The Tale of Genji: (Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition) (Junichiro Breakdown of Genji)

by Murasaki Shikibu

  Genji traveled to Naniwa, where he underwent purification, and through a messenger he also announced to Sumiyoshi that he would give thanks for his safe journey and for the blessings received in response to his vows.50 His entourage had suddenly grown too large to allow him for now to go in person, and he hastened to enter the City without pausing for any further excursions.

  When he reached his Nijō residence, the people of his household and those traveling with him met in what felt to them like a dream, and there arose an alarming tumult of tears and laughter. His darling must have valued after all the life that had meant so little to her. She had grown up to be absolutely lovely, and to her great advantage the weight of her sorrows had slightly thinned her once overabundant hair. He was now deeply content to see that she would always be his this way, but at the thought his heart went out with a pang to the one whom he had so unwillingly left. Yes, such things would clearly never give him any rest.

  He began talking about her, and the memories so heightened his looks that the lady before him must have been troubled, for with “I care not for myself”51 she dropped a light hint that delighted and charmed him. When merely to see her was to love her, he wondered in amazement how he had managed to spend all these months and years without her, and bitterness against the world rose in him anew.

  Very soon he was awarded a new office, that of Acting Grand Counselor. All his followers for whom it was proper to do so were restored to their former functions and privileges, until in both mood and manner they resembled wintry trees at last touched by spring.

  An invitation came from His Majesty, and Genji called on him. The gentle-women wondered while he was in the presence how a man of his now mature dignity could have endured all those years in so strange a place. The ancient women in service there since His Late Eminence's reign mourned again with tears and cries, and they sang Genji's praises. Even His Majesty felt called upon to mind himself, and he came forth attired with special care. Although greatly reduced because of his long illness, he had lately been feeling a little better. They talked quietly on into the night. The moon of the fifteenth night52 hung aloft, lovely and tranquil, while fragments of the past drifted through His Majesty's mind, and perhaps in dread of the future he wept. He said, “How long I have gone without music and missed the sound of instruments once so familiar!”

  “Feebly languishing in disgrace beside the sea, the forlorn Leech Child

  for year after endless year could not stand on his own feet,”53

  Genji replied.

  Deeply moved, and also ashamed, His Majesty replied,

  “Now that we at last have circled to meet again around the sacred pole,

  O forget the bitterness that spring when we were parted!”54

  He spoke with the most engaging kindness.

  Genji hastened to arrange a Rite of the Eight Discourses for His Late Eminence. He was extremely pleased to find that the Heir Apparent had grown up very nicely indeed, and he looked upon him with great emotion. The Heir Apparent's brilliant success in his studies made him obviously able to assume with confidence the duties of the Sovereign. Once Genji had composed himself a little, he called on Her Cloistered Eminence, too, and their conversation must have touched on many a moving theme.

  Oh, yes, on the retreating waves he sent a letter down to Akashi.55 It seems to have been a long one, stealthily written. “How are you getting on, when waves night after night…?

  My thoughts go to you, imagining morning mists rising down the shore

  while you at Akashi spend sleepless nights lost in sorrow.”

  The Gosechi Dancer, the daughter of the Dazaifu Deputy, felt that she was now over her secret, hopeless misery, and she had her messenger give Genji this, with a wink:

  “I would have you see how swiftly the mariner found her sleeves undone

  once she had given her heart to longing for Suma Shore.”

  She writes so much better now! he thought, divining the sender, and he replied,

  “No, it should be mine to present you my complaint, for after your note

  there has hardly been a time when my sleeves have ever dried.”

  Her unexpected message brought her vividly to mind, for he still remembered how very much he had liked her, but he seems in those days to have abstained from that sort of thing.

  He only wrote to the village of falling flowers, so that the lady there doubted him and was more hurt than ever.

  14

  MIOTSUKUSHI

  The Pilgrimage to Sumiyoshi

  The syllables mi-o-tsu-ku-sbi occur in the poetic exchange by which this chapter has often been remembered. Their primary meaning is “channel marker” (a pole set in an estuary bottom to mark the channel), but they also convey “give my all” (for love).

  Genji has gone to the Sumiyoshi Shrine, near Naniwa, to thank the god for his blessings. By chance the Akashi lady arrives on the same day, on her own pilgrimage to Sumiyoshi; but the beach is so crowded with Genji's vast entourage that she, feeling very small, passes straight on to the harbor of Naniwa.

  Discovering what has happened, Genji goes sightseeing in Naniwa, where he notices the Horie Channel (a name famous in poetry), marked by its rows of miotsukushi. He then sends her,

  “I who give my all for your love have my reward, for to find you here,

  where so deep a channel runs, proves the power of our bond.”

  She replies,

  “Lacking any worth, I have no title to claim any happiness;

  what can have possessed me, then, so to give my all for love?”

  RELATIONSHIP TO EARLIER CHAPTERS

  “The Pilgrimage to Sumiyoshi” continues “Akashi,” beginning in the tenth month when Genji is twenty-eight and extending to the eleventh month of the following year.

  PERSONS

  His Grace, Genji, rises from Grand Counselor to Palace Minister, age 28 to 29

  The Empress Mother (Kokiden)

  His Majesty, the Emperor, then His Eminence, 30 to 31 (Suzaku)

  His Late Eminence, Genji's father, after his death (Kiritsubo In)

  The Mistress of Staff (Oborozukiyo)

  Genji's lady at Nijō, 20 to 21 (Murasaki)

  His Highness, the Heir Apparent, then His Majesty, the Emperor, 10 to 11 (Reizei)

  Her Cloistered Eminence, his mother, 33 to 34 (Fujitsubo)

  The Shōkyōden Prince, named Heir Apparent, 2 to 3

  His mother, the Shōkyōden Consort

  His Excellency, the Chancellor, formerly Minister of the Left, 62 to 63 (Sadaijin)

  The Consultant Captain, then the Acting Counselor (Tō no Chūjō)

  His daughter, the Kokiden Consort, 11 to 12

  His son (Kōbai)

  Genji's son, 7 to 8 (Yūgiri)

  The lady at Akashi, 19 to 20 (Akashi no Kimi)

  Her daughter, born (Akashi no Himegimi)

  The daughter's nurse

  The Novice, around 61 to 62 (Akashi no Nyūdō)

  The former Reikeiden Consort

  The lady of the falling flowers (Hanachirusato)

  The Gosechi Dancer

  His Highness of War, brother of Fujitsubo and father of Murasaki (Hyōbukyō no Miya)

  The Aide of the (Right) Palace Guards, then in the Gate Watch

  Yoshikiyo, Genji's retainer

  Koremitsu, Genji's confidant

  The Governor of Settsu, one of Genji's retainers

  The Rokujō Haven, 35 to 36 (Rokujō no Miyasudokoro)

  The High Priestess of Ise, her daughter, 19 to 20 (Akikonomu)

  Genji thought of His Late Eminence often after that clear dream, and he sorrowfully wished somehow to save him from the sins that had brought him so low. Once he was back in the City, he quickly prepared to do so, and in the tenth month he held a Rite of the Eight Discourses. All the world bowed to his wishes, as it had done before.

  The Empress Mother, even gravely ill, took it hard that she must fail to suppress this Genji, but His Majesty, who recalled his fat
her's last wishes and foresaw certain retribution, was greatly relieved to have raised him up again. The eye trouble that had so often afflicted him was now gone, but his doubt that he would live much longer weighed heavily on him, and the knowledge that he had little time left prompted him to call Genji constantly to his side. He derived such obvious satisfaction from discussing all things openly with him that his pleasure brought happiness in turn to the whole court.

  With his planned abdication rapidly approaching, his sympathy went to the Mistress of Staff, whose experience of life had been so painful. “His Excellency the Chancellor is no more,” he said to her, “the Empress Mother's health gives every cause for concern, and now that I feel my own time is coming, I am afraid of leaving you sadly on your own in a very different world. You have never thought as well of me as of a certain other, but my greater affection has always moved me to care for you above all. The one you prefer may take pleasure in you, too, but I do not think that his feeling for you approaches mine, which is far stronger, and this alone is very painful.” He began to weep.

  She blushed scarlet, in all the full, fresh ripeness of her beauty, and her tears spilled forth until he forgot her transgressions and looked on her only with pity and love. “I wonder why you would not even give me a child,” he said. “That is a very great regret. I know you will have one for him, with whom your tie is so much stronger, and the thought makes me very sad indeed. After all, he is what he is and no more, and your child will have a commoner father.”

  This and other remarks from him about the future overwhelmed her with sorrow and shame. His face gave off such a lovely sweetness, and his behavior so clearly proved a boundless devotion that had seemed to grow with the passage of the years, that despite Genji's merits she could only acknowledge what suffering his lukewarm attentions had brought her, until she no longer knew why she had followed her youthful leanings and caused that dreadful scandal—one damaging not only to her name but to his. Such memories led her to rue the life that she had led.

  The Heir Apparent's coming of age took place in the second month of the following year. His Highness, now eleven, was tall and dignified for his age, and his face appeared to be traced from Genji's own. Both shone so dazzlingly that everyone sang their praises, but His Highness's mother was appalled and only wished fervently that it were not so. His Majesty looked on the boy with pleasure and gently let him know, among other things, that he meant soon to cede him the realm.

  The abdication took place after the twentieth of the same month, suddenly enough to upset the Empress Mother. His Majesty sought to calm her, saying, “I shall no longer have any importance, but I look forward to seeing you more at my ease.” The Shōkyōden Prince was named Heir Apparent. The new reign began, for a change, amid many moments of novel brilliance. Genji rose from Grand Counselor to Palace Minister. His post had been added to the others, since no regular one of the kind was vacant.1 Although expected now to take up the reins of government, he ceded the role of Regent to His Excellency, the former Minister of the Left, on the grounds that he was not up to its many responsibilities.

  “Illness obliged me to resign my office,” His Excellency said, declining to accept, “and now that I am also so much older, I doubt that I could actually manage.” In the other realm,2 too, though, the very men who vanished into the mountains in unstable, troubled times came forth, white hair and all, to serve in time of peace, which brought them acknowledgment as true sages;3 and so all agreed in both public and private that there could be no objection to His Excellency taking up again, under the new reign, a post he had given up for reasons of poor health. It had been done before. For that reason he broke off his retirement and became Chancellor. He was then sixty-three.

  He had shut himself away in part because he felt the world against him, but now he flourished as before, and all his sons who had languished in disfavor rose high. The Consultant Captain, in particular, became an Acting Counselor. The girl he had had by the late Chancellor's fourth daughter was twelve, and he was bringing her up with care in order to present her to His Majesty. The son4 who had sung “Takasago” was now of age. Genji envied his old friend all the children he kept having by one mother or another, and the resulting liveliness of his household.

  His own little son by His Excellency's daughter was exceptionally handsome, and he frequented both His Majesty's and the Heir Apparent's privy chambers. His grandparents still felt their grief for their late daughter keenly, although even now, when she was gone, Genji's light alone so lifted His Excellency that his years of despair vanished into glory. Genji came to call on every occasion, for his goodwill had not changed, and his tactful kindness to his son's nurses, as well as to the other gentlewomen who had stayed on through the years, undoubtedly brought happiness to many.

  His sympathy went to those who similarly awaited him at Nijō. Wishing to raise the long-despondent spirits of women like Chūjo and Nakatsukasa, he showed them such attentions, each according to her station, that he had no leisure even to call elsewhere. He ordered a magnificent rebuilding of the mansion—a legacy from His Late Eminence—to the east of his Nijō residence, and he had its rooms done up with the idea of bringing the lady of the falling flowers there, as well as others whose plight concerned him.

  Oh, yes—he never forgot his anxiety about the lady he had left in so delicate a condition at Akashi, and despite a press of affairs, both public and private, that kept him from giving her the attention he desired, he realized when the third month came that the day might soon be at hand, and in a rush of secret feeling sent off a messenger.

  The messenger quickly returned. “The birth took place on the sixteenth,” he reported. “The child is a girl, and all is well.”

  Genji was especially happy to gather that he had a daughter. He wondered bitterly why he had not brought her mother to have her child in the City.

  An astrologer had foretold to Genji that he would have three children, of whom one would be Emperor and another Empress, while the third and least among them would reach the highest civil rank of Chancellor. To all appearances he had been right. Expert physiognomists had all agreed that Genji would rise to the highest rank and govern the realm, but years of unpleasantness had so dampened his hopes that the new Emperor's successful accession brought him pleasure and satisfaction. He agreed that his father had been right to remove him from the line of succession. His father had taken greater pleasure in him than in any other of his many sons, but on due consideration that decision to make him a commoner now confirmed that it was not he who had any such calling; no, it could never be told who His Majesty really was, but the physiognomist had not been wrong. Looking to the future, Genji saw in all this the guiding influence of the God of Sumiyoshi. Yes, hers, too, was an extraordinary destiny, and her eccentric father had certainly entertained ambitions properly beyond him. What a shame it was, though, and what a waste, that one destined for such heights should have come into the world in a place so remote! He would have to bring her here, once everything was quiet again. He gave orders to hasten the rebuilding of his mansion to the east.

  He could not imagine finding anyone worthy5 in a place like Akashi, but meanwhile he heard of the daughter of a senior gentlewoman under His Late Eminence, whose father at his death had been Lord of the Palace Bureau and a Consultant and who, blighted by the loss of her mother, had in these discouraging circumstances given birth to a child. Through the person who had told him about her he managed satisfactorily to obtain her consent. Still young and artless, and sadly depressed by a life spent grieving in a ruined house, she hardly paused to think; she liked the thought of being near him so well that she declared herself at his disposal. Genji, who felt quite sorry for her, sent her straight down to Akashi.

  He had stolen off to see her himself when he had the opportunity to do so. Despite her initial assent she was worrying about what she should really do, but his gratifying visit soothed her fears, and she agreed to satisfy his wish.

  It was an auspic
ious day, and he urged her to set off immediately. “You will think it strangely unkind of me,” he said, “but I have a particular reason.6 Be patient a little while and remember that I, too, have languished where I never thought to go”; and he went on to tell her all about her destination. He had seen her before because she had often waited on his father, although her fortunes had declined sadly since then. Her house, too, though large, was indescribably run-down, and the trees looming over it were so forbidding that he wondered how she could possibly live there. Still, she was young and pretty, and he could not take his eyes off her.

  “I feel like keeping you here after all—and you?” he said banteringly, and it seemed to her that yes, all things being equal she would just as soon seek comfort from her sorrows in his intimate service.

  “It is not as though we have been for years and years the closest of friends,

  but our parting, even so, is a painful one to bear!”

  he said. “Perhaps I should come after you.”

  She smiled.

  “This complaint of yours, that we are obliged to part all too suddenly,