In the happier time I had often tried to compose halting poems
[literally, of broken loins], but at present I had no word to say.
_--never began to think in this world even for_
_a moment from you to part. Alas!_
No person came to my side and I was very lonely and forlorn musing and
guessing where he would be at every moment. As I knew the road he was
taking [the same which is described in this journal], I thought of
him the more longingly and with greater heart-shrinking. Morning and
evening I looked towards the sky-line of the eastern mountains.
In the Leaf-Falling month I went to the temple at Udzumaza [Korinji] to
pass many days.
We came upon two men's palanquins in the road from Ichijo, which had
stopped there. They must have been waiting for some one to catch up
with them. When I passed by they sent an attendant with the message:
"Flower-seeing go?--we suppose."
I thought it would be awkward not to reply to such a slight matter, and
answered:
_Thousand kinds[48]--_
_To be like them in the fields of Autumn._
I stayed in the temple for seven days, but could think of nothing but
the road to the East.
I prayed to the Buddha, saying: "There is no way to change the present,
but grant that we may meet again peacefully after this parting"--and I
thought the Buddha would pity and grant my prayer.
It was midwinter. It rained all day. In the night a cloud-turning wind
blew terribly and the sky cleared. The moon became exquisitely bright,
and it was sad to see the tall reeds near the house broken and blown
down by the wind.
_Dead stalks of reeds must be reminded of good Autumn days._
_In midwinter depths the tempest lays them low,_
_Confused and broken._
["Their fate is like my own," is intangibly expressed in this poem.]
A messenger arrived from the East.
Father's letter:
"I wandered through the Province [Hitachi, now
Ibarakiken] going into every Shinto shrine and saw
a wide field with a beautiful river running through
it.[49] There was a beautiful wood. My first thought was
of you, and to make you see it, and I asked the name of
that grove. 'The grove of Longing After One's Child' was
the answer. I thought of the one who had first named it
and was extremely sad. Alighting from my horse I stood
there for two hours.
_After leaving--_
_Like me he must have yearned_
_Sorrowful to see--_
_The forest of Longing After One's Child."_
To see that letter is a sadder thing than to have seen the forest.
[The poem sent in return presents difficulties in the way of
translation as there is a play upon words, literally it is something
like this:]
The grove of "Longing After One's Child"; left; Father-caressed[50]
Mountain; [Chichibusan] hard Eastern way--
_The grove of Longing After One's Child--_
_Hearing of it I think of the Father-caressed Mountain:_
_Towards it hard is the Eastern way_
_For a child left [here alone]._
Thus I passed days in doing nothing, and I began to think of going
to temples [making pilgrimages]. Mother was a person of extremely
antiquated mind. She said: "Oh, dreadful is the Hatsusé Temple! What
should you do if you were caught by some one at the Nara ascent?
Ishiyama too! Sekiyama Pass [near Lake Biwa] is very dreadful!
Kurama-san [the famous mountain], oh, dreadful to bring you there! You
may go there when father comes back."
As mother says so, I can go only to Kiyomidzu Temple.[51] My old habits
of romantic indulgence were not dead yet, and I could not fix my mind
on religious thoughts as I ought.
In the equinoctial week there was a great tumult [of festival], so
great a noise that I was even afraid of it, and when I lay asleep I
dreamt there was a priest within the enclosure before the altar, in
blue garments with loose brocade hood and brocade shoes. He seemed
to be the intendant of the temple: "You, being occupied with vain
thoughts, are not praying for happiness in the world to come," he said
indignantly, and went behind the curtain. I awoke startled, yet neither
told any one what I had dreamt, nor thought about it much.
My mother had two one-foot-in-diameter bronze mirrors cast and made a
priest take them for us to the Hatsusé Temple. Mother told the priest
to pass two or three days in the temple especially praying that a
dream might be vouchsafed about the future state of this woman [the
daughter]. For that period I was made to observe religious purity [i.e.
abstain from animal food.]
The priest came back to tell the following:
"I was reluctant to return without having even a dream, and after
bowing many times and performing other ceremonies I went to sleep.
There came out from behind the curtain a graceful holy lady in
beautiful garments. She, taking up the offered mirrors, asked me if
no letters were affixed to these mirrors. I answered in the most
respectful manner, 'There were no letters. I was told only to offer
these.' 'Strange!' she said. 'Letters are to be added. See what is
mirrored in one, it creates pity to look at it.' I saw her weep
bitterly and saw appear in the mirror shadows of people rolling over in
lamentation. 'To see these shadows makes one sad, but to see this makes
one happy,' and she held up the other mirror. There, the misu was fresh
green and many-coloured garments were revealed below the lower edge of
it. Plum-and cherry-blossoms were in flower. Nightingales were singing
from tree to tree."
I did not even listen to his story nor question him as to how things
seemed in his dream. Some one said, "Pray to the Heavenly Illuminating
Honoured Goddess," and my irreverent mind thought, "Where is she? Is
she a Goddess or a Buddha?"
At first I said so, but afterwards grew more discreet and asked some
one about her, who replied: "She is a goddess, and takes up her abode
at Isé.[52] The goddess is also worshipped by the Provincial Governor
of Kii. She is worshipped at the ancestor shrine in the Imperial Court."
I could not by any means get to Isé. How could I bow before the
Imperial shrine? I could never be allowed to go there. The idea flowed
through my mind to pray for the heavenly light.
A relative of mine became a nun, and entered the Sugaku Temple. In
winter I sent her a poem:
_Even tears arise for your sake_
_When I think of the mountain hamlet_
_Where snow-storms will be raging._
Reply:
_I seem to have a glimpse of you_
_Coming to me through the dark wood,_
_When close over head is Summer's growth of leaves._
1036. Father, who had gone down towards the East, came back at last. He
settled down at Nishiyama, and we all went there. We were very happy.
One moon-bright night we talked all the night through:
_Such nights as this exist!_
_As if it were for Eternity, I parted from you--_
_How sad was that Autumn!_
At this father shed tears [of happiness] abundantly, and answered me
with a poem:
_That life grows dear and is lived with rejoicing_
_Which once was borne with hate and lamentation_
My joy knew no bounds when my waiting was at an end after the supposed
parting "for Eternity," yet my father said: "It is ridiculous to lead
a worldly life when one is very old. I used to feel so when I saw old
men, but now it is my turn to be old, so I will retire from social
life." As he said it with no lingering affection for this world, I felt
quite alone.
Towards the East the field stretched far and wide and I could see
clearly from Mount Hiyé[53] to Mount Inari. Towards the West, the pines
of the forest of Narabigaoka were sounding in my ear, and up to the
tableland on which our house stood the rice-fields were cultivated in
terraces, while from them came the sound of the bird-scaring clappers,
giving me a homely country sentiment.
One moonlight evening I had a message from an old acquaintance who had
had an opportunity to send to me, and this I sent back:
_None calls upon me, or remembers me in my mountain village._
_On the reeds by the thin hedge, the Autumn winds are sighing._
1037. In the Tenth month we changed our abode to the Capital. Mother
had become a nun, and although she lived in the same house, shut
herself up in a separate chamber. Father rather treated me as an
independent woman than as his child. I felt helpless to see him
shunning all society and living hidden in the shade.
A person [the Princess Yuko, daughter of the Emperor Toshiyaku] who had
heard about me through a distant relative called me [to her] saying it
would be better [to be with her] than passing idle lonely days.
My old-fashioned parents thought the court life would be very
unpleasant, and wanted me to pass my time at home, but others said:
"People nowadays go out as ladies-in-waiting at the Court, and then
fortunate opportunities [for marriage] are naturally numerous; why not
try it?" So [at the age of twenty-six] I was sent to the Court against
my will.
I went for one night the first time. I was dressed in an eight-fold
uchigi of deep and pale chrysanthemum colours, and over it I wore the
outer flowing robe of deep-red silk.
As I have said before, my mind was absorbed in romances, and I had no
important relatives from whom I could learn distinguished manners or
court customs, so except from the romances I could not know them. I
had always been in the shadow of the antiquated parents, and had been
accustomed not to go out but to see moon and flowers. So when I left
home I felt as if I were not I nor was it the real world [to which I
was going]. I started in the early morning. I had often fancied in my
countrified mind that I should hear more interesting things for my
heart's consolation than were to be found living fixed in my parents'
house.
I felt awkward in Court in everything I did, and I thought it sad, but
there was no use in complaining. I remembered with grief my nieces who
had lost their mother and had been cared for by me alone, even sleeping
at night one on either side of me.
Days were spent in musing with a vacant mind. I felt as if some one
were [always] spying upon me, and I was embarrassed.[54] After ten days
or so I got leave to go out. Father and mother were waiting for me with
a comfortable fire in a brazier.
Seeing me getting out of my palanquin, my nieces said: "When you were
with us people came to see us, but now no one's voice is heard, no
one's shadow falls before the house. We are very low-spirited; what can
you do for us who must pass days like this?" It was pitiful to see them
cry when they said it. The next morning they sat before me, saying: "As
you are here many persons are coming and going. It seems livelier."
Tears came to my eyes to think what virtue [literally, fragrance] I
could have that my little nieces made so much of me.
It would be very difficult even for a saint to dream of his prenatal
life. Yet, when I was before the altar of the Kiyomidzu Temple, in a
faintly dreamy state of mind which was neither sleeping nor waking, I
saw a man who seemed to be the head of the temple. He came out and said
to me:
"You were once a priest of this temple and you were born into a better
state by virtue of the many Buddhist images which you carved as a
Buddhist artist. The Buddha seventeen feet high which is enthroned in
the eastern side of the temple was your work. When you were in the act
of covering it with gold foil you died."
"Oh, undeservedly blessed!" I said. "I will finish it, then."
The priest replied: "As you died, another man covered it and performed
the ceremony of offerings."
I came to myself and thought: "If I serve with all my heart the Buddha
of the Kiyomidzu Temple ... by virtue of my prayers in this temple in
the previous life...."[55]
In the Finishing month I went again to the Court. A room was assigned
for my use.
I went to the Princess's apartment every night and lay down among
unknown persons, so I could not sleep at all. I was bashful and timid
and wept in secret. In the morning I retired while it was still dark
and passed the days in longing for home where my old and weak parents,
making much of me, relied upon me as if I were worthy of it. I yearned
for them and felt very lonely. Unfortunate, deplorable, and helpless
mind!--That was graven into my thought and although I had to perform my
duty faithfully I could not always wait upon the Princess. She seemed
not to guess what was in my heart, and attributing it only to shyness
favored me by summoning me often from among the other ladies. She used
to say, "Call the younger ladies!" and I was dragged out in spite of
myself.
[Illustration: THREE KICHŌ PUT TOGETHER The curtains of the screen, or
kichō, varied with the seasons. This is a summer one with decorations
of summer grasses and flowers]
Those who were familiar with the court life seemed to be at home there,
but I, who was not very young, yet did not wish to be counted among
the elderly, was rather neglected, and made to usher guests. However,
I did not expect too much of court life, and had no envy for those who
were more graceful than I. This, on the contrary, set me at ease, and I
from time to time presented myself before the Princess; and talked only
with congenial friends about lovely things. Even on smile-presenting,
interesting occasions I shrank from intruding and becoming too popular,
and did not go far into most things.
Sleeping one night before the Princess, I was awakened by cries and
fluttering noises from the waterfowl in the pond.
_Like us the water jowl pass all the night in floating sleep,_
_They seem to be weary_
_With shaking away the frost from their feathers._
My companions passed their leisure time in talking over romances with
the door open which separated our rooms, and they often called back one
who had gone to the Princess's apartment. She sent word once, "I will
go if I must" [intending to give herself the pleasure of coming].
_The long leaves of the reed are easily bent,_
_So I will not forcibly persuade it,_
_But leave it to the wind._
In this way [composing poems] we passed [the hours] talking idly.
Afterwards this lady separated from the Court and left us. She
remembered that night and sent me word--
_That moonless, flowerless winter night_
_It penetrates my thought and makes me dwell on it--_
_I wonder why?_
It touched my heart, for I also was thinking of that night:
_In my dreams the tears of that cold night are still frozen._
_But these I weep away secretly._
The Princess still called my stepmother by the name of
Kazusa[56]--Governor's lady. Father was displeased that that name was
still used after she had become another man's wife, and he made me
write to her about it:
_The name of Asakura in a far-off country,_
_The Court now hears it in a divine dance-song:--_
_My name also is still somewhere heard [but not honourably].[57]_
One very bright night, after the full moon, I attended the Princess to
the Imperial Palace. I remembered that the Heaven Illuminating Goddess
was enthroned within, and wanted to take an opportunity to kneel before
the altar. One moon-bright night [1042 A.D.] I went in [to the shrine]
privately, for I know Lady Hakasé[58] who was taking care of this
shrine. The perpetual lights before the altar burned dimly. She [the
Lady Hakasé] grew wondrously old and holy; she seems not like a mortal,
but like a divine incarnation, yet she spoke very gracefully.
The moon was very bright on the following night and the Princess's
ladies passed the time in talking and moon-gazing, opening the
doors [outer shutters] of the Fujitsubo.[59] The footsteps of the
Royal consort of Umetsubo going up to the King's apartment were so
exquisitely graceful as to excite envy. "Had the late Queen[60] been
living, she could not walk so grandly," some one said. I composed a
poem:
_She is like the Moon, who, opening the gate of Heaven,_
_goes up over the clouds._
_We, being in the same heavenly Palace, pass the night_
_in remembering the footfalls of the past._
The ladies who are charged with the duty of introducing the court
nobles seem to have been fixed upon, and nobody notices whether
simple-hearted country-women like me exist or not. On a very dark night
in the beginning of the Gods-absent month, when sweet-voiced reciters
were to read sutras throughout the night, another lady and I went out
towards the entrance door of the Audience Room to listen to it, and
after talking fell asleep, listening, leaning, ...[61] when I noticed a
gentleman had come to be received in audience by the Princess.
"It is awkward to run away to our apartment [to escape him]. We will
remain here. Let it be as it will." So said my companion and I sat
beside her listening.
He spoke gently and quietly. There was nothing about him to be
regretted. "Who is the other lady?" he asked of my friend. He said
nothing rude or amorous like other men, but talked delicately of the
sad, sweet things of the world, and many a phrase of his with a strange
power enticed me into conversation. He wondered that there should have
been in the Court one who was a stranger to him, and did not seem
inclined to go away soon.
There was no starlight, and a gentle shower fell in the darkness;
how lovely was its sound on the leaves! "The more deeply beautiful
is the night," he said; "the full moonlight would be too dazzling."
Discoursing about the beauties of Spring and Autumn he continued:
"Although every hour has its charm, pretty is the spring haze; then
the sky being tranquil and overcast, the face of the moon is not too
bright; it seems to be floating on a distant river. At such a time the
calm spring melody of the lute is exquisite.
"In Autumn, on the other hand, the moon is very bright; though there
are mists trailing over the horizon we can see things as clearly as if
they were at hand. The sound of wind, the voices of insects, all sweet
things seem to melt together. When at such a time we listen to the
autumnal music of the koto[62] we forget the Spring--we think that is
best--
"But the winter sky frozen all over magnificently cold! The snow
covering the earth and its light mingling with the moonshine! Then the
notes of the hitchiriki[63] vibrate on the air and we forget Spring and
Autumn." And he asked us, "Which captivates your fancy? On which stays
your mind?"
My companion answered in favour of Autumn and I, not being willing to
imitate her, said:
_Pale green night and flowers all melting into one_
_in the soft haze--_
_Everywhere the moon, glimmering in the Spring night._
So I replied. And he, after repeating my poem to himself over and over,
said: "Then you give up Autumn? After this, as long as I live, such a
spring night shall be for me a memento of your personality." The person
who favoured Autumn said, "Others seem to give their hearts to Spring,
and I shall be alone gazing at the autumn moon,"
He was deeply interested, and being uncertain in thought said: "Even
the poets of the Tang Empire[64] could not decide which to praise
most, Spring or Autumn. Your decisions make me think that there must
be some personal reasons when our inclination is touched or charmed.
Our souls are imbued with the colours of the sky, moon, or flowers of
that moment. I desire much to know how you came to know the charms
of Spring and Autumn. The moon of a winter night is given as an
instance of dreariness, and as it is very cold I had never seen it
intentionally. When I went down to Isé to be present as the messenger
of the King at the ceremony[65] of installing the virgin in charge of
the shrine, I wanted to come back in the early dawn, so went to take
leave of the Princess [whose installation had just taken place] in a
moon-bright night after many days' snow, half shrinking to think of my
journey.
"Her residence was an other-worldly place awful even to the
imagination, but she called me into an adequate apartment. There were
persons [in that room] who had come down in the reign of the Emperor
Enyu.[66] Their aspect was very holy, ancient, and mystical. They told
of the things of long ago with tears. They brought out a well-tuned
four-stringed lute. The music did not seem to be anything happening in
this world; I regretted that day should even dawn, and was touched so
deeply that I had almost forgotten about returning to the Capital. Ever
since then the snowy nights of winter recall that scene, and I without
fail gaze at the moon even though hugging the fire. You will surely
understand me, and hereafter every dark night with gentle rain will
touch my heart; I feel this has not been inferior to the snowy night at
the palace of the Isé virgin."
With these words he departed and I thought he could not have known who
I was.
In the Eighth month of the next year [1043] we went again to the
Imperial Palace, and there was in the Court an entertainment throughout
the night. I did not know that he was present at it, and I passed that
night in my own room. When I looked out [in early morning] opening
the sliding doors on the corridor I saw the morning moon very faint
and beautiful. I heard footsteps and people approached--some reciting
sutras. One of them came to the entrance, and addressed me. I replied,
and he, suddenly remembering, exclaimed, "That night of softly falling
rain I do not forget, even for a moment! I yearn for it." As chance did
not permit me many words I said:
_What intensity of memory clings to your heart?_
_That gentle shower fell on the leaves--_
_Only for a moment [our hearts touched]._
I had scarcely said so when people came up and I stole back without his
answer.
That evening, after I had gone to my room, my companion came in to tell
me that he had replied to my poem: "If there be such a tranquil night
as that of the rain, I should like in some way to make you listen to my
lute, playing all the songs I can remember."
I wanted to hear it, and waited for the fit occasion, but there was
none, ever.
In the next year one tranquil evening I heard that he had come into the
Princess's Palace, so I crept out of my chamber with my companion, but
there were many people waiting within and without the Palace, and I
turned back. He must have been of the same mind with me. He had come
because it was so still a night, and he returned because it was noisy.
_I yearn for a tranquil moment_
_To be out upon the sea of harmony,_
_In that enchanted boat._
_Oh, boatman, do you know my heart?_
So I composed that poem--and there is nothing more to tell. His
personality was very excellent and he was not an ordinary man, but time
passed, and neither called to the other.
In Winter, though the snow had not come yet, the starlit sky was
clear and cold. One whole night I talked with those who were in the
Palace....[67]
Like a good-for-nothing woman I retired from the Court life.
On the twenty-fifth of the End month [Christmas Day, 1043] I was
summoned by the Princess to the religious service of reciting Buddha's
names. I went for that night only. About forty ladies were there all
dressed in deep-red dresses and also in deep-red outer robe. I sat
behind the person who led me in--the most shadow-like person among
them--and I retired before dawn. On my way home it snowed in fluttering
flakes, and the frozen, ghostly moon was reflected in my dull-red
sleeves of glossy silk. Even that reflection seemed to be wet and
sad. I thought all the way: "The year comes to a close and the night
also--and the moon reflected in my sleeve--all passes. When one is in
Court, one may become familiar with those who serve there, and know
worldly things better, and if one is thought amiable one is received
as a lady and favours may be bestowed"--such had been my thought, but
father was now disappointed in me and kept me at home; but how could
I expect that my fortunes should become dazzling in a moment? It was
father's idle fancy, yet he felt that it had betrayed him.
_Though a thousand times, how many! I gathered parsley_[68]
_in the fields_
_Yet my wishes were by no means fulfilled._