_In the dead of night, moon-gazing,_
_The thought of the deep mountain affrighted,_
_Yet longings for the mountain village_
_At all other moments filled my heart._
Once, towards dawn, I heard footsteps which seemed to be those of many
persons coming down the mountain. I wondered and looked out. It was a
herd of deer which came close to our dwelling. They cried out. It was
not pleasant to hear them near by.
_It is sweet to hear the love-call of a deer to its mate,_
_In Autumn nights, upon the distant hills._
I heard that an acquaintance had come near my residence and gone back
without calling on me. So I wrote:
_Even this wandering wind among the pines of the mountain--_
_I've heard that it departs with murmuring sound._
[That is, you are not like it. You do not speak when going away.]
In the Leaf-Falling month [September] I saw the moon more than twenty
days old. It was towards dawn; the mountain-side was gloomy and the
sound of the waterfall was all [I heard]. I wish that lovers [of
nature] may see the after-dawn-waning moon in a mountain village at the
close of an autumn night.
I went back to Kioto when the rice-fields, which had been filled with
water when I came, were dried up, the rice being harvested. The young
plants in their bed of water--the plants harvested--the fields dried
up--so long I remained away from home.
'T was the moon-hidden of the Gods-absent month when I went there again
for temporary residence. The thick grown leaves which had cast a dark
shade were all fallen. The sight was heartfelt over all. The sweet,
murmuring rivulet was buried under fallen leaves and I could see only
the course of it.
_Even water could not live on--_
_So lonesome is the mountain_
_Of the leaf-scattering stormy wind._
[At about this time the author of this diary seems to have had some
family troubles. Her father received no appointment from the King--they
were probably poor, and her gentle, poetic nature did not incline
her to seek useful friends at court; therefore many of the best
years of her youth were spent in obscurity--a great contrast to the
"Shining-Prince" dreams of her childhood.]
I went back to Kioto saying that I should come again the next Spring,
could I live so long, and begged the nun to send word when the
flowering-time had come.
It was past the nineteenth of the Ever-growing month of the next year
[1026], but there were no tidings from her, so I wrote:
_No word about the blooming cherry-blossoms,_
_Has not the Spring come for you yet?_
_Or does the perfume of flowers not reach you?_
I made a journey, and passed many a moonlit night in a house beside a
bamboo wood. Wind rustled its leaves and my sleep was disturbed.
_Night after night the bamboo leaves sigh,_
_My dreams are broken and a vague, indefinite sadness fills my
heart._
In Autumn [1026] I went to live elsewhere and sent a poem:
_I am like dew on the grass--_
_And pitiable wherever I may be--_
_But especially am I oppressed with sadness_
_In a field with a thin growth of reeds._
After that time I was somehow restless and forgot about the romances.
My mind became more sober and I passed many years without doing
any remarkable thing. I neglected religious services and temple
observances. Those fantastic ideas [of the romances] can they be
realized in this world? If father could win some good position I
also might enter into a much nobler life. Such unreliable hopes then
occupied my daily thoughts.
At last[44] father was appointed Governor of a Province very far in the
East.
[Here the diary skips six years. The following is reminiscent.]
He [father] said: "I was always thinking that if I could win a
position as Governor in the neighbourhood of the Capital I could take
care of you to my heart's desire. I would wish to bring you down to
see beautiful scenery of sea and mountain. Moreover, I wished that
you could live attended beyond [the possibilities] of our [present]
position. Our Karma relation from our former world must have been bad.
Now I have to go to so distant a country after waiting so long! When
I brought you, who were a little child, to the Eastern Province [at
his former appointment], even a slight illness caused me much trouble
of mind in thinking that should I die, you would wander helpless in
that far country. There were many fears in a stranger's country, and
I should have lived with an easier mind had I been alone. As I was
then accompanied by all my family, I could not say or do what I wanted
to say or do, and I was ashamed of it. Now you are grown up [she was
twenty-five years old] and I am not sure that I can live long.
It is not so unusual a fate to be helpless in the Capital, but the
saddest thing of all would be to wander in the Eastern Province like
any country-woman.[45] There are no relatives in the Capital upon whom
we could rely to foster you, yet I cannot refuse the appointment which
has been made after such long waiting. So you must remain here, and I
must depart for Eternity.--Oh, in what way may I provide a way for you
to live in the Capital decently!"
Night and day he lamented, saying these things, and I forgot all about
flowers or maple leaves, grieving sadly, but there was no help for it.
He went down[46] on the thirteenth of the Seventh month, 1032.
For several days before that I could not remain still in my own room,
for I thought it difficult to see him again.
On that day [the 13th] after restless hours, when the [time for]
parting came, I had lifted the blind and my eye met his, from which
tears dropped down. Soon he had passed by.[47] My eyes were dim with
tears and soon I concealed myself in bed [tears were bad manners]. A
man who had gone to see him off returned with a poem written on a bit
of pocket paper.
A message from her father:
_If I could do as I wish_
_I could acknowledge more profoundly_
_The sorrow of departing in Autumn._
[The last line has, of course, reference to his age and the probability
of never returning.]