient in trifling
matters. If you can only be so, how can I do otherwise than love you?
My position also may in time be improved, and then we may enjoy
greater happiness!'
"In saying this, I thought I had managed matters very ingeniously.
Without meaning it, however, I had in fact spoken a little too
harshly. She replied, with a bitter smile, that 'to put up with a life
of undistinguished condition, even though with faint hopes of future
promotion, was not a thing about which we ought to trouble ourselves,
but that it was indeed a hard task to pass long wearisome days in
waiting until a man's mind should be restored to a sense of propriety.
And that for this reason we had, perhaps, better separate at once.'
"This she said with such sarcastic bitterness that I was irritated and
stung to the quick, and overwhelmed her with a fresh torrent of
reproaches. At this juncture she gave way to an uncontrollable fit of
passion, and snatching up my hand, she thrust my little finger into
her mouth and bit off the end of it. Then, notwithstanding my pain, I
became quite cool and collected, and calmly said, 'insulted and maimed
as I have now been, it is most fitting that I should absent myself for
the future from polite society. Office and title would ill become me
now. Your spite has now left me without spirit to face the world in
which I should be ridiculed, and has left me no alternative but to
withdraw my maimed person from the public gaze!' After I had alarmed
her by speaking in this exalted strain, I added, 'to-day we meet for
the last time,' and bending these fingers (pointing to them as she
spoke) I made the farewell remark:--
When on my fingers, I must say
I count the hours I spent with thee,
Is this, and this alone, I pray
The only pang you've caused to me?
You are now quits with me,' At the instant I said so, she burst into
tears and without premeditation, poured forth the following:--
'From me, who long bore grievous harms,
From that cold hand and wandering heart,
You now withdraw your sheltering arms,
And coolly tell me, we must part.'
"To speak the truth, I had no real intention of separating from her
altogether. For some time, however, I sent her no communication, and
was passing rather an unsettled life. Well! I was once returning from
the palace late one evening in November, after an experimental
practice of music for a special festival in the Temple of Kamo. Sleet
was falling heavily. The wind blew cold, and my road was dark and
muddy. There was no house near where I could make myself at home. To
return and spend a lonely night in the palace was not to be thought
of. At this moment a reflection flashed across my mind. 'How cold must
she feel whom I have treated so coldly,' thought I, and suddenly
became very anxious to know what she felt and what she was about. This
made me turn my steps towards her dwelling, and brushing away the snow
that had gathered on my shoulders I trudged on: at one moment shyly
biting my nails, at another thinking that on such a night at least all
her enmity towards me might be all melted away. I approached the
house. The curtains were not drawn, and I saw the dim light of a lamp
reflected on the windows. It was even perceivable that a soft quilt
was being warmed and thrown over the large couch. The scene was such
as to give you the notion that she was really anticipating that I
might come at least on such an evening. This gave me encouragement,
but alas! she whom I hoped to see was not at home. I was told she had
gone to her parents that very evening. Previous to that time, she had
sent me no sad verses, no conciliatory letter, and this had already
given birth to unpleasant feelings on my part. And at this moment,
when I was told that she had gone away, all these things seemed to
have been done almost purposely, and I involuntarily began to suspect
that her very jealousy had only been assumed by her on purpose to
cause me to become tired of her.
"As I reflected what our future might be after such an estrangement as
this, I was truly depressed. I did not, however, give up all hope,
thinking that she would not be so determined as to abandon me forever.
I had even carefully selected some stuff for a dress for her. Some
time, however, passed away without anything particularly occurring.
She neither accepted nor refused the offers of reconciliation which I
made to her. She did not, it is true, hide herself away like any of
those of whom I have spoken before. But, nevertheless, she did not
evince the slightest symptom of regret for her previous conduct.
"At last, after a considerable interval, she intimated to me that her
final resolve was not to forgive me any more if I intended in future
to behave as I had done before; but that, on the other hand, she
should be glad to see me again if I would thoroughly change my habits,
and treat her with the kindness which was her due. From this I became
more convinced that she still entertained longings for me. Hence, with
the hope of warning her a little more, I made no expressions of any
intention to make a change in my habits, and I tried to find out which
of us had the most patience.
"While matters were in this state, she, to my great surprise, suddenly
died, perhaps broken-hearted.
"I must now frankly confess that she certainly was a woman in whom a
man might place his confidence. Often, too, I had talked with her on
music and on poetry, as well as on the more important business of
life, and I found her to be by no means wanting in intellect and
capability. She had too the clever hands of Tatyta-himè[35] and
Tanabata.[36]
"When I recall these pleasant memories my heart still clings to her
endearingly."
"Clever in weaving, she may have been like Tanabata, that is but a
small matter," interposed Tô-no-Chiûjiô, "we should have preferred to
have seen your love as enduring as Tanabata's.[37] Nothing is so
beautiful as the brilliant dyes spread over the face of Nature, yet
the red tints of autumn are often not dyed to a color so deep as we
desire, because of the early drying of the dew, so we say, 'such is
the uncertain fate of this world,'" and so saying, he made a sign to
Sama-no-Kami to go on with his story. He went on accordingly.
"About that time I knew another lady. She was on the whole a superior
kind of person. A fair poetess, a good musician, and a fluent speaker,
with good enunciation, and graceful in her movements. All these
admirable qualities I noticed myself, and heard them spoken of by
others. As my acquaintance with her commenced at the time when I was
not on the best of terms with my former companion, I was glad to enjoy
her society. The more I associated with her the more fascinating she
became.
"Meanwhile my first friend died, at which I felt truly sorry, still I
could not help it, and I therefore paid frequent visits to this one.
In the course of my attentions to her, however, I discovered many
unpleasant traits. She was not very modest, and did not appear to be
one whom a man could trust. On this account, I became somewhat
disappointed, and visited her less often. While matters were on this
footing I accidentally found out that she had another lover to whom
she gave a share of her heart.
"It happened that one inviting moonlight evening in October, I was
driving out from home on my way to a certain Dainagon. On the road I
met with a young noble who was going in the same direction. We
therefore drove together, and as we were journeying on, he told me
that 'some one might be waiting for him, and he was anxious to see
her'; well! by and by we arrived at the house of my lady-love. The
bright reflection of the waters of an ornamental lake was seen through
crevices in the walls; and the pale moon, as she shed her full
radiance over the shimmering waves, seemed to be charmed with the
beauty of the scene. It would have been heartless to pass by with
indifference, and we both descended from the carriage, without knowing
each other's intention.
"This youth seems to have been 'the other one'; he was rather shy. He
sat down on a mat of reeds that was spread beside a corridor near the
gateway; and, gazing up at the sky, meditated for some moments in
silence. The chrysanthemums in the gardens were in full bloom, whose
sweet perfume soothed us with its gentle influence; and round about us
the scarlet leaves of the maple were falling, as ever and anon they
were shaken by the breeze. The scene was altogether romantic.
"Presently, he took a flute out of his bosom and played. He then
whispered, 'Its shade is refreshing.'
"In a few minutes the fair one struck up responsively on a sweet-toned
_wagon_ (a species of _koto_).
"The melody was soft and exquisite, in charming strains of modern
music, and admirably adapted to the lovely evening. No wonder that he
was fascinated; he advanced towards the casement from which the sounds
proceeded, and glancing at the leaves scattered on the ground,
whispered in invidious tones, 'Sure no strange footsteps would ever
dare to press these leaves.' He then culled a chrysanthemum, humming,
as he did so:--
'Even this spot, so fair to view
With moon, and Koto's gentle strain,
Could make no other lover true,
As me, thy fond, thy only swain.'
"'Wretched!' he exclaimed, alluding to his poetry; and then added,
'One tune more! Stay not your hand when one is near, who so ardently
longs to hear you.' Thus he began to flatter the lady, who, having
heard his whispers, replied thus, in a tender, hesitating voice:--
'Sorry I am my voice too low
To match thy flute's far sweeter sound;
Which mingles with the winds that blow
The Autumn leaves upon the ground.'
"Ah! she little thought I was a silent and vexed spectator of all this
flirtation. She then took up a _soh_ (another kind of _koto_ with
thirteen strings) and tuned it to a Banjiki key (a winter tune), and
played on it still more excellently. Though an admirer of music, I
cannot say that these bewitching melodies gave me any pleasure under
the peculiar circumstances I stood in.
"Now, romantic interludes, such as this, might be pleasant enough in
the case of maidens who are kept strictly in Court service, and whom
we have very little opportunity of meeting with, but even there we
should hesitate to make such a one our life companion. How much less
could one ever entertain such an idea in a case like my own? Making,
therefore, that evening's experience a ground of dissatisfaction I
never saw her more.
"Now, gentlemen, let us take into consideration these two instances
which have occurred to myself and see how equally unsatisfactory they
are. The one too jealous, the other too forward. Thus, early in life,
I found out how little reliance was to be placed on such characters.
And now I think so still more; and this opinion applies more
especially to the latter of the two. Dewdrops on the 'Hagi flower' of
beauty so delicate that they disappear as soon as we touch
them--hailstones on the bamboo grass that melt in our hand as soon as
we prick them--appear at a distance extremely tempting and attractive.
Take my humble advice, however, and go not near them. If you do not
appreciate this advice now, the lapse of another seven years will
render you well able to understand that such adventures will only
bring a tarnished fame."
Thus Sama-no-Kami admonished them, and Tô-no-Chiûjiô nodded as usual.
Genji slightly smiled; perhaps he thought it was all very true, and he
said, "Your twofold experience was indeed disastrous and irritating!"
"Now," said Tô-no-Chiûjiô, "I will tell you a story concerning myself.
It was the evil fortune of Sama-no-Kami to meet with too much jealousy
in one of the ladies to whom he might otherwise have given his heart;
while he could feel no confidence in another owing to flirtations. It
was my hard lot to encounter an instance of excessive diffidence. I
once knew a girl whose person was altogether pleasing, and although I,
too, had no intention, as Sama-no-Kami said, of forming an everlasting
connection with her, I nevertheless took a great fancy to her. As our
acquaintance was prolonged, our mutual affection grew warmer. My
thoughts were always of her, and she placed entire confidence in me.
Now, when complete confidence is placed by one person in another, does
not Nature teach us to expect resentment when that confidence is
abused? No such resentment, however, seemed under any circumstances to
trouble her. When I very seldom visited her, she showed no excitement
or indignation, but behaved and looked as if we had never been
separated from each other. This patient silence was more trying to me
than reproaches. She was parentless and friendless. For this reason
responsibility weighed more heavily on me. Abusing her gentle nature,
however, I frequently neglected her. About this time, moreover, a
certain person who lived near her, discovered our friendship, and
frightened her by sending, through some channel, mischief-making
messages to her. This I did not become aware of till afterwards, and,
it seems, she was quite cast down and helpless. She had a little one
for whose sake, it appears, she was additionally sad. One day I
unexpectedly received a bunch of Nadeshiko[38] flowers. They were from
her."
At this point Tô-no-Chiûjiô became gloomy.
"And what," inquired Genji, "were the words of her message?"
"Sir! nothing but the verse,
Forgot may be the lowly bed
From which these darling flowerets spring,
Still let a kindly dew be shed,
Upon their early nurturing.
"No sooner had I read this than I went to her at once. She was gentle
and sedate as usual, but evidently absent and preoccupied. Her eyes
rested on the dew lying on the grass in the garden, and her ears were
intent upon the melancholy singing of the autumn insects. It was as if
we were in a real romance. I said to her:--
When with confused gaze we view
The mingled flowers on gay parterre,
Amid their blooms of radiant hue
The Tokonatz,[39] my love, is there.
And avoiding all allusion to the Nadeshiko flowers, I repeatedly
endeavored to comfort the mother's heart. She murmured in reply:--
'Ah! Flower already bent with dew,
The winds of autumn cold and chill
Will wither all thy beauteous hue,
And soon, alas, unpitying kill.'
Thus she spoke sadly. But she reproached me no further. The tears came
involuntarily into her eyes. She was, however, apparently sorry for
this, and tried to conceal them. On the whole she behaved as if she
meant to show that she was quite accustomed to such sorrows. I
certainly deeply sympathized with her, yet still further abusing her
patience. I did not visit her again for some time; but I was
punished. When I did so she had flown, leaving no traces behind her.
If she is still living she must needs be passing a miserable
existence.
"Now, if she had been free from this excessive diffidence, this apathy
of calmness, if she had complained when it was necessary, with
becoming warmth and spirit, she need never have been a wanderer, and I
would never have abused her confidence. But, as I said before, a woman
who has no strength of emotion, no passionate bursts of sorrow or of
joy, can never retain a dominion over us.
"I loved this woman without understanding her nature; and I am
constantly, but in vain, trying to find her and her little darling,
who was also very lovely; and often I think with grief and pain that,
though I may succeed in forgetting her, she may possibly not be able
to forget me, and, surely, there must be many an evening when she is
disquieted by sad memories of the past.
"Let us now sum up our experiences, and reflect on the lessons which
they teach us. One who bites your finger will easily estrange your
affection by her violence. Falseness and forwardness will be the
reproach of some other, in spite of her melodious music and the
sweetness of her songs. A third, too self-contained and too gentle, is
open to the charge of a cold silence, which oppresses one, and cannot
be understood.
"Whom, then, are we to choose? All this variety, and this perplexing
difficulty of choice, seems to be the common lot of humanity. Where,
again, I say, are we to go to find the one who will realize our
desires? Shall we fix our aspirations on the beautiful goddess, the
heavenly Kichijiô?[40] Ah! this would be but superstitious and
impracticable."
So mournfully finished Tô-no-Chiûjiô; and all his companions, who had
been attentively listening, burst simultaneously into laughter at his
last allusion.
"And now, Shikib, it is your turn. Tell us your story," exclaimed
Tô-no-Chiûjiô, turning to him.
"What worth hearing can your humble servant tell you?"
"Go on; be quick; don't be shy; let us hear!"
Shikib-no-Jiô, after a little meditation, thus began:--
"When I was a student at the University, I met there with a woman of
very unusual intelligence. She was in every respect one with whom, as
Sama-no-Kami has said, you could discuss affairs, both public and
private. Her dashing genius and eloquence were such that all ordinary
scholars would find themselves unable to cope with her, and would be
at once reduced to silence. Now, my story is as follows:--
"I was taking lessons from a certain professor, who had several
daughters, and she was one of them. It happened by some chance or
other I fell much into her society. The professor, who noticed this,
once took up a wine-cup in his hand, and said to me, 'Hear what I sing
about two choices.'[41]
"This was a plain offer put before me, and thenceforward I endeavored,
for the sake of his tuition, to make myself as agreeable as possible
to his daughter. I tell you frankly, however, that I had no particular
affection for her, though she seemed already to regard me as her
victim. She seized every opportunity of pointing out to me the way in
which we should have to steer, both in public and private life. When
she wrote to me she never employed the effeminate style of the
Kana,[42] but wrote, oh! so magnificently! The great interest which
she took in me induced me to pay frequent visits to her; and, by
making her my tutor, I learned how to compose ordinary Chinese poems.
However, though I do not forget all these benefits, and though it is
no doubt true that our wife or daughter should not lack intelligence,
yet, for the life of me, I cannot bring myself to approve of a woman
like this. And still less likely is it that such could be of any use
to the wives of high personages like yourselves. Give me a lovable
nature in lieu of sharpness! I quite agree with Sama-no-Kami on this
point."
"What an interesting woman she must have been," exclaimed
Tô-no-Chiûjiô, with the intention of making Shikib go on with his
story.
This he fully understood, and, making a grimace, he thus proceeded:--
"Once when I went to her after a long absence--a way we all have, you
know--she did not receive me openly as usual, but spoke to me from
behind a screen. I surmised that this arose from chagrin at my
negligence, and I intended to avail myself of this opportunity to
break with her. But the sagacious woman was a woman of the world, and
not like those who easily lose their temper or keep silence about
their grief. She was quite as open and frank as Sama-no-Kami would
approve of. She told me, in a low clear voice, 'I am suffering from
heartburn, and I cannot, therefore, see you face to face; yet, if you
have anything important to say to me, I will listen to you.' This was,
no doubt, a plain truth; but what answer could I give to such a
terribly frank avowal? 'Thank you,' said I, simply; and I was just on
the point of leaving, when, relenting, perhaps, a little, she said
aloud, 'Come again soon, and I shall be all right.' To pass this
unnoticed would have been impolite; yet I did not like to remain there
any longer, especially under such circumstances: so, looking askance,
I said--
Here I am, then why excuse me, is my visit all in vain:
And my consolation is, you tell me, come again?
No sooner had I said this than she dashed out as follows with a
brilliancy of repartee which became a woman of her genius:--
'If we fond lovers were, and meeting every night,
I should not be ashamed, were it even in the light!'
"Nonsense, nonsense!" cried Genji and the others, who either were, or
pretended to be, quite shocked. "Where can there be such a woman as
that? She must have been a devil! Fearful! fearful!" And, snapping
their fingers with disapproving glances, they said, "Do tell us
something better--do give us a better story than that."
Shikib-no-Jiô, however, quietly remarked: "I have nothing else to
relate," and remained silent.
Hereupon a conversation took place to the following effect:--
"It is a characteristic of thoughtless people--and that, without
distinction of sex--that they try to show off their small
accomplishments. This is, in the highest degree, unpleasant. As for
ladies, it may not, indeed, be necessary to be thorough master of the
three great histories, and the five classical texts; yet they ought
not to be destitute of some knowledge of both public and private
affairs, and this knowledge can be imperceptibly acquired without any
regular study of them, which, though superficial, will yet be amply
sufficient to enable them to talk pleasantly about them with their
friends. But how contemptible they would seem if this made them vain
of it! The Manna[43] style and pedantic phrases were not meant for
them; and, if they use them, the public will only say, 'would that
they would remember that they are women and not men,' and they would
only incur the reproach of being pedants, as many ladies, especially
among the aristocracy, do. Again, while they should not be altogether
unversed in poetical compositions, they should never be slaves to
them, or allow themselves to be betrayed into using strange
quotations, the only consequence of which would be that they would
appear to be bold when they ought to be reserved, and abstracted when
very likely they have practical duties to attend to. How utterly
inappropriate, for instance, it would be on the May festival[44] if,
while the attention of all present was concentrated on the solemnity
of the occasion, the thoughts of these ladies were wandering on their
own poetical imaginations about 'sweet flags;' or if, again, on the
Ninth-day festival,[45] when all the nobles present were exercising
their inventive faculties on the subject of Chinese poems, they were
to volunteer to pour forth their grand ideas on the dew-laid flowers
of the chrysanthemum, thus endeavoring to rival their opponents of the
stronger sex. There is a time for everything; and all people, but more
especially women, should be constantly careful to watch circumstances,
and not to air their accomplishments at a time when nobody cares for
them. They should practise a sparing economy in displaying their
learning and eloquence, and should even, if circumstances require,
plead ignorance on subjects with which they are familiar."
As to Genji, even these last observations seemed only to encourage his
reverie still to run upon a certain one, whom he considered to be the
happy medium between the too much and the too little; and, no definite
conclusion having been arrived at through the conversation, the
evening passed away.
The long-continued rainy weather had now cleared up bright and fine,
and the Prince Genji proceeded to the mansion of his father-in-law,
where Lady Aoi, his bride, still resided with him. She was in her
private suite of apartments, and he soon joined her there. She was
dignified and stately, both in manners and demeanor, and everything
about her bore traces of scrupulous neatness.
"Such may be one of those described by Sama-no-Kami, in whom we may
place confidence," he thought, as he approached her. At the same time,
her lofty queenliness caused him to feel a momentary embarrassment,
which he at once tried to hide by chatting with the attendant maid.
The air was close and heavy, and he was somewhat oppressed by it. His
father-in-law happened to pass by the apartment. He stopped and
uttered a few words from behind the curtain which overhung the door.
"In this hot weather," said Genji, in a low tone, "what makes him come
here?" and did not give the slightest encouragement to induce his
father-in-law to enter the room; so he passed along. All present
smiled significantly, and tittered. "How indiscreet!" exclaimed Genji,
glancing at them reprovingly, and throwing himself back on a _kiô-sok_
(arm-stool), where he remained calm and silent.
It was, by no means, becoming behavior on the part of the Prince.
The day was drawing to an end when it was announced that the mansion
was closed in the certain celestial direction of the Naka-gami
(central God).[46] His own mansion in Nijiô (the one mentioned as
being repaired in a previous chapter) was also in the same line of
direction.
"Where shall I go then?" said Genji, and without troubling himself any
further, went off into a doze. All present expressed in different
words their surprise at his unusual apathy. Thereupon some one
reported that the residence of Ki-no-Kami, who was in waiting on the
Prince, on the banks of the middle river (the River Kiôgok) had lately
been irrigated by bringing the stream into its gardens, making them
cool and refreshing.
"That's very good, especially on such a close evening," exclaimed
Genji, rousing himself, and he at once intimated to Ki-no-Kami his
desire of visiting his house. To which the latter answered simply,
"Yes." He did not, however, really like the Prince's visit, and was
reluctantly telling his fellow attendants that, owing to a certain
circumstance which had taken place at Iyo-no-Kami's[47] residence, his
wife (Ki-no-Kami's stepmother) had taken up her abode with him that
very evening, and that the rooms were all in confusion.
Genji heard all this distinctly, but he would not change his mind, and
said, "That is all the better! I don't care to stay in a place where
no fair statue dwells; it is slow work."
Being thus pressed, no alternative remained for the Ki-no-Kami, and a
messenger was despatched to order the preparation of apartments for
the Prince. Not long after this messenger had gone, Genji started on
his way to the house of Ki-no-Kami, whose mild objections against this
quick proceeding were not listened to.
He left the mansion as quietly as possible, even without taking formal
leave of its master, and his escort consisted of a few favorite
attendants.
The "eastern front room" in the "dwelling quarters" was wide open, and
a temporary arrangement was made for the reception of the Prince, who
arrived there very quickly. The scene of the garden struck him before
anything else. The surface of the lake sparkled with its glittering
waters. The hedges surrounded it in rustic beauty, and luxuriant
shrubs grew in pleasing order. Over all the fair scene the breeze of
evening swept softly, summer insects sang distinctly here and there,
and the fireflies hovered about in mazy dances.
The escort took up its quarters in a position which overlooked the
stream of water which ran beneath the corridor, and here began to take
cups of _saké_. The host hastened to order also some refreshment to be
prepared for Genji.
The latter was meanwhile gazing abstractedly about him, thinking such
a place might belong to the class which Sama-no-Kami fairly placed in
the middle category. He knew that the lady who was under the same roof
was a young beauty of whom he had heard something before, and he was
looking forward to a chance of seeing her.
He then noticed the rustling of a silken dress escaping from a small
boudoir to the right, and some youthful voices, not without charm,
were also heard, mingled with occasional sounds of suppressed
laughter. The casement of the boudoir had been, until a short time
before, open, but was pulled down by order of Ki-no-Kami, who,
perhaps, doubted the propriety of its being as it was, and now only
allowed a struggling light to issue through the paper of the "sliding
screen!" He proceeded to one side of his room that he might see what
could be seen, but there was no chance. He still stood there that he
might be able, at least, to catch some part of the conversation. It
seems that this boudoir adjoined the general family room of the female
inmates, and his ears were greeted by some faint talking. He inclined
his head attentively, and heard them whispering probably about
himself.
"Is it not a pity that the fate of so fine a prince should be already
fixed?" said one voice.
"Yet he loses no opportunity of availing himself of the favors of
fortune," added another.
These remarks may have been made with no serious intention, but as to
Genji, he, even in hearing them, could not help thinking of a certain
fair image of which he so fondly dreamt. At the same time feeling a
thrill on reflecting that, if this kind of secret were to be
discovered and discussed in such a manner, what could be done.
He then heard an observation in delicate allusion to his verse which
he had presented to the Princess Momo-zono (peach-gardens) with the
flowers of Asagao (morning-glory, or convolvulus).
"What _cautious_ beauties they are to talk in that way! But I wonder
if their forms when seen will answer to the pictures of my fancy,"
thought Genji, as he retired to his original position, for he could
hear nothing more interesting.
Ki-no-Kami presently entered the room, brought in some fruits, trimmed
the lamp, and the visitor and host now began to enjoy a pleasant
leisure.
"What has become of the ladies? Without some of them no society is
cheerful," observed Genji.
"Who can there be to meet such wishes?" said the Ki-no-Kami to
himself, but took no notice of Genji's remark.
There were several boys in the house who had followed Ki-no-Kami into
the room. They were the sons and brothers of Ki-no-Kami. Among them
there was one about twelve or thirteen, who was nicer-looking than the
others. Genji, of course, did not know who they all were, and
accordingly made inquiries. When he came to the last-mentioned boy,
Ki-no-Kami replied:--
"He is the youngest son of the late Lord Yemon, now an orphan, and,
from his sister's connections, he is now staying here. He is shrewd
and unlike ordinary boys. His desire is to take Court service, but he
has as yet no patron."
"What a pity! Is, then, the sister you mentioned your stepmother?"
"Yes, sir, it is so."
"What a good mother you have got. I once overheard the Emperor, to
whom, I believe, a private application had been some time made in her
behalf, referring to her, said, 'What has become of her?' Is she here
now?" said Genji; and lowering his voice, added, "How changeable are
the fortunes of the world!"
"It is her present state, sir. But, as you may perceive, it differs
from her original expectation. Changeable indeed are the fortunes of
this world, especially so the fortunes of women!"
"Does Iyo respect her? Perhaps he idolizes her, as his master."
"That is a question, perhaps, as a _private_ master. I am the foremost
to disapprove of this infatuation on his part."
"Are you? Nevertheless he trusts her to such a one as you. He is a
kind father! But where are they all?"
"All in their private apartments."
Genji by this time apparently desired to be alone, and Ki-no-Kami now
retired with the boys. All the escort were already slumbering
comfortably, each on his own cool rush mat, under the pleasant
persuasion of _saké_.
Genji was now alone. He tried to doze, but could not. It was late in
the evening, and all was still around. His sharpened senses made him
aware that the room next but one to his own was occupied, which led
him to imagine that the lady of whom he had been speaking might be
there. He rose softly, and once more proceeded to the other side of
the room to listen to what he might overhear. He heard a tender voice,
probably that of Kokimi, the boy spoken of before, who appeared to
have just entered the room, saying:--
"Are you here?"
To which a female voice replied, "Yes, dear, but has the visitor yet
retired?" And the same voice added--
"Ah! so near, and yet so far!"
"Yes, I should think so, he is so nice-looking, as they say."
"Were it daytime I would see him, too," said the lady in a drowsy
voice.
"I shall go to bed, too! But what a bad light," said the boy, and
Genji conjectured that he had been trimming the lamp.
The lady presently clapped her hands for a servant, and said, "Where
is Chiûjiô, I feel lonely, I wish to see her."
"Madam, she is in the bath now, she will be here soon," replied the
servant.
"Suppose I pay my visit to her, too? What harm! no harm, perhaps,"
said Genji to himself. He withdrew the fastening of the intervening
door, on the other side there was none, and it opened. The entrance to
the room where the lady was sitting was only screened by a curtain,
with a glimmering light inside. By the reflection of this light he saw
travelling trunks and bags all scattered about; through these he
groped his way and approached the curtain. He saw, leaning on a
cushion, the small and pretty figure of a lady, who did not seem to
notice his approach, probably thinking it was Chiûjiô, for whom she
had sent. Genji felt nervous, but struggling against the feeling,
startled the lady by saying:--
"Chiûjiô was called for, I thought it might mean myself, and I come to
offer you my devoted services."
This was really an unexpected surprise, and the lady was at a loss.
"It is, of course, natural," he said, "you should be astonished at my
boldness, but pray excuse me. It is solely from my earnest desire to
show at such an opportunity the great respect for you which I have
felt for a very long time."
He was clever enough to know how to speak, and what to say, under all
circumstances, and made the above speech in such an extremely humble
and insinuating manner that the demon himself could not have taken
offence, so she forbore to show any sudden resentment. She had,
however, grave doubts as to the propriety of his conduct, and felt
somewhat uncomfortable, saying shyly, "Perhaps you have made a
mistake!"
"No, certainly not," he replied. "What mistake can I have made? On the
other hand, I have no wish to offend you. The evening, however, is
very irksome, and I should feel obliged if you would permit me to
converse with you." Then gently taking her hand he pressed her to
return with him to his lonely apartment.
She was still young and weak, and did not know what was most proper to
do under these circumstances, so half yielding, half reluctantly was
induced to be led there by him.
At this juncture Chiûjiô, for whom she had sent previously, entered
the room. Upon which Genji exclaimed "Ha!"
Chiûjiô stared with astonishment at him, whom she at once recognized
as the Prince, by the rich perfume which he carried about him.
"What does this mean?" thought Chiûjiô. She could still do nothing.
Had he been an ordinary personage she would have immediately seized
him. Even in that case, however, there was enough room to doubt
whether it would not have been better to avoid any violent steps lest
it might have given rise to a disagreeable family scandal, hence
Chiûjiô was completely perplexed and mechanically followed them.
Genji was too bold to fear bystanders, a common fault with high
personages, and coolly closed the door upon her saying, "She will soon
return to you."
The lady being placed in such an awkward position, and not knowing
what Chiûjiô might imagine, became, as it were, bewildered. Genji was,
however, as artful and insinuating as might be expected in consoling
her, though we do not know where he had learnt his eloquence. This was
really trying for her, and she said, "Your condescension is beyond my
merit. I cannot disregard it. It is, however, absolutely necessary to
know 'Who is who.'"
"But such ignorance," he a little abashed, rejoined "as not to know
'Who is who,' is the very proof of my inexperience. Were I supposed to
understand too well, I should indeed be sorry. You have very likely
heard how little I mix in the world. This perhaps is the very reason
why you distrust me. The excess of the blindness of my mind seems
strange even to myself."
He spoke thus insinuatingly. She, on her part, feared that if his
fascinating address should assume a warmer tone it would be still
more trying for her and more difficult to withstand, so she
determined, however hard she might appear, not to give any
encouragement to his feelings, and showed therefore a coolness of
manner. To her meek character there was thus added a firm resolution,
and it seemed like a young bamboo reed with its strength and
tenderness combined, difficult to bend! Still she felt the struggle
very keenly, and tears moistened her eyes.
Genji could not help feeling touched. Not knowing exactly how to
soothe her, he exclaimed, "What makes you treat me so coolly? It is
true we are not old acquaintances, but it does not follow that this
should prevent us from becoming good friends. Please don't discompose
yourself like one who does not know the world at all: it pierces my
heart."
This speech touched her, and her firmness began to waver.
"Were my position what it once was," said she, "and I received such
attention, I might, however unworthy, have been moved by your
affection, but as my position in life is now changed, its
unsatisfactory condition often makes me dream of a happiness I cannot
hope to enjoy." Hereupon she remained silent for some moments, and
looked as if she meant to say that she could no longer help thinking
of the line:--
Don't tell anyone you've seen my home.
But these few moments of silence agitated the pure waters of her
virtuous mind, and the sudden recollection of her aged husband, whom
she did not generally think much about, occurred tenderly to her
memory. She shuddered at the idea of his seeing her in such a dilemma
as this, even in a dream, and without a word fled back to her
apartment, and Genji was once more alone.
Now the chanticleer began to proclaim the coming day, and the
attendants rose from their couches, some exclaiming "How soundly we
have slept," others, "Let us get the carriage ready."
Ki-no-Kami also came out saying, "Why so early, no need of such hurry
for the Prince."
Genji also arose, and putting on his _naoshi_, went out on a balcony
on the southern side of the house, where he leaned upon the wooden
balustrade and meditated as he looked round him.
It appears that people were peeping out of the casement on the western
side, probably being anxious to catch a glimpse of the Prince, whose
figure was indistinctly to be seen by them from the top of a short
screen standing within the trellis. Among these spectators there was
one who perhaps might have felt a thrill run through her frame as she
beheld him. It was the very moment when the sky was being tinted by
the glowing streaks of morn, and the moon's pale light was still
lingering in the far distance. The aspect of the passionless heavens
becomes radiant or gloomy in response to the heart of him who looks
upon it. And to Genji, whose thoughts were secretly occupied with the
events of the evening, the scene could only have given rise to
sorrowful emotions.
Reflecting how he might on some future occasion convey a message to
the lady, and looking back several times, he presently quitted the
house and returned to the mansion of his father-in-law.
During some days succeeding the above events, he was staying at the
mansion with his bride. His thoughts, however, were now constantly
turning to the lady on the bank of the middle river. He therefore
summoned Ki-no-Kami before him, and thus addressed him:--
"Cannot you let me have the boy, the son of the late Chiûnagon[48]
whom I saw the other day? He is a nice lad, and I wish to have him
near at hand. I will also introduce him to the Emperor."
"I receive your commands. I will talk with his _sister_, and see if
she consents to it," replied Ki-no-Kami with a bow.
These last words alluding to the object which occupied his thoughts
caused Genji to start, but he said with apparent calmness--
"Has the lady presented you yet with a brother or a sister?"
"No, sir, not yet; she has been married now these two years, but it
seems she is always thinking she is not settled in the way her parents
desired, and is not quite contented with her position."
"What a pity! I heard, however, she was a very good lady. Is it so?"
"Yes, I quite believe so; but hitherto we have lived separately, and
were not very cordial, which, as all the world knows, is usual in such
relationship."
After the lapse of five or six days the boy Kokimi was brought to
him. He was not tall or handsome but very intelligent, and in manners
perfectly well-bred. Genji treated him with the greatest kindness, at
which, in his boyish mind, he was highly delighted. Genji now asked
him many questions about his sister, to which he gave such answers as
he could, but often with shyness and diffidence. Hence Genji was
unable to take him into his confidence, but by skilfully coaxing and
pleasing him, he ventured to hand him a letter to be taken to his
sister. The boy, though he possibly guessed at its meaning, did not
trouble himself much, but taking it, duly delivered it to his sister.
She became confused and thoughtful as she took it, and fearing what
the boy might think, opened the letter and held it before her face as
she read, in order to conceal the expression of her countenance.
It was a long one, and among other things contained the following
lines:--
I had a dream, a dream so sweet,
Ah! would that I could dream again;
Alas, no sleep these eyes will greet,
And so I strive to dream in vain!
It was beautifully written, and as her eyes fell upon the passionate
words, a mist gathered over them, and a momentary thought of her own
life and position once more flashed over her mind, and without a word
of comment to the boy, she retired to rest.
A few days afterwards Kokimi was again invited to join the Prince.
Thereupon he asked his sister to give him an answer to the Prince's
letter.
"Tell the Prince," she said, "there is no one _here_ who reads such
letters."
"But," said the boy, "he does not expect such an answer as this! How
can I tell him so?"
At first, she half-resolved to explain everything to Kokimi, and to
make him thoroughly understand why she ought not to receive such
letters, but the effort was too painful, so she simply said, "It is
all the better for you not to talk in that way. If you think it so
serious why should you go to him at all?"
"Yet, how can I disobey his commands to go back?" exclaimed the boy,
and so he returned to Genji without any written answer to him.
"I was weary of waiting for you. Perhaps you, too, had forgotten me,"
said Genji, when he saw the boy, who was, however, silent and blushed.
"And what answer have you brought me?" continued Genji, and then the
boy replied in the exact words which his sister had used.
"What?" cried Genji: and continued, "Perhaps you may not know, so I
will tell you. I knew your sister before she knew Iyo. But she likes
to treat me so because she thinks she has got a very good friend in
Iyo; but do you be like a brother to me. The days of Iyo will be
probably fewer than mine."
He now returned to the Palace taking Komini with him, and, going to
his dressing-room, attired him nicely in the Court style; in a word,
he treated him as a parent would do.
By the boy's assistance several more letters were conveyed to his
sister. Her resolution, however, remained unshaken.
"If one's heart were once to deviate from the path," she reflected,
"the only end we could expect would be a damaged reputation and misery
for life: the good and the bad result from one's self!"
Thus thinking, she resolved to return no answer. She might, indeed,
have admired the person of Genji, and probably did so, yet, whenever
such feelings came into her mind, the next thought that suggested
itself was, "What is the use of such idle admiration?"
Meanwhile, Genji was often thinking of paying a visit to the house
where she was staying, but he did not consider it becoming to do so,
without some reasonable pretext, more especially as he would have been
sorry, and for her sake more than his own, to draw a suspicion upon
her.
It happened, however, after a prolonged residence at the Court, that
another occasion of closing the Palace in the certain celestial line
of direction arrived. Catching at this opportunity he left the Palace,
and suddenly turning out of his road, went straight to Ki-no-Kami's
residence, with the excuse that he had just discovered the above fact
on his way. Ki-no-Kami surprised at this unexpected visit, had only to
bow before him, and acknowledge the honor of his presence. The boy,
Kokimi, was already there before him, having been secretly informed of
his intention beforehand, and he attended on him as usual in his
apartment on his arrival.
The lady, who had been told by her brother that the Prince earnestly
desired to see her, knew well how dangerous it was to approach an
inviting flower growing on the edge of a precipice. She was not, of
course, insensible to his coming in such a manner, with an excuse for
the sake of seeing her, but she did not wish to increase her dreamlike
inquietude by seeing him. And again, if he ventured to visit her
apartment, as he did before, it might be a serious compromise for her.
For these reasons she retired while her brother was with Genji, to a
private chamber of Chiûjiô, her companion, in the rear of the main
building, under the pretence that her own room was too near that of
the Prince, besides she was indisposed and required "Tataki,"[49]
which she desired to have done in a retired part of the house.
Genji sent his attendants very early to their own quarters, and then,
through Kokimi, requested an interview with the lady. Kokimi at first
was unable to find her, till after searching everywhere, he, at last,
came to the apartment of Chiûjiô, and with great earnestness
endeavored to persuade her to see Genji, in an anxious and half
trembling voice, while she replied in a tone slightly angry, "What
makes you so busy? Why do you trouble yourself? Boys carrying such
messages are highly blamable."
After thus daunting him, she added, more mildly, "Tell the Prince I am
somewhat indisposed, and also that some friends are with me, and I
cannot well leave them now." And she again cautioned the boy not to be
too officious, and sent him away from her at once.
Yet, at the bottom of her heart, different feelings might have been
struggling from those which her words seemed to express, and some such
thoughts as these shaped themselves to her mind: "Were I still a
maiden in the home of my beloved parents, and occasionally received
his visits there, how happy might I not be? How trying to act as if no
romantic sentiment belonged to my heart!"
Genji, who was anxiously waiting to know how the boy would succeed in
persuading his sister, was soon told that all his efforts were in
vain. Upon hearing this he remained for some moments silent, and then
relieved his feelings with a long-drawn sigh, and hummed:--
"The Hahaki-gi[50] distant tree
Spreads broom-like o'er the silent waste;
Approach, how changed its shape we see,
In vain we try its shade to taste."
The lady was unable to sleep, and her thoughts also took the following
poetic shape:--
Too like the Hahaki-gi tree,
Lonely and humble, I must dwell,
Nor dare to give a thought to thee,
But only sigh a long farewell.
All the other inmates of the house were now in a sound slumber, but
sleep came not to Genji's eyes. He did, indeed, admire her immovable
and chaste nature, but this only drew his heart more towards her. He
was agitated. At one moment he cried, "Well, then!" at another,
"However!" "Still!" At last, turning to the boy, he passionately
exclaimed, "Lead me to her at once!"
Kokimi calmly replied, "It is impossible, too many eyes are around
us!"
Genji with a sigh then threw himself back on the cushion, saying to
Kokimi, "You, at least, will be my friend, and shall share my
apartment!"
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 22: A hero of an older fiction, who is represented as the
perfect ideal of a gallant.]
[Footnote 23: A fast observed when some remarkable or supernatural
event took place, or on the anniversary of days of domestic
misfortune.]
[Footnote 24: A general of the Imperial Guards.]
[Footnote 25: Love letters generally are not signed or are signed with
a fancy name.]
[Footnote 26: Left Master of the Horse.]
[Footnote 27: Secretary to the Master of Ceremonies.]
[Footnote 28: Deputy-governors of provinces. In those days these
functionaries were greatly looked down upon by the Court nobles, and
this became one of the causes of the feudal system.]
[Footnote 29: The naoshi is an outer attire. It formed part of a loose
and unceremonious Court dress.]
[Footnote 30: This alludes to a common habit of women, who push back
their hair before commencing any task.]
[Footnote 31: Some kinds of nuns did not shave their heads, and this
remark seems to allude to the common practice of women who often
involuntarily smooth their hair before they see people, which practice
comes, no doubt, from the idea that the beauty of women often depends
on the tidiness of their hair.]
[Footnote 32: This means that her soul, which was sinful, would not go
at once to its final resting-place, but wander about in unknown
paths.]
[Footnote 33: A mountain spoken of in Chinese literature. It was said
to be in the Eastern Ocean, and people of extraordinary long lives,
called Sennin, were supposed to dwell there.]
[Footnote 34: In China and Japan handwriting is considered no less an
art than painting.]
[Footnote 35: An ideal woman patroness of the art of dyeing.]
[Footnote 36: The weaver, or star Vega. In the Chinese legend she is
personified as a woman always engaged in weaving.]
[Footnote 37: In the same legend, it is said that this weaver, who
dwells on one side of the Milky Way in the heavens, meets her
lover--another star called Hikoboshi, or the bull-driver--once every
year, on the evening of the seventh day of the seventh month. He dwelt
on the other side of the Milky Way, and their meeting took place on a
bridge, made by birds (jays), by the intertwining of their wings. It
was this which gave rise to the popular festival, which takes place on
this day, both in China and Japan.]
[Footnote 38: Little darlings--a kind of pink.]
[Footnote 39: The Tokonatz (everlasting summer) is another name for
the pink, and it is poetically applied to the lady whom we love.]
[Footnote 40: A female divinity in Indian mythology.]
[Footnote 41: From the Chinese poet Hak-rak-ten, who was mentioned
before. He says in one of his poems: "Once upon a time a certain host
invited to his abode a clever match-maker. When the guests were
assembled he poured forth wine into a beautiful jar, and said to all
present, 'drink not for a moment, but hear what I say about the two
choices, daughters of the rich get married soon, but snub their
husbands, daughters of the poor get married with difficulty but dearly
love their mothers-in-law.'"]
[Footnote 42: A soft style of Japanese writing commonly used by
ladies.]
[Footnote 43: A stiff and formal style of Japanese writing.]
[Footnote 44: The fifth of May is one of the five important national
festivals. A solemn celebration of this fête used to be performed at
Court. It is sometimes called the festival of the "Sweet
Flags,"--_calami aromatici_--because it was held at the season when
those beautiful water-plants were in the height of perfection.]
[Footnote 45: Another of the five above-mentioned. It was held on the
ninth of September, and it was customary on the occasion for rhymes to
be given out to those present, wherewith to compose Chinese poems. It
was sometimes called the "Chrysanthemum Festival," for the same reason
that the celebration of the fifth of May was termed the "Sweet Flag
Festival."]
[Footnote 46: This is an astrological superstition. It is said that
when this God is in any part of the compass, at the time being, it is
most unlucky to proceed towards it, and to remain in the same line of
its direction.]
[Footnote 47: The deputy governor of the province Iyo; he is supposed
to be in the province at this time, leaving his young wife and family
behind.]
[Footnote 48: The father of Kokimi seems to have been holding the
office Yemon-no-Kami as well as Chiûnagon.]
[Footnote 49: Tataki, or Amma, a sort of shampooing, a very common
medical treatment in Japan.]
[Footnote 50: Hahaki-gi, the broom-like tree, is said to have been a
certain tree growing in the plain of Sonohara, so called from its
shape, which, at a distance, looked like a spreading broom, but when
one comes near, its appearance was totally changed.]