YOUNG VIOLET
It was the time when Genji became subject to periodical attacks of
ague, that many exorcisms and spells were performed to effect a cure,
but all in vain. At length he was told by a friend that in a certain
temple on the northern mountain (Mount Kurama) there dwelt a famous
ascetic, and that when the epidemic had prevailed during the previous
summer, many people had recovered through his exorcisms. "If," added
the friend, "the disease is neglected it becomes serious; try
therefore, this method of procuring relief at once, and before it is
too late."
Genji, therefore, sent for the hermit, but he declined to come, saying
that he was too old and decrepit to leave his retreat. "What shall I
do?" exclaimed Genji, "shall I visit him privately?" Eventually,
taking four or five attendants, he started off early one morning for
the place, which was at no great distance on the mountain.
It was the last day of March, and though the height of the season for
flowers in the capital was over, yet, on the mountain, the
cherry-trees were still in blossom. They advanced on their way further
and further. The haze clung to the surface like a soft sash does round
the waist, and to Genji, who had scarcely ever been out of the
capital, the scenery was indescribably novel. The ascetic lived in a
deep cave in the rocks, near the lofty summit. Genji did not, however,
declare who he was, and the style of his retinue was of a very private
character. Yet his nobility of manners was easily recognizable.
"Welcome your visit!" cried the hermit, saluting him. "Perhaps you are
the one who sent for me the other day? I have long since quitted the
affairs of this world, and have almost forgotten the secret of my
exorcisms. I wonder why you have come here for me." So saying, he
pleasingly embraced him. He was evidently a man of great holiness. He
wrote out a talismanic prescription, which he gave to Genji to drink
in water, while he himself proceeded to perform some mysterious rite.
During the performance of this ceremony the sun rose high in the
heavens. Genji, meantime, walked out of the cave and looked around him
with his attendants. The spot where they stood was very lofty, and
numerous monasteries were visible, scattered here and there in the
distance beneath. There was immediately beyond the winding path in
which they were walking a picturesque and pretty building enclosed by
hedges. Its well arranged balconies and the gardens around it
apparently betokened the good taste of its inhabitants. "Whose house
may that be?" inquired Genji of his attendants. They told him it was a
house in which a certain priest had been living for the last two
years. "Ah! I know him," said Genji. "Strange, indeed, would it be if
he were to discover that I am here in this privacy." They noticed a
nun and a few more females with her walking in the garden, who were
carrying fresh water for their offerings, and were gathering flowers.
"Ah! there are ladies walking there," cried the attendants in tones of
surprise. "Surely, the Reverend Father would not indulge in
flirtations! Who can they be?" And some of them even descended a
little distance, and peered over the enclosure, where a pretty little
girl was also seen amongst them.
Genji now engaged in prayer until the sun sank in the heavens. His
attendants, who were anxious about his disease, told him that it would
be good for him to have a change from time to time. Hereupon, he
advanced to the back of the temple, and his gaze fell on the far-off
Capital in the distance, which was enveloped in haze as the dusk was
setting in, over the tops of the trees around. "What a lovely
landscape!" exclaimed Genji. "The people to whom such scenery is
familiar, are perhaps happy and contented." "Nay," said the
attendants, "but were you to see the beautiful mountain ranges and the
sea-coast in our various provinces, the pictures would indeed be found
lovely." Then some of them described to him Fuji Yama, while others
told him of other mountains, diverting his attention by their animated
description of the beautiful bays and coasts of the Western Provinces;
thus as they depicted them to him, they cheered and gladdened his
mind. One of them went on to say: "Among such sights and at no great
distance, there is the sea-coast of Akashi, in the Province of
Harima, which is, I think, especially beautiful. I cannot, indeed,
point out in detail its most remarkable features, but, in general, the
blue expanse of the sea is singularly charming. Here, too, the home of
the former Governor of the Province constitutes an object of great
attraction. He has assumed the tonsure, and resides there with his
beautiful daughter. He is the descendant of a high personage, and was
not without hope of elevation at Court, but, being of an eccentric
character, he was strongly averse to society. He had formerly been a
Chiûjiô of the Imperial Guard, but having resigned that office, had
become Governor of Harima. He was not, however, popular in that
office. In this state of affairs he reflected within himself, no
doubt, that his presence in the Capital could not but be disagreeable.
When, therefore, his term of office expired, he determined still to
remain in the province. He did not, however, go to the mountainous
regions of the interior, but chose the sea-coast. There are in this
district several places which are well situated for quiet retirement,
and it would have seemed inconsistent in him had he preferred a part
of the sea-coast so near the gay world; nevertheless, a retreat in the
too remote interior would have been too solitary, and might have met
with objections on the part of his wife and child. For this reason, it
appears, that he finally selected the place which I have already
alluded to for the sake of his family. When I went down there last
time, I became acquainted with the history and circumstances of the
family, and I found that though he may not have been well received in
the Capital, yet, that here, having been formerly governor, he enjoys
considerable popularity and respect. His residence, moreover, is well
appointed and of sufficient magnitude, and he performs with
punctuality and devoutness his religious duties--nay, almost with more
earnestness than many regular priests." Here Genji interrupted. "What
is his daughter like?" "Without doubt," answered his companion, "the
beauty of her person is unrivalled, and she is endowed with
corresponding mental ability. Successive governors often offer their
addresses to her with great sincerity, but no one has ever yet been
accepted. The dominant idea of her father seems to be this: 'What,
have I sunk to such a position! Well, I trust, at least, that my only
daughter may be successful and prosperous in her life!' He often told
her, I heard, that if she survived him, and if his fond hopes for her
should not be realized, it would be better for her to cast herself
into the sea."
Genji was much interested in this conversation, and the rest of the
company laughingly said, "Ah! she is a woman who is likely to become
the Queen of the Blue Main. In very truth her father must be an
extraordinary being!"
The attendant who had given this account of the ex-governor and his
daughter, was the son of the present Governor of the Province. He was
until lately a Kurand, and this year had received the title of Jugoi.
His name was Yoshikiyo, and he, too, was a man of gay habits, which
gave occasion to one of his companions to observe: "Ah! perhaps you
also have been trying to disappoint the hopes of the aged father."
Another said, "Well, our friend has given us a long account, but we
must take it with some reserve. She must be, after all, a country
maiden, and all that I can give credit to is this much: that her
mother may be a woman of some sense, who takes great care of the girl.
I am only afraid that if any future governor should be seized with an
ardent desire to possess her, she would not long remain unattached."
"What possible object could it serve if she were carried to the bottom
of the sea? The natives of the deep would derive no pleasure from her
charms," remarked Genji, while he himself secretly desired to behold
her.
"Ay," thought his companions, "with his susceptible temperament, what
wonder if this story touches him."
The day was far advanced, and the Prince prepared to leave the
mountain. The Hermit, however, told him that it would be better to
spend the evening in the Temple, and to be further prayed for. His
attendants also supported this suggestion. So Genji made up his mind
to stay there, saying, "Then I shall not return home till to-morrow."
The days at this season were of long duration, and he felt it rather
tiresome to pass a whole evening in sedate society, so, under the
cover of the shades of the evening, he went out of the Temple, and
proceeded to the pretty building enclosed by hedges. All the
attendants had been despatched home except Koremitz, who accompanied
him. They peeped at this building through the hedges. In the western
antechamber of the house was placed an image of Buddha, and here an
evening service was performed. A nun, raising a curtain before
Buddha, offered a garland of flowers on the altar, and placing a Kiô
(or Sutra, i.e., Buddhist Bible) on her "arm-stool," proceeded to read
it. She seemed to be rather more than forty years old. Her face was
rather round, and her appearance was noble. Her hair was thrown back
from her forehead and was cut short behind, which suited her very
well. She was, however, pale and weak, her voice, also, being
tremulous. Two maiden attendants went in and out of the room waiting
upon her, and a little girl ran into the room with them. She was about
ten years old or more, and wore a white silk dress, which fitted her
well and which was lined with yellow. Her hair was waved like a fan,
and her eyes were red from crying. "What is the matter? Have you
quarrelled with the boy?" exclaimed the nun, looking at her. There was
some resemblance between the features of the child and the nun, so
Genji thought that she possibly might be her daughter.
"Inuki has lost my sparrow, which I kept so carefully in the cage,"
replied the child.
"That stupid boy," said one of the attendants. "Has he again been the
cause of this? Where can the bird be gone? And all this, too, after we
had tamed it with so much care." She then left the room, possibly to
look for the lost bird. The people who addressed her called her
Shiônagon, and she appeared to have been the little girl's nurse.
"To you," said the nun to the girl, "the sparrow may be dearer than I
may be, who am so ill; but have I not told you often that the caging
of birds is a sin? Be a good girl; come nearer!"
The girl advanced and stood silent before her, her face being bathed
in tears. The contour of the child-like forehead and of the small and
graceful head was very pleasing. Genji, as he surveyed the scene from
without, thought within himself, "If she is thus fair in her girlhood,
what will she be when she is grown up?" One reason why Genji was so
much attracted by her was, that she greatly resembled a certain lady
in the Palace, to whom he, for a long time, had been fondly attached.
The nun stroked the beautiful hair of the child and murmured to
herself, "How splendid it looks! Would that she would always strive to
keep it thus. Her extreme youth makes me anxious, however. Her mother
departed this life when she only a very young girl, but she was quite
sensible at the age of this one. Supposing that I were to leave her
behind, I wonder what would happen to her!" As she thus murmured, her
countenance became saddened by her forebodings.
The sight moved Genji's sympathy as he gazed. It seemed that the
tender heart of the child was also touched, for she silently watched
the expression of the nun's features, and then with downcast eyes bent
her face towards the ground, the lustrous hair falling over her back
in waves.
The nun hummed, in a tone sufficiently audible to Genji,
"The dews that wet the tender grass,
At the sun's birth, too quickly pass,
Nor e'er can hope to see it rise
In full perfection to the skies."
Shiônagon, who now joined them, and heard the above distich, consoled
the nun with the following:--
"The dews will not so quickly pass,
Nor shall depart before they see
The full perfection of the grass,
They loved so well in infancy."
At this juncture a priest entered and said, "Do you know that this
very day Prince Genji visited the hermit in order to be exorcised by
him. I must forthwith go and see him."
Genji observing this movement quickly returned to the monastery,
thinking as he went what a lovely girl he had seen. "I can guess from
this," thought he, "why those gay fellows (referring to his
attendants) so often make their expeditions in search of good fortune.
What a charming little girl have I seen to-day! Who can she be? Would
that I could see her morning and evening in the palace, where I can no
longer see the fair loved one whom she resembles!" He now returned to
the monastery, and retired to his quarters. Soon after a disciple of
the priest came and delivered a message from him through Koremitz,
saying, "My master has just heard of the Prince's visit to the
mountain, and would have waited on him at once, but thought it better
to postpone calling. Nevertheless he would be much pleased to offer a
humble welcome, and feels disappointed that he has not yet had an
opportunity of doing so."
Genji said in reply, "I have been afflicted with constant attacks of
ague for the last few weeks, and, therefore, by the advice of my
friends, I came to this mountain to be exorcised. If, however, the
spells of the holy man are of no avail to me, his reputation might
suffer in consequence. For that reason I wish to keep my visit as
private as possible, nevertheless I will come now to your master."
Thereupon the priest himself soon made his appearance, and, after
briefly relating the circumstances which had occasioned his retirement
to this locality, he offered to escort Genji to his house, saying, "My
dwelling is but a rustic cottage, but still I should like you to see,
at least, the pretty mountain streamlet which waters my garden."
Genji accepted the offer, thinking as he went, "I wonder what the
priest has said at home about myself to those to whom I have not yet
been introduced. But it will be pleasant to see them once more."
The night was moonless. The fountain was lit up by torches, and many
lamps also were lighted in the garden. Genji was taken to an airy room
in the southern front of the building, where incense which was burning
threw its sweet odors around. The priest related to him many
interesting anecdotes, and also spoke eloquently of man's future
destiny. Genji as he heard him, felt some qualms of conscience, for he
remembered that his own conduct was far from being irreproachable. The
thought troubled him that he would never be free from the sting of
these recollections through his life, and that there was a world to
come, too! "Oh, could I but live in a retreat like this priest!" As he
thus thought of a retreat, he was involuntarily taken by a fancy, that
how happy would he be if accompanied to such a retreat by such a girl
as he had seen in the evening, and with this fancy her lovely face
rose up before him.
Suddenly he said to the priest, "I had once a dream which made me
anxious to know who was living in this house, and here to-day that
dream has again come back to my memory!" The priest laughed, and said,
"A strange dream! even were you to obtain your wish it might not
gratify you. The late Lord Azechi Dainagon died long ago, and perhaps
you know nothing about him. Well! his widow is my sister, and since
her husband's death her health has not been satisfactory, so lately
she has been living here in retirement."
"Ah, yes," said Genji, venturing upon a guess, "and I heard that she
bore a daughter to Dainagon."
"Yes, she had a daughter, but she died about ten years ago. After her
father's death the sole care of her fell upon her widowed mother
alone. I know not how it came to pass, but she became secretly
intimate with Prince Hiôbkiô. But the Prince's wife was very jealous
and severe, so she had much to suffer and put up with. I saw
personally the truth that 'care kills more than labor.'"
"Ah, then," thought Genji, "the little one is her daughter, and no
wonder that she resembles the one in the palace (because Prince
Hiôbkiô was the brother of the Princess Wistaria). How would it be if
I had free control over her, and had her brought up and educated
according to my own notions?" So thinking, he proceeded to say how sad
it was that she died! "Did she leave any offspring?"
"She gave birth to a child at her death, which was also a girl, and
about this girl the grandmother is always feeling very anxious."
"Then," said Genji, "let it not appear strange to you if I say this,
but I should be very happy to become the guardian of this girl. Will
you speak to her grandmother about it? It is true that there is one to
whom my lot is linked, but I care but little for her, and indeed
usually lead a solitary life."
"Your offer is very kind," replied the priest, "but she is extremely
young. However every woman grows up under the protecting care of some
one, and so I cannot say much about her, only it shall be mentioned to
my sister."
The priest said this with a grave and even a stern expression on his
countenance, which caused Genji to drop the subject.
He then asked the Prince to excuse him, for it was the hour for
vespers, and as he quitted the room to attend the service, said he
would return as soon as it was finished.
Genji was alone. A slight shower fell over the surrounding country,
and the mountain breezes blew cool. The waters of the torrent were
swollen, and the roar of them might be heard from afar. Broken and
indistinct, one might hear the melancholy sound of the sleepy
intonation of prayers. Even those people who have no sorrow of their
own often feel melancholy from the circumstances in which they are
placed. So Genji, whose mind was occupied in thought, could not
slumber here. The priest said he was going to vespers, but in reality
it was later than the proper time for them. Genji perceived that the
inmates had not yet retired to rest in the inner apartments of the
house. They were very quiet, yet the sound of the telling of beads,
which accidentally struck the lectern, was heard from time to time.
The room was not far from his own. He pulled the screen slightly
aside, and standing near the door, he struck his fan on his hand, to
summon some one.
"What can be the matter," said an attendant, and as she came near to
the Prince's room she added, "Perhaps my ear was deceived," and she
began to retire.
"Buddha will guide you; fear not the darkness, I am here," said Genji.
"Sir!" replied the servant, timidly.
"Pray do not think me presumptuous," said Genji; "but may I beg you to
transmit this poetical effusion to your mistress for me?
Since first that tender grass I viewed,
My heart no soft repose e'er feels,
But gathering mist my sleeve bedews,
And pity to my bosom steals."
"Surely you should know, sir, that there is no one here to whom such
things can be presented!"
"Believe me, I have my own reasons for this," said Genji. "Let me
beseech you to take it."
So the attendant went back, and presented it to the nun.
"I do not see the real intent of the effusion," thought the nun.
"Perhaps he thinks that she is already a woman. But"--she continued,
wonderingly--"how could he have known about the young grass?" And she
then remained silent for a while. At last, thinking it would be
unbecoming to take no notice of it, she gave orally the following
reply to the attendant to be given to Genji:--
"You say your sleeve is wet with dew,
'Tis but one night alone for you,
But there's a mountain moss grows nigh,
Whose leaves from dew are never dry."
When Genji heard this, he said: "I am not accustomed to receive an
answer such as this through the mouth of a third person. Although I
thank the lady for even that much, I should feel more obliged to her
if she would grant me an interview, and allow me to explain to her my
sincere wishes."
This at length obliged the nun to have an interview with the Prince.
He then told her that he called Buddha to witness that, though his
conduct may have seemed bold, it was dictated by pure and
conscientious motives.
"All the circumstances of your family history are known to me,"
continued he. "Look upon me, I pray, as a substitute for your once
loved daughter. I, too, when a mere infant, was deprived by death of
my best friend--my mother--and the years and months which then rolled
by were fraught with trouble to me. In that same position your little
one is now. Allow us, then, to become friends. We could sympathize
with each other. 'Twas to reveal these wishes to you that I came here,
and risked the chance of offending you in doing so."
"Believe me, I am well disposed at your offer," said the nun; "but you
may have been incorrectly informed. It is true that there is a little
girl dependent upon myself, but she is but a child. Her society could
not afford you any pleasure; and forgive me, therefore, if I decline
your request."
"Yet let there be no reserve in the expression of your ideas,"
interrupted Genji; but, before they could talk further, the return of
the priest put an end to the subject, and Genji retired to his
quarters, after thanking the nun for his kind reception.
The night passed away, and dawn appeared. The sky was again hazy, and
here and there melodious birds were singing among the mountain shrubs
and flowers that blossomed around. The deer, too, which were to be
seen here, added to the beauty of the picture. Gazing around at these
Genji once more proceeded to the temple. The hermit--though too infirm
to walk--again contrived to offer up his prayers on Genji's behalf,
and he also read from the Darani.[61] The tremulous accents of the old
man--poured forth from his nearly toothless mouth--imparted a greater
reverence to his prayers.
Genji's attendants now arrived from the capital, and congratulated him
on the improvement in his health. A messenger was despatched from the
Imperial Palace for the same purpose. The priest now collected wild
and rare fruits, not to be met with in the distant town, and, with all
respect, presented them to Genji, saying: "The term of my vow has not
yet expired; and I am, therefore, sorry to say that I am unable to
descend the mountain with you on your departure." He then offered to
him the parting cup of _saké_.
"This mountain, with its waters, fill me with admiration," said Genji,
"and I regret that the anxiety of my father the Emperor obliges me to
quit the charming scene; but before the season is past, I will revisit
it: and--
The city's folk from me shall hear
How mountain cherries blossom fair,
And ere the Spring has passed away,
I'll bid them view the prospect gay."
To this the priest replied--
"Your noble presence seems to me
Like the rare flowers of Udon tree,[62]
Nor does the mountain cherry white,
Attract my gaze while you're in sight."
Genji smiled slightly, and said: "That is a very great compliment; but
the Udon tree does not blossom so easily."
The hermit also raised the cup to his lips, and said:--
"Opening my lonely hermit's door,
Enclosed around by mountain pine,
A blossom never seen before
My eyes behold that seems divine."
And he presented to him his _toko_ (a small ecclesiastical wand). On
seeing this, the priest also made him the following presents:--A
rosary of Kongôji (a kind of precious stone), which the sage Prince
Shôtok obtained from Corea, enclosed in the original case in which it
had been sent from that country; some medicine of rare virtue in a
small emerald jar; and several other objects, with a spray of
Wistaria, and a branch of cherry blossoms.
Genji, too, on the other hand, made presents, which he had ordered
from the capital, to the hermit and his disciples who had taken part
in the religious ceremonies, and also to the poor mountaineers. He
also sent the following to the nun, by the priest's page:--
"In yester-eve's uncertain light,
A flower I saw so young and bright,
But like a morning mist. Now pain
Impels me yet to see again."
A reply from the nun was speedily brought to him, which ran thus:--
"You say you feel, perhaps 'tis true,
A pang to leave these mountain bowers,
For sweet the blossoms, sweet the view,
To strangers' eyes of mountain flowers."
While this was being presented to him in his carriage, a few more
people came, as if accidentally, to wait upon him on his journey.
Among them was Tô-no-Chiûjiô, and his brother Ben, who said: "We are
always pleased to follow you; it was unkind of you to leave us
behind."
Just as the party were on the point of starting, some of them observed
that it was a pity to leave so lovely a spot without resting awhile
among the flowers. This was immediately agreed to, and they took their
seats on a moss-grown rock, a short distance from which a little
streamlet descended in a murmuring cascade.
They there began to drink _saké_, and Tô-no-Chiûjiô taking his flute,
evoked from it a rich and melodious strain; while Ben, tapping his fan
in concert, sang "The Temple of Toyora," while the Prince, as he
leaned against a rock, presented a picturesque appearance, though he
was pale and thin.
Among the attendants was one who blew on a long flute, called
Hichiriki, and another on a Shiô flute. The priest brought a _koto_,
and begged Genji to perform upon it, saying: "If we are to have music
at all, let us have a harmonious concert." Genji said that he was no
master of music; but, nevertheless, he played, with fair ability, a
pleasing air. Then they all rose up, and departed.
After they had quitted the mountain, Genji first of all went to the
Palace, where he immediately had an interview with the Emperor, who
considered his son to be still weak in health; and who asked him
several questions with regard to the efficacy of the prayers of the
reverend hermit. Genji gave him all particulars of his visit to the
mountain.
"Ah!" said the Emperor, "he may some day be entitled to become a dean
(Azali). His virtue and holiness have not yet been duly appreciated by
the government and the nation."
Sadaijin, the father-in-law of the Prince, here entered, and entreated
Genji to accompany him to his mansion, and spend a few days. Genji did
not feel very anxious to accept this invitation, but was persuaded to
do so. Sadaijin conveyed him in his own carriage, and gave up to him
the seat of honor.
They arrived; but, as usual, his bride did not appear, and only
presented herself at last at the earnest request of her father. She
was one of those model princesses whom one may see in a picture--very
formal and very sedate--and it was very difficult to draw her into
conversation. She was very uninteresting to Genji. He thought that it
would only lead to a very unpleasant state of affairs, as years grew
on, if they were to be as cool and reserved to each other as they had
been hitherto. Turning to her, he said, with some reproachfulness in
his accents, "Surely you should sometimes show me a little of the
ordinary affection of people in our position!"
She made no reply; but, glancing coolly upon him, murmured with
modest, yet dignified, tone--
"When you cease to care for me,
What can I then do for thee?"
"Your words are few; but they have a sting in them. You say I cease to
care for you; but you do me wrong in saying so. May the time come when
you will no longer pain me thus," said Genji; and he made every effort
to conciliate her. But she was not easily appeased. He was
unsuccessful in his effort, and presently they retired to their
apartment, where he soon relapsed into sleepy indifference. His
thoughts began to wander back into other regions, and hopes of the
future growth and charms of the young mountain-violet again occupied
his mind. "Oh! how difficult it is to secure a prize," thought he.
"How can I do so? Her father, Prince Hiôbkiô, is a man of rank, and
affable, but he is not of prepossessing appearance. Why does his
daughter resemble so much, in her personal attractions, the lovely one
in the chamber of Wistaria. Is it that the mother of her father and of
Wistaria is the same person? How charming is the resemblance between
them! How can I make her mine?"
Some days afterwards he sent a letter to the mountain home, and also a
communication--perhaps with some hint in it--to the priest. In his
letter to the nun he said that her indifference made it desirable to
refrain from urging his wishes; but, nevertheless, that he should be
deeply gratified if she would think more favorably of the idea which
was now so deeply rooted in his mind. Inside the letter he enclosed a
small folded slip of paper, on which was written:--
"The mountain flower I left behind
I strive but vainly to forget,
Those lovely traits still rise to mind
And fill my heart with sad regret."
This ludicrous effusion caused the nun to be partly amused and partly
vexed. She wrote an answer as follows:--
"When you came into our neighborhood your visit was very pleasing to
us, and your special message does us honor. I am, however, at a loss
how to express myself with regard to the little one, as yet she cannot
even manage the naniwadz."[63]
Enclosed in the note were the following lines, in which she hinted as
to her doubts of the steadfastness of Genji's character:
"Your heart admires the lowly flower
That dwells within our mountain bower.
Not long, alas! that flower may last
Torn by the mountain's angry blast."
The tenor of the priest's answer was much the same, and it caused
Genji some vexation.
About this time the Lady Wistaria, in consequence of an attack of
illness, had retired from the palace to her private residence, and
Genji, while sympathizing with the anxiety of the Emperor about her,
longed greatly for an opportunity of seeing her, ill though she was.
Hence at this time he went nowhere, but kept himself in his mansion at
Nijiô, and became thoughtful and preoccupied. At length he endeavored
to cajole Ô Miôbu, Wistaria's attendant, into arranging an opportunity
for him to see her. On Wistaria's part there were strong doubts as to
the propriety of complying with his request, but at last the
earnestness of the Prince overcame her scruples, and Ô Miôbu managed
eventually to bring about a meeting between them.[64]
Genji gave vent to his feelings to the Princess, as follows:--
"Though now we meet, and not again
We e'er may meet, I seem
As though to die, I were full fain
Lost in this blissful dream."
Then the Princess replied to him, full of sadness:--
"We might dream on but fear the name,
The envious world to us may give,
Forgetful of the darkened fame,
That lives when we no longer live."
For some time after this meeting had taken place, Genji found himself
too timid to appear at his father's palace, and remained in his
mansion. The Princess, too, experienced a strong feeling of remorse.
She had, moreover, a cause of anxiety special in its nature and
peculiar to herself as a woman, for which she alone felt some
uneasiness of conscience.
Three months of the summer had passed away, and her secret began to
betray itself externally. The Emperor was naturally anxious about the
health of his favorite, and kind inquiries were sent from time to time
to her. But the kinder he was to her the more conscience-stricken she
felt.
Genji at this time was often visited by strange dreams. When he
consulted a diviner about them, he was told that something remarkable
and extraordinary might happen to him, and that it behooved him to be
cautious and prudent.
"Here is a pretty source of embarrassment," thought Genji.
He cautioned the diviner to be discreet about it, especially because
he said the dreams were not his own but another person's. When at last
he heard authentically about the condition of the Princess, he was
extremely anxious to communicate with her, but she now peremptorily
objected to any kind of correspondence between them, and Ô Miôbu too
refused any longer to assist him.
In July Wistaria returned to the palace. There she was received by the
Emperor with great rejoicing, and he thought that her condition did
but add to her attractiveness.
It was now autumn, the season when agreeable receptions were often
held by the Emperor in Court, and it was awkward when Genji and the
Princess happened to face each other on these occasions, as neither of
them could be free from their tender recollections.
During these autumn evenings the thoughts of Genji were often directed
to the granddaughter of the nun, especially because she resembled the
Princess so much. His desire to possess her was considerably
increased, and the recollection of the first evening when he heard
the nun intoning to herself the verses about the tender grass,
recurred to his mind. "What," thought he, "if I pluck this tender
grass, would it then be, would it then grow up, as fair as now."
"When will be mine this lovely flower
Of tender grace and purple hue?
Like the Wistaria of the bower,
Its charms are lovely to my view."
The Emperor's visit to the Palace Suzak-in was now announced to take
place in October, and dancers and musicians were selected from among
the young nobles who were accomplished in these arts, and Royal
Princes and officers of State were fully engaged in preparation for
the _fête_. After the Royal festivities, a separate account of which
will be given hereafter, he sent again a letter to the mountain. The
answer, however, came only from the priest, who said that his sister
had died on the twentieth day of the last month; and added that though
death is inevitable to all of us, still he painfully felt her loss.
Genji pondered first on the precariousness of human life, and then
thought how that little one who had depended on her must be afflicted,
and gradually the memory of his own childhood, during which he too had
lost his mother, came back to his mind.
When the time of full mourning was over, Shiônagon, together with the
young girl, returned to their house in the capital. There one evening
Genji paid them a visit. The house was rather a gloomy one, and was
tenanted by fewer inmates than usual.
"How timid the little girl must feel!" thought Genji, as he was shown
in. Shiônagon now told him with tearful eyes every circumstance which
had taken place since she had seen him. She also said that the girl
might be handed over to her father, who told her that she must do so,
but his present wife was said to be very austere. The girl is not
young enough to be without ideas and wishes of her own, but yet not
old enough to form them sensibly; so were she to be taken to her
father's house and be placed with several other children, much misery
would be the result. Her grandmother suffered much on this account.
"Your kindness is great," continued she, "and we ought not, perhaps,
to think too anxiously about the future. Still she is young, too
young, and we cannot think of it without pity."
"Why do you recur to that so often?" said Genji, "it is her very
youthfulness which moves my sympathy. I am anxious to talk to her,
Say, can the wave that rolls to land,
Return to ocean's heaving breast,
Nor greet the weed upon the strand
With one wild kiss, all softly pressed.
How sweet it would be!"
"That is very beautifully put, sir," said Shiônagon, "but,
Half trembling at the coming tide
That rolls about the sea-beat sand,
Say, can the tender weed untried,
Be trusted to its boisterous hand?"
Meanwhile the girl, who was with her companions in her apartment, and
who was told that a gentleman in Court dress had arrived, and that
perhaps it was the Prince, her father, came running in, saying,
"Shiônagon, where is the gentleman in Court dress; has the Prince, my
father, arrived?"
"Not the Prince, your father," uttered Genji, "but I am here, and I
too am your friend. Come here!"
The girl, glancing with shy timidity at Genji, for whom she already
had some liking, and thinking that perhaps there was impropriety in
what she had spoken, went over to her nurse, and said, "Oh! I am very
sleepy, and wish to lie down!"
"See how childish she still is," remarked Shiônagon.
"Why are you so timid, little one, come here and sleep on my knees,"
said Genji.
"Go, my child, as you are asked," observed Shiônagon, and she pushed
her towards Genji.
Half-unconsciously she took her place by his side. He pushed aside a
small shawl which covered her hair, and played with her long tresses,
and then he took her small hand in his. "Ah, my hand!" cried she, and
drawing it back, she ran into a neighboring room. Genji followed her,
and tried to coax her out of her shyness, telling her that he was one
of her best friends, and that she was not to be so timid.
By this time darkness had succeeded to the beautiful evening, and hail
began to fall.
"Close the casement, it is too fearful, I will watch over you this
evening," said Genji, as he led the girl away, to the great surprise
of Shiônagon and others who wondered at his ease in doing this.
By and by she became sleepy, and Genji, as skilfully as any nurse
could, removed all her outer clothing, and placed her on the couch to
sleep, telling her as he sat beside her, "some day you must come with
me to some beautiful palace, and there you shall have as many pictures
and playthings as you like." Many other similar remarks he added to
arrest her attention and to please her.
Her fears gradually subsided, and as she kept looking on the handsome
face of Genji, and taking notice of his kindness, she did not fall
asleep for some time.
When the night was advanced, and the hailstorm had passed away, Genji
at last took his departure. The temperature now suddenly changed, and
the hail was lying white upon the grass. "Can it be," thought he,
"that I am leaving this place as a lover?" At that moment he
remembered that the house of a maiden with whom he had had an
acquaintance was on his road home. When he came near to it he ordered
one of his attendants to knock at the door. No one, however, came
forth. Thereupon Genji turned to another, who had a remarkably good
voice, and ordered him to sing the following lines:--
"Though wandering in the morning gray,
This gate is one I cannot pass,
A tender memory bids me stay
To see once more a pretty lass."
This was repeated twice, when presently a man came to the door and
sang, in reply, as follows:--
"If you cannot pass the gate,
Welcome all to stop and wait.
Nought prevents you. Do not fear,
For the gate stands always here."
And then went in, slamming the door in their faces, and appearing no
more. Genji, therefore disappointed, proceeded on his way home.
On the morrow he took up his pen to write a letter to Violet, but
finding that he had nothing in particular to say, he laid it aside,
and instead of a letter several beautiful pictures were sent for her.
From this time Koremitz was sent there very often, partly to do them
service, and partly to watch over their movements. At last the time
when the girl's father was to take her home approached within a night,
and Shiônagon was busily occupied in sewing a dress for the girl, and
was thus consequently unable to take much notice of Koremitz when he
arrived. Noting these preparatory arrangements, Koremitz at once
hastened to inform Genji about them. He happened to be this evening at
the mansion of Sadaijin, but Lady Aoi was not, as was often the case,
with him, and he was amusing himself there with thumping a _wagon_ as
he sang a "Hitachi" song. Koremitz presented himself before him, and
gave him the latest information of what was going on.
Genji, when he had listened to Koremitz, thought, "This will never do;
I must not lose her in this way. But the difficulty is indeed
perplexing. If, on the one hand, she goes to her father, it will not
become me to ask him for her. If, on the other hand, I carry her off,
people may say that I stole her. However, upon consideration, this
latter plan, if I can manage to shut people's mouths beforehand, will
be much better than that I should demand her from her father."
So, turning to Koremitz, he said, "I must go there. See that the
carriage is ready at whatever hour I may appoint. Let two or three
attendants be in readiness." Koremitz, having received these orders,
retired.
Long before dawn broke, Genji prepared to leave the mansion. Lady Aoi,
as usual, was a little out of temper, but Genji told her that he had
some particular arrangements to make at his mansion at Nijiô, but that
he would soon return to her. He soon started, Koremitz alone following
him on horseback.
On their arrival Koremitz proceeded to a small private entrance and
announced himself. Shiônagon recognized his voice and came out, and
upon this he informed her that the Prince had come. She, presuming
that he did so only because he happened to pass by them, said, "What!
at this late hour?" As she spoke, Genji came up and said:--
"I hear that the little one is to go to the Prince, her father, and I
wish to say a few words to her before she goes."
"She is asleep; really, I am afraid that she cannot talk with you at
this hour. Besides, what is the use?" replied Shiônagon, with a smile.
Genji, however, pressed his way into the house, saying:--
"Perhaps the girl is not awake yet, but I will awake her," and, as the
people could not prevent his doing so, he proceeded to the room where
she was unconsciously sleeping on a couch. He shook her gently. She
started up, thinking it was her father who had come.
Genji pushed the hair back from her face, as he said to her, "I am
come from your father;" but this she knew to be false, and was
alarmed. "Don't be frightened," said Genji; "there is nothing in me to
alarm you." And in spite of Shiônagon's request not to disturb her, he
lifted her from the couch, abruptly saying that he could not allow her
to go elsewhere, and that he had made up his mind that he himself
would be her guardian. He also said she should go with him, and that
some of them should go with her.
Shiônagon was thunderstruck. "We are expecting her father to-morrow,
and what are we to say to him?" She added, "Surely, you can find some
better opportunity to manage matters than this."
"All right, you can come afterward; we will go first," retorted Genji,
as he ordered his carriage to drive up.
Shiônagon was perplexed, and Violet also cried, thinking how strange
all this was. At last Shiônagon saw it was no use to resist, and so
having hurriedly changed her own dress for a better one, and taking
with her the pretty dress of Violet which she had been making in the
evening, got into the carriage, where Genji had already placed the
little one.
It was no great distance to Nijiô, and they arrived there before dawn.
The carriage was driven up to the western wing of the mansion. To
Shiônagon the whole affair seemed like a dream. "What am I to do?" she
said to Genji, who teasingly answered, "What you choose. You may go if
you like; so long as this darling is here I am content." Genji lifted
the girl out and carried her into the house. That part of the mansion
in which they now were, had not been inhabited, and the furniture was
scanty and inappropriate; so, calling Koremitz, the Prince ordered him
to see that proper furniture was brought. The beds were therefore
taken from the eastern wing, where he himself lived.
Day broke, and Shiônagon surveyed with admiration all the magnificence
with which she was surrounded. Both the exterior of the building and
its internal arrangements left nothing to be desired. Going to the
casement, she saw the gravelled walks flashing brightly in the sun.
"Ah," thought she, "where am I amidst all this splendor? This is too
grand for me!"
Bath water for their ablutions, and rice soup were now brought into
the apartment, and Genji afterward made his appearance.
"What! no attendants? No one to play with the girl? I will send some,"
and he then ordered some young persons from the eastern wing of the
mansion. Four accordingly came.
Violet was still fast asleep in her night-dress, and now Genji gently
shook and woke her. "Do not be frightened any more," he said quietly
to her; "a good girl would not be so, but would know that it is best
to be obedient." She became more and more pleasing to him, and he
tried to please her by presenting to her a variety of pretty pictures
and playthings, and by consulting her wishes in whatever she desired.
She was still wearing the dress of mourning, of sombre color and of
soft material, and it was only now at last that she began to smile a
little, and this filled Genji with delight. He now had to return to
the eastern wing, and Violet, for the first time, went to the casement
and looked out on the scenery around. The trees covered with foliage,
a small lake, and the plantations round about expanded before her as
in a picture. Here and there young people were going in and out. "Ah!
what a pretty place," she exclaimed, charmed as she gazed around.
Then, turning again into the apartment, she saw beautiful pictures
painted on the screens and walls, which could not but please her.
Genji did not go to the Palace for two or three days, but spent his
time in trying to train Violet. "She must soon take lessons in
writing," he thought, and he wrote several writing copies for her.
Among these was one in plain characters on violet-colored paper, with
the title, "Musashi-no" (The field of Musashi is known for its
violets). She took it up, and in handwriting plain and clear though
small, she found the following:
Though still a bud the violet be,
A still unopened blossom here,
Its tenderness has charms for me,
Recalling one no longer near.
"Come, _you_ must write one now," said Genji.
"I cannot write well enough," said Violet, looking up at him, with an
extremely charming look.
"Never mind, whether good or bad," said he, "but still write
something, to refuse is unkind. When there is any difficulty I will
help you through with it."
Thereupon she turned aside shyly and wrote something, handling the pen
gracefully with her tiny fingers. "I have done it badly," she cried
out, and tried to conceal what she had written, but Genji insisted on
seeing it and found the following:--
I wonder what's the floweret's name,
From which that bud its charm may claim!
This was, of course, written in a childish hand, but the writing was
large and plain, giving promise of future excellence.
"How like her grandmother's it is," thought Genji. "Were she to take
lessons from a good professor she might become a master of the art."
He ordered for her a beautiful doll's house, and played with her
different innocent and amusing games.
In the meantime, the Prince, her father, had duly arrived at the old
home of Violet and asked for her. The servants were embarrassed, but
as they had been requested by Genji not to tell, and as Shiônagon had
also enjoined them to keep silence, they simply told him that the
nurse had taken her and absconded. The Prince was greatly amazed, but
he remembered that the girl's grandmother never consented to send his
daughter to his house, and knowing Shiônagon to be a shrewd and
intelligent woman, he concluded that she had found out the reasons
which influenced her, and that so out of respect to her, and out of
dislike to tell him the reason of it, she had carried the girl off in
order that she might be kept away from him. He therefore merely told
the servants to inform him at once if they heard anything about them,
and he returned home.
Our story again brings us back to Nijiô. The girl gradually became
reconciled to her new home, as she was most kindly treated by Genji.
True, during those evenings when Genji was absent she thought of her
dead grandmother, but the image of her father never presented itself
to her, as she had seldom seen him. And now, naturally enough, Genji,
whom she had learned to look upon as a second father, was the only one
for whom she cared. She was the first to greet him when he came home,
and she came forward to be fondled and caressed by him without shame
or diffidence. Girls at her age are usually shy and under restraint,
but with her it was quite different. And again, if a girl has somewhat
of jealousy in her disposition, and looks upon every little trifle in
a serious light, a man will have to be cautious in his dealings with
her, and she herself, too, will often have to undergo vexation. Thus
many disagreeable and unexpected incidents might often result. In the
case of Violet, however, things were very different, and she was ever
amiable and invariably pleasant.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 61: An Indian theological writing.]
[Footnote 62: In the Buddhist Bible it is stated that there is in
Paradise a divine tree, called Udon, which rarely blossoms. When,
however, it does blossom, Buddha is said to appear in the world,
therefore we make use of this expression when referring to any rare
event.]
[Footnote 63: The name of a song which in those days formed the first
lesson in writing.]
[Footnote 64: The authoress represents her in a subsequent chapter as
suffering punishment in the next world for this sin. The real cause of
Genji's exile is also supposed to have resulted from the same sin.]