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

by Murasaki Shikibu

  can mean only that you yearn to go where your longing goes,”

  she answered. Her deft repartee caught his fancy.

  She left the City by carriage. Genji had her escorted by a close retainer whom he sent off with injunctions to strict secrecy. The baggage was bursting with the dagger7 and other similarly suitable gifts, for he had left nothing undone. He showed exceptionally kind generosity to the nurse as well. The thought of the Novice doting on his granddaughter often made Genji smile, and the depth of his fond concern for her left no doubt about the strength of that karmic bond. He begged her mother in his letter never to neglect their daughter.

  “O that soon these sleeves might touch her with their caress, that she long endure

  like the rock the angel's wing brushes age after long age.”8

  The party traveled by boat as far as the province of Settsu, and from there they rode on quickly to their goal.

  The Novice greeted the nurse with raptures of delighted respect. When he turned to bow in the direction of the City, the thought of Genji's most august concern made the little girl still more precious and prompted him even to feelings of dread.

  She was so sweetly and so perfectly lovely that it was disconcerting: no wonder Genji in his wisdom intended to give her every advantage. The nurse had felt as though she were dreaming when she set out on her strange journey, but at this thought her distress melted away. She looked after her with the tenderest care.

  The little girl's mother, for months now sunk in gloom, had felt herself weaken steadily until she doubted that she had much longer to live, but this new step by Genji made her feel a little better. She raised her eyes once more and gave Genji's messenger a very warm welcome. Since the messenger was eager to start back, she wrote down for Genji some of her thoughts:

  “These poor sleeves of mine are too narrow: I cannot caress her alone,

  and I look to the tall pine for his overspreading shade.”9

  Genji felt extraordinarily drawn and simply could not wait to see his daughter.

  So far he had said little to his lady at home, but he did not want her to hear things from other people. “So that seems to be that,” he remarked. “What a strange and awkward business it is! All my concern is for someone else, whom I would gladly see similarly favored,10 and the whole thing is a sad surprise, and a bore, too, since I hear the child is a girl. I really suppose I should ignore her, but I cannot very well do that. I shall send for her and let you see her. You must not feel resentful.”

  She reddened. “Don't, please!” she said, offended. “You are always making up feelings like that for me, when I myself detest them. And when do you suppose that I learned to have them?”

  “Ah, yes,” said Genji with a bright smile, “who can have taught you? I have never seen you like this! Here you are, angry with me over fantasies of yours that have never occurred to me. It is too hard!” By now he was nearly in tears.

  Memories of their endless love for each other down the years, and of the letters they had so often exchanged, told her that all his affairs were simple amusements, and the matter passed from her mind.

  “If I am this anxious about her,” Genji said, “it is because I have my reasons. You would only go imagining things again if I were to tell you too soon what they are.” He was silent a moment. “It must have been the place itself that made her appeal to me so. She was something new, I suppose.” He went on to describe the smoke that sad evening, the words they had spoken, a hint of what he had seen in her face that night, the magic of her koto; and all this poured forth with such obvious feeling that his lady took it ill.

  Sō no koto

  There I was, she thought, completely miserable, and he, simple pastime or not, was sharing his heart with another! Well, I am I! She turned away and sighed, as though to herself, “And we were once so happy together!

  Not as fond lovers' languid plumes follow the wind toward reunion,

  no, but as smoke myself I wish I were long since gone!”11

  “What? Why, what a thing to say!

  Just who is it, then, for whom I suffered so much, roaming hills and seas,

  often enough near drowning in an endless stream of tears?

  Oh, I wish I could show you how I really feel! I suppose that demands a lifetime, though, and one never knows… It is all for you, you see, that I so want to avoid having other women condemn me over nothing.” He drew her sō no koto to him and went through the modal prelude idly, to tempt her, but she would not touch it, since she was perhaps piqued by what she gathered of that other's skill. For all her quiet innocence, sweetness, and grace, she still had a stubborn side to her, and, when she was offended, as now, her wrath had a quality so delicious that he only enjoyed her the more.

  Genji calculated privately that the fifth of the fifth month would be his daughter's fiftieth day, and he thought of her with eager, affectionate curiosity. How much more satisfyingly he could have celebrated her birth here, and how much happier the occasion would have been! What a shame that she had entered the world in a place that hopeless! She would not have preoccupied him nearly so much if she had been a boy, but he regretted for her sake the affront of her birth, and he reflected that his own flawed destiny had all been for her.

  He sent a messenger with urgent instructions to get there on the day, and the man did indeed arrive on the fifth. Genji's thoughtful gifts were magnificently generous, and he had included more practical items as well. He had written,

  “How is she to know, the little sea pine whose life is all in shadow,

  today's Sweet Flag Festival from her own fiftieth day?12

  My heart has flown to her, you know. Do make up your mind to come, because I cannot go on living this way. I promise that you need not worry.” As usual the Novice wept for joy. It will come as no surprise that at a time like this happiness all but drowned him in tears.

  He, too, at Akashi had seen to everything magnificently, but without Genji's ambassador all would have seemed as though swallowed by darkness. Meanwhile the nurse was happy in the company of this most perfect and attractive of ladies, and she forgot her sorrows. Other gentlewomen, hardly less worthy, had been brought in as family connections allowed, but they, sadly fallen from service in the great houses of the City, had meant only to settle here quietly “among the rocks,” while the nurse retained all her poise and pride. The tales she told were well worth hearing, and on the subject of His Grace13 she enlarged with a woman's enthusiasm on his looks and on the warm regard in which he was universally held, until her new mistress, who meant so much to him and to whom he had actually given a child, came to think more highly of herself. They read his letter together. Ah, the nurse said to herself, some have all the luck, while I have none! But Genji's thoughtful inquiry about her pleased her greatly, and she felt much better.

  “Yet again today, the fiftieth for the crane crying in the lea

  of this islet, all unseen, no one has asked after her,”14

  the lady gravely replied. “My fragile existence, you understand, hangs on the rare comfort of a letter from you, for everything draws me downward toward despair. I would indeed be glad of a reason to look forward to the future.”

  Genji read her letter again and again, and he sighed to himself loud and long. His lady gave him a sidelong look, then stared sorrowfully before her, murmuring under her breath, “The boat that rows seaward from the shore…”15

  “You really mean to make an issue of it, don't you,” Genji said irritably. “I feel sorry for her just now, that is all. Those days come back to me when I think what the place is like, and I talk to myself a bit; and you do not miss it, do you!” He showed her only the letter's outer cover.16 The writing had such character as to put the greatest lady to shame, and she understood why Genji felt about the sender as he did.

  Alas, while placating his lady he completely neglected another in the village of falling flowers. Public affairs now absorbed him, the constraints of his rank encouraged discretion, and one g
athers that nothing came from her to rouse him from his complacency.

  He pulled himself together and went to call on her during the tedium of the long rains, when little else claimed him at home or abroad. He felt no apprehension, for the household lived only from his generosity on the many occasions when, from his distance, his thoughts turned to them, and she was unlikely to indulge in modishly self-important complaints.

  The house had deteriorated alarmingly since his last visit, years ago. The former Consort received him, and it was late at night when he went to the west double doors. A pale moon shone in, revealing all of Genji's enchanting beauty. More abashed than ever, she still sat gazing out from near the veranda, and her quiet figure was very pleasing to the eye. A moorhen called nearby.

  “If no moorhen cried as though knocking at my gate, what would startle me

  into admitting the moon to my sadly ruined home?”

  she said with an engaging reticence that only reminded Genji how dear each of his ladies was to him and how difficult a position her very mildness put him in.

  “The moorhen, you know, tries his knock at every gate; if that startles you,

  you may find that you let in an all too light-minded moon.

  It is rather a worry,” he parried, although he did not for a moment actually suspect her of any such wantonness. He did not fail to appreciate her patient waiting for him over the years.

  She spoke of the time when he had enjoined her to “avert your eyes from an all too cloudy sky.”17 “Why did I ever imagine that to be the worst misery I could suffer?” she said. “My misfortune now is just the same.” Her manner conveyed quiet charm. As always, Genji called from somewhere a flood of eloquence to console her.

  Not even this sort of thing could make him forget the Gosechi Dancer, but it was not easy to see her again, though he looked forward eagerly to doing so, and he could not manage to get away. She still pined for him after all, and despite her parents' fond attempts to change her mind she had given up the thought of a normal life.18 Genji meant his expansive building plan, even once he had gathered ladies like her together, to allow him to look after anyone else who deserved his attention, should such a one appear. The mansion was to be still richer in pleasant features and more modern in style than his present one. He had picked men of taste from among the provincial Governors and given each his task so as to hasten the construction.

  Even now the Mistress of Staff could not give him up. Incorrigible as ever, he returned her feeling, but she had learned her lesson from bitter experience and no longer encouraged him as before. Despite his happy return he felt uncomfortably constrained, and he missed their affair.

  His Eminence,19 who now looked tolerantly on life, from time to time held very pleasant musical gatherings and so on. His Consorts and Intimates all continued to serve him; only the Heir Apparent's mother failed to enjoy any great favor, being eclipsed in his affections by the Mistress of Staff. She therefore turned to reliance on her inalienable good fortune and moved away to attend His Highness.

  Genji's lodging at the palace was the Kiritsubo, as of old. The Heir Apparent, who lived in the Nashitsubo,20 conferred with him on every occasion, in a spirit of neighborly intimacy, and Genji lent him his assistance.

  Since Her Cloistered Eminence could not properly assume a new rank, she was granted the emoluments of a Retired Emperor.21 The officers of her household were correspondingly redesignated, and she lived in imposing style. Her constant occupation remained her religious devotions and the performance of acts of merit. Fear of appearing at court had prevented her from seeing her son during those years of intense worry and chagrin, but happily she could now come and go to him as she pleased, and it was the Empress Mother22 who found life very bitter. On occasion Genji would treat her with embarrassing courtesy, and this only brought her new distress that would in its turn set off a buzz of gossip.

  His Highness of War had maintained an unfortunate attitude over the years, and Genji, who condemned his surrender to court opinion, no longer kept up with him the old close ties. Although generally well disposed toward everyone, he sometimes displayed toward His Highness an antipathy that Her Cloistered Eminence noted with sorrow and disappointment.

  The Chancellor and Genji shared government evenly between them and wielded its powers as they thought best.

  In the eighth month of that year the Acting Counselor23 sent his daughter to serve His Majesty. Her grandfather put himself into it, and the ceremony was all anyone could have wished. His Highness of War had carefully reared his well-regarded second daughter with the same ambition in mind, but Genji failed to see why she should be preferred over anyone else. What can he have been thinking of?

  That autumn he went on a pilgrimage to Sumiyoshi. His retinue was grand, since he was to give thanks for many answered prayers, and the whole court, senior nobles and privy gentlemen alike, offered him their services on the journey.

  It happened that the lady from Akashi, who made the pilgrimage every year, had decided to go, too, partly to atone for having failed to do so last year or so far this year because of her condition.24 She traveled by sea. On reaching the shore she found the beach covered with a vast and noisy throng of pilgrims, while a procession bore magnificent treasures for the god. Ten musicians, plainly selected for their good looks, were dancing all in a single color. Her men must have asked what pilgrim had arrived, for a hopelessly low menial burst into laughter and cried, “Look! Here are people who don't even know that His Grace is here to give thanks!”

  Ah, she thought, considering all the days there are, in all the months of the year, this really is too cruel! To see his glory this way from a distance only makes me sorry to be who I am. Yes, I have a fated tie to him, but what dire karma is mine, when even so miserable an underling can blithely pride himself on being in his service, that I who yearn for him should have set out in utter ignorance of this great day? This train of reflections overwhelmed her with sorrow, and she secretly wept.

  Formal cloaks light and dark drifted in untold numbers beneath the pines' deep green, as though the ground were strewn with flowers or autumn leaves. The Chamberlains in leaf green stood out among the young gentlemen of the sixth rank, and that Aide of the Palace Guards who had spoken so bitterly of the Kamo palisade now belonged to the Gate Watch and was also a Chamberlain, with his own imposing corps of attendants. Yoshikiyo, likewise a Gate Watch officer, wore a particularly carefree air, and in his red cloak25 he looked very fine indeed. Those whom she had seen at Akashi were all scattered about here and there, transformed, brilliant and apparently without a care, while young senior nobles and privy gentlemen vied eagerly with one another, their very horses and saddles glitteringly adorned, and making a dazzling spectacle for the watchers from the country.

  It only upset her to notice Genji's carriage in the distance, and she could not make out the figure she so longed to see. He had been given an escort of young pages, following the example of the Riverside Minister:26 ten of them, handsome and of even height, delightfully dressed, and with their hair in twin tresses bound by white cords shading to deep purple ends. They had all together an especially fresh appeal. Genji's son by His Excellency's daughter, a young man whose father gave him every advantage, had his grooms and pages all dressed alike, so that there was no mistaking them. The heaven of His Majesty's City27 seemed so distant and so glorious that she lamented her daughter's insignificance. She could only turn toward the shrine and pray.

  The Governor of the province28 arrived, and he no doubt prepared a magnificent reception for Genji, one far beyond any given an ordinary Minister. She felt agonizingly out of place. The god himself would neither notice her nor listen if she mixed with the throng to go through her own tedious little rite, and to start straight

  Dance from the “Eastern Dances”

  home again would be too disappointing. No, she would put in today at Naniwa, where she would at least undergo purification. With this in mind she rowed away.

  Genj
i, who knew nothing of this, spent the night variously entertaining the god. He left out no touch that might give the god true pleasure and, quite beyond his thanks for blessings in the past, he kept the heavens ringing until dawn with beautiful music and dancing. Men of his like Koremitsu felt sincere gratitude for the divine aid they had received. When Genji emerged briefly,29 Koremitsu presented himself and said,

  “This great grove of pines here at Sumiyoshi brings many woes to mind

  when in thought I dwell upon those days under the god's care.”30

  Indeed it does, thought Genji, who remembered, too.

  “No such pounding waves as dashed themselves on that shore could shake me enough

  to drive from my memory Sumiyoshi and his boons.

  His blessings are very great,” he justly replied.

  Genji was very sorry to learn that all the commotion had driven a boat from Akashi away, and he wished he had known. He who knew the god's blessing so well thought of comforting her at least with a note, for she must be hurt. He set out from the shrine and went roaming far and wide to see the sights. At Naniwa he underwent the most solemn purification. A view of the Horie Channel31 started him humming, “I have nothing left now but to try to meet her, at Naniwa…”32 Koremitsu, who was near his carriage, must have heard him, because the next time the carriage stopped, he gave him a short-handled brush—one he kept in the front fold of his robe in case Genji should call for it. Genji was pleased, and he wrote on folding paper,