EXILE AT SUMA
Genji at last made up his mind to undergo a voluntary exile, before
the opinion of the Imperial Court should be publicly announced against
him. He heard that the beautiful sea-coast along Suma was a most
suitable place for retirement, and that, though formerly populous,
there were now only a few fishermen's dwellings scattered here and
there. To Suma he finally determined to go into voluntary exile.
When he had thus made up his mind he became somewhat regretful to
leave the capital, although it had hitherto appeared ungenial. The
first thing which disturbed his mind was the young Violet, whom he
could not take with him. The young lady, also, in the "Villa of
Falling Flowers" (notwithstanding that he was not a frequent visitor)
was another object of his regret.
In spite of these feelings he prepared to set off at the end of March,
and at length it came within a few days of the time fixed for his
departure, when he went privately, under the cover of the evening, to
the mansion of the ex-Sadaijin, in an ajiro carriage, generally used
by women. He proceeded into the inner apartments, where he was greeted
by the nurse of his little child. The boy was growing fast, was able
to stand by this time and to toddle about, and run into Genji's arms
when he saw him. The latter took him on his knee, saying, "Ah! my good
little fellow, I have not seen you for some time, but you do not
forget me, do you?" The ex-Sadaijin now entered. He said, "Often have
I thought of coming to have a talk with you, but you see my health has
been very bad of late, and I seldom appear at Court, having resigned
my office. It would be impolitic to give cause to be talked about, and
for it to be said that I stretch my old bones when private matters
please me. Of course, I have no particular reason to fear the world;
still, if there is anything dreadful, it is the demagogical world.
When I see what unpleasant things are happening to you, which were no
more probable than that the heavens should fall, I really feel that
everything in the world is irksome to me."
"Yes, what you say is indeed true," replied Genji. "However, all
things in the world--this or that--are the outcome of what we have
done in our previous existence. Hence if we dive to the bottom we
shall see that every misfortune is only the result of our own
negligence. Examples of men's losing the pleasures of the Court are,
indeed, not wanting. Some of these cases may not go so far as a
deprivation of titles and honors, as is mine;[106] still, if one thus
banished from the pleasures of Court, behaves himself as unconcernedly
as those to whom no such misfortune has happened, this would not be
becoming. So, at least, it is considered in a foreign country.
Repentance is what one ought to expect in such circumstances, and
banishment to a far-off locality is a measure generally adopted for
offences different from ordinary ones. If I, simply relying on my
innocence, pass unnoticed the recent displeasure of the Court, this
would only bring upon me greater dishonor. I have, therefore,
determined to go into voluntary exile, before receiving such a
sentence from the Court."
Then the conversation fell back, as usual, on the times of the late
ex-Emperor, which made them sad; while the child also, who innocently
played near, made them still more gloomy. The ex-Sadaijin went on to
say:--"There is no moment when I ever forget the mother of the boy,
but now I almost dare to think that she was fortunate in being short
lived, and being free from witnessing the dreamlike sorrow we now
suffer. With regard to the boy, the first thing which strikes me as
unbearable is that he may pass some time of his lovely childhood away
from the gaze of your eyes. There are, as you say, no want of
instances of persons suffering a miserable fate, without having
committed any real offence; yet still, in such cases, there was some
pretext to justify their being so treated. I cannot see any such
against you."
While he was thus speaking Tô-no-Chiûjiô joined them, and, partaking
of _saké_, they continued their conversation till late in the
evening. This night Genji remained in the mansion.
Early the next morning he returned to his own residence, and he spent
the whole day with Violet in the western wing. It should here be
noticed that she was scarcely ever with her father, even from
childhood. He strongly disapproved of his daughter being with Genji,
and of the way in which she had been carried off, so he scarcely ever
had any communication with her, or did he visit her. These
circumstances made her feel Genji's affection more keenly than she
otherwise would have; hence her sorrow at the thought of parting with
him in a few days may be easily imagined.
Towards the evening Prince Sotz came with Tô-no-Chiûjiô and some
others to pay him a visit. Genji, in order to receive them, rose to
put on one of his Naoshi, which was plain, without pattern, as proper
for one who had no longer a title. Approaching the mirror, to comb his
hair, he noticed that his face had grown much thinner.
"Oh, how changed I appear," he exclaimed. "Am I really like this image
which I see of myself?" he said, turning to the girl, who cast on him
a sad and tearful glance. Genji continued:--
"Though changed I wander far away,
My soul shall still remain with you,
Perhaps in this mirror's mystic ray,
My face may linger still in view."
To this Violet replied:--
"If in this mirror I could see,
Always your face, then it would be
My consolation when thou art gone."
As she said this she turned her face to one side of the room, and by
doing so obscured the tears gathering in her soft eyes. Genji then
left her to receive his friends, who, however, did not remain long,
leaving the mansion after a short conversation of a consolatory
nature. This evening Genji paid his visit to the sisters of the
"Falling Flower" villa.
On the following day the final arrangements necessary for his
household affairs were made at his residence. The management of the
mansion was intrusted to a few confidential friends; while that of his
lands and pasture, and the charge of his documents, were intrusted to
the care of Violet, to whom he gave every instruction what she should
do. Besides, he enjoined Shiônagon, in whom he placed his confidence,
to give her every assistance. He told all the inmates who wished to
remain in the mansion, in order to await his return, that they might
do so. He also made an appropriate present to the nurse of his boy,
and to the ladies of the "Villa of Falling Flowers." When all these
things were accomplished, he occupied himself in writing farewell
letters to his intimate friends, such as the young daughter of Udaijin
and others, to none of whom he had paid a visit.
On the evening prior to his departure he went on horseback to visit
the tomb of his father. On his way he called on the Princess Wistaria,
and thence proceeded to the mountain where the remains reposed. The
tomb was placed among tall growing grass, under thick and gloomy
foliage. Genji advanced to the tomb, and, half kneeling down before
it, and half sobbing, uttered many words of remembrance and sorrow. Of
course no reply came forth. The moon by this time was hidden behind
dark clouds, and the winds blew keen and nipping, when suddenly a
shadowy phantom of the dead stood before Genji's eyes.
"How would his image look on me,
Knew he the secret of the past;
As yonder moon in clouded sky,
Looks o'er the scene mysteriously."
He returned to his mansion late in the night.
Early in the morning he sent a letter to Ô Miôbu, the nurse of the
Heir-apparent, in which he said: "I at last leave the capital, to-day.
I know not when I may come and see the Prince again. On him my
thoughts and anxieties are concentrated, above all else. Realize these
feelings in your own mind, and tell them to him." He also sent the
following, fastened to a bough of cherry flowers, already becoming
thin:--
"When shall I see these scenes again,
And view the flowers of spring in bloom,
Like rustic from his mountain home,
A mere spectator shall I come?"
These were carefully read by Ô Miôbu to the Prince, and when he was
asked what she should write in answer, he said: "Write that I said
that since I feel every longing to see him, when I do not see him for
a long time, how shall I feel when he goes away altogether?" Thereupon
she wrote an answer, in which she indefinitely stated that she had
shown the letter to the Prince, whose answer was simple, yet very
affectionate, and so on, with the following:--
"'Tis sad that fair blossoms so soon fade away,
In the darkness of winter no flower remains,
But let spring return with its sunshiny ray,
Then once more the flowers we look on again."
Now, with regard to the recent disgrace of Genji, the public in
general did not approve of the severity which the Court had shown to
him. Moreover, he had been constantly with the Emperor, his father,
since the age of seven, and his requests had been always cheerfully
listened to by the latter; hence there were very many, especially
among public servants of the ordinary class, who were much indebted to
him. However, none of them now came to pay their respects to him. It
seems that in a world of intrigue none dares do what is right for fear
of risking his own interests. Such being the state of things, Genji,
during the whole day, was unoccupied, and the time was entirely spent
with Violet. Then, at his usual late hour in the evening, he, in a
travelling dress of incognito, at length left the capital, where he
had passed five-and-twenty years of his life.
His attendants, Koremitz and Yoshikiyo being among them, were seven or
eight in number. He took with him but little luggage. All ostentatious
robes, all unnecessary articles of luxury were dispensed with. Among
things taken, was a box containing the works of Hak-rak-ten (a famous
Chinese poet), with other books, and besides these a _kin-koto_ for
his amusement. They embarked in a boat and sailed down the river.
Early the next morning they arrived at the sea-coast of Naniwa. They
noticed the Ôye Palace standing lonely amidst the group of pine trees.
The sight of this palace gave a thrill of sadness to Genji, who was
now leaving, and not returning, home. He saw the waves rolling on the
coast and again sweep back. He hummed, as he saw them:--
"The waves roll back, but unlike me,
They come again."
From Naniwa they continued their voyage, sailing in the bay. As they
proceeded they looked back on the scenes they had left. They saw all
the mountains veiled in haze, growing more and more distant, while the
rowers gently pulled against the rippling waves. It seemed to them as
if they were really going "three thousand miles' distance."[107]
"Our home is lost in the mist of the mountain,
Let us gaze on the sky which is ever the same."
The day was long and the wind was fair, so they soon arrived at the
coast of Suma.[108] The place was near the spot where the exiled
Yukihira had lived, and had watched the beautiful smoke rising from
the salt ovens. There was a thatched house in which the party
temporarily took up their residence. It was a very different home from
what they had been used to, and it might have appeared even novel, had
the circumstances of their coming there been different. The
authorities of the neighborhood were sent for, and a lodge was built
under the direction of Yoshikiyo, in accordance with Genji's wishes.
The work was hurried on, and the building was soon completed. In the
garden, several trees, cherries and others, were planted, and water
was also conducted into it. Here Genji soon took up his abode. The
Governor of the province, who had been at Court, secretly paid
attention to the Prince, with as much respect as was possible.
For some time Genji did not feel settled in his new residence. When he
had become in some degree accustomed to it, the season of continuous
rain had arrived (May); his thoughts more than ever reverted to the
old capital.
The thoughtful expression of Violet's face, the childish affection of
the Heir-apparent, and the innocent playfulness of his little son,
became the objects of his reveries and anxiety, nor did he forget his
old companions and acquaintances. He, therefore, sent a special
messenger to the capital bearing his letters, so that speedy answers
might be returned from every quarter. He also sent a messenger to Ise
to make inquiry after the lady, who also sent one to him in return.
Now the young daughter of Udaijin had been remaining repentingly in
the mansion of her father since the events of the stormy evening. Her
father felt much for her, and interceded with the Empress-mother in
her behalf, and also with her son, that is, the Emperor, thus getting
permission to introduce her once more into Court, an event which took
place in the month of July.
To return to Suma. The rainy season had passed, and autumn arrived.
The sea was at some distance from the residence of Genji, but the dash
of its waves sounded close to their ears as the winds passed by, of
which Yukihira sang,
"The autumn wind which passes the barrier of Suma."
The autumn winds are, it seems, in such a place as this, far more
plaintive than elsewhere.
It happened one evening that when all the attendants were fast asleep
Genji was awake and alone. He raised his head and rested his arms on
his pillow and listened to the sound of the waves which reached his
ear from a distance. They seemed nearer than ever, as though they were
coming to flood his pillows. He drew his _koto_ towards him and struck
a melancholy air, as he hummed a verse of a poem in a low tone. With
this every one awoke and responded with a sigh.
Such was a common occurrence in the evening, and Genji always felt
saddened whenever he came to think that all his attendants had
accompanied him, having left their families and homes simply for his
sake. In the daytime, however, there were changes. He would then enjoy
pleasant conversations. He also joined several papers into long rolls
on which he might practise penmanship. He spent a good deal of time in
drawing and sketching. He remembered how Yoshikiyo, on one occasion in
Mount Kurama, had described the beautiful scenery of the place on
which he was now gazing. He sketched every beautiful landscape of the
neighborhood, and collected them in albums, thinking how nice it would
be if he could send for Tsunenori, a renowned contemporary artist, and
get him to paint the sketches which he had made.
Out of all the attendants of Genji there were four or five who had
been more especially his favorites, and who had constantly attended on
him. One evening they were all sitting together in a corridor which
commanded a full view of the sea. They perceived the island of Awaji
lying in the distance, as if it were floating on the horizon, and also
several boats with sailors, singing as they rowed to the shore over
the calm surface of the water, like waterfowl in their native element.
Over their heads flocks of wild geese rustled on their way homeward
with their plaintive cry, which made the thoughts of the spectators
revert to their homes. Genji hummed this verse:--
"Those wandering birds above us flying,
Do they our far-off friends resemble.
With their voice of plaintive crying
Make us full of thoughtful sighing."
Yoshikiyo took up the idea and replied:--
"Though these birds no friends of ours
Are, and we to them are nought,
Yet their voice in these still hours
Bring those old friends to our thought."
Then Koremitz continued:--
"Before to-day I always thought
They flew on pleasure's wing alone,
But now their fate to me is fraught
With some resemblance to our own."
Ukon-no-Jiô added:--
"Though we, like them, have left our home
To wander forth, yet still for me
There's joy to think where'er I roam
My faithful friends are still with me."
Ukon-no-Jiô was the brother of Ki-no-Kami. His father, Iyo-no-Kami,
had now been promoted to be Hitachi-no-Kami (Governor of Hitachi), and
had gone down to that province, but Ukon-no-Jiô did not join his
father, who would have gladly taken him, and faithfully followed
Genji.
This evening happened to be the fifteenth of August, on which day a
pleasant reunion is generally held at the Imperial Palace. Genji
looked at the silvery pale sky, and as he did so the affectionate face
of the Emperor, his brother, whose expression strikingly resembled
their father's, presented itself to his mind. After a deep and long
sigh, he returned to his couch, humming as he went:--
"Here is still a robe
His Majesty gave to me."
It should be here noticed that he had been presented by the Emperor on
a certain occasion with a robe, and this robe he had never parted
with, even in his exile.
About this time Daini (the senior Secretary of the Lord-Lieutenant of
Kiûsiû) returned to the capital with his family, having completed his
official term. His daughter had been a virgin dancer, and was known to
Genji. They preferred to travel by water, and slowly sailed up along
the beautiful coast. When they arrived at Suma, the distant sound of a
_kin_[109] was heard, mingled with the sea-coast wind, and they were
told that Genji was there in exile. Daini therefore sent his son
Chikzen-no-Kami to the Prince with these words: "Coming back from a
distant quarter I expected as soon as I should arrive in the capital
to have had the pleasure of visiting you and listening to your
pleasant voice, and talking of events which have taken place there,
but little did I think that you had taken up your residence in this
part of the country. How greatly do I sympathize with you! I ought to
land and see you at once, but there are too many people in the same
boat, therefore I think it better to avoid the slightest grounds which
may cause them to talk. However, possibly I shall pay you a visit
soon."
This Chikzen-no-Kami had been for some time previously a Kurand (a
sort of equerry) to Genji, therefore his visit was especially welcome
to him. He said that since he had left the capital it had become
difficult to see any of his acquaintances, and that therefore this
especial visit was a great pleasure to him. His reply to the message
of Daini was to the same effect. Chikzen-no-Kami soon took his leave,
and returning to the boat, reported to his father and others all he
had seen. His sister also wrote to Genji privately thus: "Pray excuse
me if I am too bold.
Know you not the mind is swayed
Like the tow-rope of our boat,
At the sounds your Kin has made,
Which around us sweetly float."
When Genji received this, his pleasure was expressed by his placid
smile, and he sent back the following:--
"If this music moves the mind
So greatly as you say,
No one would care to leave behind
These lonely waves of Suma's bay."
This recalls to our mind that there was in the olden time an exile
who gave a stanza even to the postmaster of a village.[110] Why then
should not Genji have sent to her whom he knew this stanza?
In the meantime, as time went on, more sympathizers with Genji were
found in the capital, including no less a personage than the Emperor
himself. True it is that before Genji left, many even of his relatives
and most intimate friends refrained from paying their respects to him,
but in the course of time not a few began to correspond with him, and
sometimes they communicated their ideas to each other in pathetic
poetry. These things reached the ears of the Empress-mother, who was
greatly irritated by them. She said: "The only thing a man who has
offended the Court should do is to keep himself as quiet as possible.
It is most unpardonable that such a man should haughtily cause scandal
to the Court from his humble dwelling. Does he intend to imitate the
treacherous example of one who made a deer pass for a horse?[111]
Those who intrigue with such a man are equally blamable." These
spiteful remarks once more put a stop to the correspondence.
Meanwhile, at Suma, the autumn passed away and winter succeeded, with
all its dreariness of scene, and with occasional falls of snow. Genji
often spent the evening in playing upon the Kin, being accompanied by
Koremitz's flute and the singing of Yoshikiyo. It was on one of these
evenings that the story of a young Chinese Court lady, who had been
sent to the frozen land of barbarians, occurred to Genji's mind. He
thought what a great trial it would be if one were obliged to send
away one whom he loved, like the lady in the tale, and as he reflected
on this, with some melancholy feelings, it appeared to him as vividly
as if it were only an event of yesterday, and he hummed:--
"The sound of the piper's distant strain
Broke on her dreams in the frozen eve."
He then tried to sleep, but could not do so, and as he lay the distant
cry of Chidori reached his ears.[112] He hummed again as he heard
them:--
"Although on lonely couch I lie
Without a mate, yet still so near,
At dawn the cries of Chidori,
With their fond mates, 'tis sweet to hear."
Having washed his hands, he spent some time in reading a Kiô (Sutra),
and in this manner the winter-time passed away.
Towards the end of February the young cherry-trees which Genji had
planted in his garden blossomed, and this brought to his memory the
well-known cherry-tree in the Southern Palace, and the _fête_ in which
he had taken part. The noble countenance of the late ex-Emperor, and
that of the present one, the then Heir-apparent, which had struck him
much at that time, returned to his recollection with the scene where
he had read out his poem.
"While on the lordly crowd I muse,
Which haunts the Royal festive hours,
The day has come when I've put on
The crown of fairest cherry flowers."
While thus meditating on the past, strange to say, Tô-no-Chiûjiô,
Genji's brother-in-law, came from the capital to see the Prince. He
had been now made Saishiô (privy councillor). Having, therefore, more
responsibility, he had to be more cautious in dealing with the public.
He had, however, a personal sympathy with Genji, and thus came to see
him, at the risk of offending the Court.
The first thing which struck his eyes was, not the natural beauty of
the scenery, but the style of Genji's residence, which showed the
novelty of pure Chinese fashion. The enclosure was surrounded by "a
trellis-work of bamboo," with "stone steps," and "pillars of
pine-tree."[113]
He entered, and the pleasure of Genji and Tô-no-Chiûjiô was immense,
so much so that they shed tears. The style of the Prince's dress next
attracted the attention of Tô-no-Chiûjiô. He was habited in a plain,
simple country style, the coat being of an unforbidden color, a dull
yellow, the trousers of a subdued green.
The furniture was all of a temporary nature, with Go and Sugorok
playing boards, as well as one for the game of Dagi. He noticed some
articles for the services of religion, showing that Genji was wont to
indulge in devotional exercises. The visitor told Genji many things on
the subject of affairs in the capital, which he had been longing to
impart to him for many months past; telling him also how the
grandfather of his boy always delighted in playing with him, and
giving him many more interesting details.
Several fishermen came with the fish which they had caught. Genji
called them in and made them show their spoils. He also led them to
talk of their lives spent on the sea, and each in his own peculiar
local dialect gave him a narration of his joys and sorrows. He then
dismissed them with the gift of some stuff to make them clothing. All
this was quite a novelty to the eyes of Tô-no-Chiûjiô, who also saw
the stable in which he obtained a glimpse of some horses. The
attendants at the time were feeding them. Dinner was presently served,
at which the dishes were necessarily simple, yet tasteful. In the
evening they did not retire to rest early, but spent their time in
continuing their conversation and in composing verses.
Although Tô-no-Chiûjiô had, in coming, risked the displeasure of the
Court, he still thought it better to avoid any possible slander, and
therefore he made up his mind to set out for his home early next
morning. The _saké_ cup was offered, and they partook of it as they
hummed,
"In our parting cup, the tears of sadness fall."
Several presents had been brought from the capital for Genji by
Tô-no-Chiûjiô, and, in return, the former made him a present of an
excellent dark-colored horse, and also a celebrated flute, as a token
of remembrance.
As the sun shed forth his brilliant rays Tô-no-Chiûjiô took his leave,
and as he did so he said, "When shall I see you again, you cannot be
here long?" Genji replied,
"Yon noble crane that soars on high,[114]
And hovers in the clear blue sky,
Believe my soul as pure and light;
As spotless as the spring day bright.
However, a man like me, whose fortune once becomes adverse seldom
regains, even in the case of great wisdom, the prosperity he once
fully enjoyed, and so I cannot predict when I may find myself again in
the capital."
So Tô-no-Chiûjiô, having replied as follows:--
"The crane mounts up on high, 'tis true,
But now he soars and cries alone,
Still fondly thinking of his friend,
With whom in former days he flew,"
set off on his homeward road, leaving Genji cast down for some time.
Now the coast of Akashi is a very short distance from Suma, and there
lived the former Governor of the province, now a priest, of whom we
have spoken before. Yoshikiyo well remembered his lovely daughter,
and, after he came to Suma with Genji, he wrote to her now and then.
He did not get any answer from her, but sometimes heard from her
father, to whom Genji's exile became soon known, and who wished to see
him for a reason not altogether agreeable to himself. It should be
remembered that this old man always entertained aspirations on behalf
of his daughter, and in his eyes the successive governors of the
province who came after him, and whose influence had been unbounded,
were considered as nobodies. To him, his young daughter was
everything; and he used to send her twice a year to visit the temple
of Sumiyoshi, in order that she might obtain good fortune by the
blessing of the god.
She was not of an ideal beauty, but yet expressive in countenance and
exalted in mind. She could, in this respect, rival any of those of
high birth in the capital.
The priest said one day to his wife, "Prince Genji, the imperial son
of the Kôyi of Kiritsubo is now at Suma in exile, having offended the
Court. How fortunate it would be if we could take the opportunity of
presenting our child to him!"
The wife replied, "Ah, how dreadful, when I heard what the townspeople
talk, I understood that he has several mistresses. He went even so far
as to carry on a secret intimacy, which happened to be obnoxious to
the Emperor, and it is said that this offence was the cause of his
exile."
"I have some reason for mentioning this to you," he interrupted,
impatiently; "it is not a thing which you understand, so make up your
mind, I shall bring the matter about, and take an opportunity of
making him come to us."
"No matter how distinguished a personage he is," replied the wife, "it
is a fact that he has offended the Court and is exiled. I do not
understand why you could take a fancy to such a man for our maiden
daughter. It is not a joking matter. I hope you will take it into
graver consideration."
"That a man of ability and distinction should meet with adverse
fortune is a very common occurrence," said he, still more obstinately,
"both in our empire and in that of China. How then do you venture to
say such things against the Prince? His mother was the daughter of an
Azechi Dainagon, who was my uncle. She enjoyed a good reputation, and
when she was introduced at Court, became both prosperous and
distinguished. Although her life was shortened by the suffering caused
by the fierce jealousy of her rivals, she left behind the royal child,
who is no other person than Prince Genji. A woman should always be
aspiring, as this lady was. What objection then is there in the idea
of introducing our only child to a man like him? Although I am now
only a country gentleman, I do not think he would withdraw his favor
from me."
Such were the opinions of this old man, and hence his discouragement
of the advances of Yoshikiyo.
The first of March came, and Genji was persuaded by some to perform
Horai (prayer for purification) for the coming occasion of the
Third.[115] He therefore sent for a calendar-priest, with whom he went
out, accompanied by attendants, to the sea-shore. Here a tent was
erected ceremoniously, and the priest began his prayers, which were
accompanied by the launching of a small boat, containing figures
representing human images. On seeing this Genji said,
"Never thought I, in my younger day,
To be thrown on the wild sea-shore,
And like these figures to float away,
And perhaps see my home no more."
As he contemplated the scene around him, he perceived that the wild
surface of the sea was still and calm, like a mirror without its
frame. He offered prayers in profound silence, and then exclaimed,
"Oh, all ye eight millions of gods,[116] hear my cry,
Oh, give me your sympathy, aid me, I pray,
For when I look over my life, ne'er did I
Commit any wrong, or my fellows betray."
Suddenly, as he spoke these words, the wind arose and began to blow
fiercely. The sky became dark, and torrents of rain soon followed.
This caused great confusion to all present, and each ran back to the
house without finishing the ceremony of prayers. None of them were
prepared for the storm, and all got drenched with the rain. From this
the rain continued to pour down, and the surface of the sea became as
it were tapestried with white, over which the lightning darted and the
thunder rolled. It seemed as if thunderbolts were crashing overhead,
and the force of the rain appeared to penetrate the earth. Everyone
was frightened, for they thought the end of the world was near.
Genji occupied his time in quietly reading his Buddhist Bible. In the
evening, the thunder became less loud, though the wind still blew not
less violently than in the daytime. Everyone in the residence said
that they had heard of what is termed a flood-tide, which often caused
a great deal of damage, but they had never witnessed such a scene as
they had that day. Genji dropped off into a slumber, when indistinctly
the resemblance of a human figure came to him and said, "You are
requested to come to the palace, why don't you come?"
Genji was startled by the words, and awoke. He thought that the king
of the dragon palace[117] might have admired him, and was perhaps the
author of this strange dream. These thoughts made him weary of
remaining at Suma.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 106: When a person was exiled, he was generally deprived of
his own title, or was degraded. Genji appears to have been deprived of
his.]
[Footnote 107: A favorite phrase in Chinese poems describing the
journey of exile.]
[Footnote 108: Suma is about sixty miles from Kiôto, the then
capital.]
[Footnote 109: A musical instrument--often called a _koto._]
[Footnote 110: When Sugawara, before referred to, arrived at Akashi,
on his way to exile, the village postmaster expressed his surprise.
Thereupon Sugawara gave him a stanza, which he composed:
"Oh, master, be not surprised to see
This change in my estate, for so
Once to bloom, and once to fade
Is spring and autumn's usual lot."
]
[Footnote 111: In Chinese history it is recounted that a certain
artful intriguer made a fool of his Sovereign by bringing a deer to
the Court and presenting it before the Emperor, declaring it to be a
horse. All the courtiers, induced by his great influence, agreed with
him in calling it a horse, to the Emperor's great astonishment and
bewilderment.]
[Footnote 112: The coast along by Suma is celebrated for Chidori, a
small sea-bird that always flies in large flocks. Their cries are
considered very plaintive, and are often spoken of by poets.]
[Footnote 113: Expressions used in a poem by Hak-rak-ten, describing a
tasteful residence.]
[Footnote 114: Here Tô-no-Chiûjiô is compared to the bird.]
[Footnote 115: The third day of March is one of five festival days in
China and Japan, when prayers for purification, or prayers intended to
request the freeing one's self from the influence of fiends, are said
on the banks of a river.]
[Footnote 116: In the Japanese mythology the number of gods who
assemble at their councils is stated to have been eight millions. This
is an expression which is used to signify a large number rather than
an exact one.]
[Footnote 117: In Japanese mythology we have a story that there were
two brothers, one of whom was always very lucky in fishing, and the
other in hunting. One day, to vary their amusements, the former took
his brother's bow and arrows and went to the mountain to hunt. The
latter took the fishing-rod, and went to the sea, but unfortunately
lost his brother's hook in the water. At this he was very miserable,
and wandered abstractedly along the coast. The dragon god of the
dragon palace, under the blue main, admired his beauty, and wishing
him to marry his daughter, lured him into the dragon palace.]