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

by Murasaki Shikibu

  She had pulled a shift over her head, and the best she could do was weep. He pitied her from the bottom of his heart. This is really awful! But why does she feel so strongly? Anyone would show some sign of yielding by the time things had got this far, no matter how stubborn she was, but no, a rock or a tree would be more easily moved. I suppose she has hardly any karmic tie with me—that must be why she dislikes me so. It was just too much. Bitter speculation about her feelings, at Sanjō, and memories of how they had once innocently loved each other or of how she had sweetly and trustingly yielded to him more recently so tormented him that he did not insist on coaxing her further, and he spent the rest of the night sighing.

  It would have been too silly to keep coming and going to her under these circumstances, and he therefore allowed himself today to remain where he was. Her Highness was aghast that he should go that far, and her resistance only stiffened. This struck him as at once ludicrous, detestable, and sad.

  The retreat had little in it apart from some fragrant chests and a cabinet tidily ranged against the walls; she had actually made it quite comfortable. It seemed dark, but enough light got in to show that the morning sun was up. He removed the garment under which she was hiding, brushed her badly disordered hair aside, and briefly knew her.73

  Bringing washing water

  She had a thoroughly noble, feminine grace, while he himself was a pleasure, and in-comparably more so in casual intimacy than when disposed to be formal. She remembered how the late Intendant, whose pride made up for his lack of any particular looks, had sometimes made it clear that he thought her no beauty, and she wondered in shame how he could tolerate the sight of her, now that she had lost what little attractiveness she had once had. One way or another she strove to reconcile herself to her situation. Alas, she knew that she would not escape censure when the news spread, and even the timing was unfortunate.74 She remained unconsoled.

  Washing water and breakfast were brought to her usual sitting room.75 The color in which the room was done up clashed unpleasantly with the occasion,76 and screens had therefore been placed along the east side,77 while along the edge of the chamber itself stood clove-dyed curtains78 and other, tastefully discreet items such as an aloeswood tiered cabinet. All this was thanks to the Governor of Yamato. He had changed the gentlewomen into quiet colors like kerria rose and scarlet layerings, or dark purple, or blue-gray, with a scattering of pale gray-violet trains and autumn green.79 They brought in the meals on their stands. Her Highness's household of women had become a little lax in some ways, but when the Governor noticed this, he put order among the few servants who remained, and saw to everything all on his own. The news of so unexpected and distinguished a visitor brought long-dispersed retainers to the house, and they busied themselves in the household office with whatever needed to be done.

  With her husband lording it at Ichijō, the lady at Sanjō decided that this must be the end. Why, he would never! she had once told herself, but now she felt as though she had personally tested the adage that the truehearted man who falters is lost for good, and she wanted to see no more of this outrageous behavior. She therefore went to her father's on the pretext of a directional taboo. The company of the Consort,80 who was then at home, gave her some relief from her cares, and she did not hurry back as she usually did.

  I knew it! The Commander was startled. She has such a temper! So does His Excellency. Neither of them shows a trace of measure or calm. Considering how vehement they are, and how quick to anger, they are perfectly capable of reaching the preposterous decision that I am obnoxious and that they want never to see me or hear of me again. He hurried back to Sanjō to find that she had left him their sons and taken their daughters and the littlest baby with her. The boys were very happy to see him, although to his chagrin some were also crying for their mother.

  He sent repeated messages and also an envoy to bring her back, but he had no reply. Despite his disgust over her stubbornly willful behavior there were His Excellency's feelings to consider in the matter, and he therefore set out there himself, after dark. He assumed that she would be in the main house81 and went there as usual, but he found only her women. The children were with their nurse.

  “Look at you, amusing yourself like a girl with her friends!” he bitterly reproached her.82 “You scatter all these children about and now there you are—what do you mean by it? I have always known that there are things about you I do not care for, but for some reason—destiny, I suppose—I have never wanted to leave you, and now we have so many children to look after, and such dear ones, too, I have never even imagined that we might go our separate ways. Are you going to do this to me over a little thing like that?”

  “Why not? You have had enough of me as I am, and I am certainly not going to change anymore. If you want to keep those hopeless children of mine, so much the better!”

  “A magnificent answer! And which of us will come off the worse for it, I should like to know?” He did not insist on having her come to him, and that night he slept alone. How strangely these days I am caught betwixt and between! he thought, putting the children to bed beside him. He wondered what anguish she must be suffering, at Ichijō. Who could possibly enjoy this sort of thing? He felt miserably that he had learned his lesson.

  At daybreak he sent her another threat. “People will think that you are behaving like a headstrong girl. If you must have it that everything is over between us, very well, let us see. I suppose you had your reasons for leaving some of the children at home, although the poor things seemed to miss you badly, but I cannot just walk out on them, and I mean to do everything for them that I can.”

  She was dismayed in her uncomplicated way to gather that he might take even the ones she had with her away somewhere beyond her reach.

  “Now, come along,” he said to one of his daughters. “Things are too difficult, and I shall not be able to come and see you here all the time. Your brothers are still at home, and they are very nice, too, and I want to have you all together.” Still very little and sweet, she considered him gravely. “You must not listen to your mother,” he admonished her. “I am sorry to say that there is a great deal she does not understand.”

  When His Excellency heard what was going on, he sighed to imagine how the world would laugh. “To think that you never even gave him a chance!” he said to his daughter. “I know that he would have apologized in time. A woman is foolish to be so quick-tempered. But very well, now that you have said it, you cannot very well give in and go straight home. No doubt you will soon discover his real disposition.”

  He sent the Chamberlain Lieutenant83 with a message to Her Highness.

  “We must share a bond, for you are present to me always in my heart,

  while I think of you fondly and hear hateful things of you.

  Surely you have not yet forgotten us,” he had written. The Lieutenant brought the letter straight in.

  A round mat was put out for him on the southern veranda. The women hardly knew what to say to him, and Her Highness felt even more painfully awkward. The young man, the best-looking of all the brothers, gazed calmly around him as though thinking back to times past. “It all seems so familiar. You might prefer me not to feel comfortable here, though,” he briefly remarked.

  Monk seated on a round mat

  Her Highness did not know what to answer. “I simply cannot write it!” she said.

  Her women gathered around her. “But, my lady, he will never know then how you feel, and besides, it will look childish of you. You cannot have us write it for you!”

  She began to weep. If only Mother were here, she would have managed to cover up all my shortcomings, however little she might have liked doing it! Feeling as though her tears would outrun her brush, she failed to write anything except

  “Ah, how can it be that there should be one of me, and of no account,

  yet you think angrily of me, and you hear of me with love?”

  She set it down just as it came to her, without even
finishing it properly, then wrapped it up and sent it off.

  Meanwhile the Lieutenant was talking to her women. “I do come here from time to time, you know,” he hinted before setting off, “and I feel out of place sitting in front of the blinds. Now I have a proper reason to visit, though, I shall do so often. You must let me inside, too. I trust that my years of loyal service will be rewarded.”

  Her Highness's worsening mood drove the Commander to distraction, and meanwhile His Excellency's daughter mourned more bitterly with every passing day. The Dame of Staff84 had heard the news, which to her meant that a lady who had always objected to her must now contend with someone whom she could not despise. From time to time she wrote her a note.

  “If I were someone, I would know all on my own of life's cruelty,

  but I can still wet my sleeves to lament another's woe.”

  His Excellency's daughter thought this a bit much, but during the tedium of these trying days it occurred to her indulgently that the sender, too, had reason to be upset with Her Highness. She replied simply, as the words came to her,

  “I had pitied, too, others for all the sorrows life forever brings,

  yet never thought to arouse someone else's sympathy.”

  The Dame of Staff was touched.

  Long ago, when His Excellency was keeping his daughter and Genji's son apart, the young man had secretly given this Dame of Staff all his affection, and he had remained in touch with her once the marriage resumed, though only rarely and with diminishing enthusiasm. Still, she had given him a good many children. By His Excellency's daughter he had his first, third, fifth, and sixth sons and his second, fourth, and fifth daughters; while by the Dame of Staff he had his first, third, and sixth daughters and his second and fourth sons. There was nothing wrong with any of these twelve children, and they all grew up to be a pleasure, but the Dame of Staff's stood out in looks and cleverness. The third daughter and second son were being carefully brought up in the northeast quarter of Rokujō. Genji himself kept an eye on them and treated them fondly. The relationships between these people are all too complicated to explain, though.

  40

  MINORI

  The Law

  Minori means, above all, “the Law” (Dharma)—that is, the truth the Buddha taught, that all things pass—and in this sense it refers to Murasaki's death. However, it can also mean the “rites” that proclaim and honor the Law: in particular, the ceremony at which Murasaki solemnly dedicates a thousand copies of the Lotus Sutra. It owes its role as the chapter title to its presence in an exchange between Murasaki and Hanachirusato after the ceremony. Murasaki:

  “This is the last time rites of mine will serve the Law, yet I have great faith

  they shall be to you and me a bond that lasts many lives.”

  Hanachirusato:

  “They shall be a tie that endures for ages yet, though it is too true

  few will ever see again such pious magnificence.”

  RELATIONSHIP TO EARLIER CHAPTERS

  “The Law” begins a few months after the end of “Evening Mist” and covers from spring to autumn of Genji's fifty-first year.

  PERSONS

  His Grace, the Honorary Retired Emperor, Genji, age 51

  Lady Murasaki, 43

  The lady of Falling Flowers (Hanachirusato)

  The lady from Akashi, 42 (Akashi no Kimi)

  The Third Prince, 5 (Niou Miya)

  Her Majesty, the Empress, 23 (Akashi no Chūgū)

  The Commander, Genji's son, 30 (Yūgiri)

  His Excellency (Tō no Chūjō)

  His Eminence Reizei's Empress, 42 (Akikonomu)

  Lady Murasaki's health remained very poor after her serious illness, and she had suffered ever since from a vague, lingering malaise. It was not especially threatening, but all those months and years did not bode well, and by now she was so frail that Genji felt very anxious indeed. The thought of outliving her even briefly appalled him. She herself asked nothing more of this life and had no particular wish to stay, for she had no fond ties1 to detain her; at heart she regretted only what he would suffer when the bond between them failed. She commissioned many holy services for her own good in her next life, and she often asked to become what she still wished to be, so that she could give the little time she had left entirely to her devotions; but he refused. Actually, he had conceived the same desire, and her yearning had fostered it until he would gladly have taken that path with her, except that he meant never to look back on this world once he had left it, and while he knew that he could trust their promise to share one lotus throne in the life to come, he understood that as long as they pursued their practice in this one, even at the same temple, they would live on different sides of the mountain and never see each other at all. Her peril and suffering were too painful, and leaving her would be so hard when the time came that his feelings then would only taint his refuge among the mountains and waters. Such reluctance on his part meant that he fell far behind others whose aspiration hardly amounted to more than personal whim. She resented his refusal because it would obviously be too unkind and contrary of her to act on her own, without his permission, but she also feared that she might owe it to her own burden of sins.

  She hastened to dedicate the thousand copies of the Lotus Sutra that she herself had had made over the years. The event took place at Nijō, which she considered her home. She gave the seven monks vestments proper to their ranks, all extremely beautiful in color and finish. The event was very grand in every way. She had never told him that it was to be so solemn, and so he had offered her no particular advice. The excellence of her judgment and even her knowledge of Buddhist things impressed him profoundly, and his only role was to look after quite ordinary matters of altar adornment and so on. The Commander undertook to provide the musicians and dancers.

  The Emperor, the Heir Apparent, the Empresses, and the ladies of Rokujō contributed a wealth of scripture readings and altar offerings, and the whole court busied itself similarly until the result was astonishing abundance. When could she have managed to plan it all? It was as though she had made a holy vow venerable ages ago.2 The lady of Falling Flowers went, and so did Akashi. Murasaki sat within the open, southeast doors—those of the west retreat in the main house. Only sliding panels separated the ladies in the northern aisle.

  It was the tenth of the third month. No deep faith was needed then to be relieved of sin, for the blossoms were perfect and the sky so mildly lovely that the land where they say the Buddha dwells might have looked just the same. The voices of the great assembly resounded impressively in the cutting-firewood hymn,3 and she felt sad even in the silence that followed it, because lately anything at all could put her in a desolate mood.

  She had the Third Prince4 take this to the lady from Akashi:

  “As I am, by now I care little for my life, yet withal I grieve

  that the firewood runs low and will very soon be gone.”

  The reply was oblique; perhaps the lady feared that people might talk if she adopted the same poignant tone:

  “Burning as you do with zeal to cut firewood, you have just begun

  in this life to seek the Law and will yet for years to come.”

  All night long, ceaseless drums pleasantly accompanied the holy services. The growing light of early dawn revealed flowers in many colors peeping out from between banks of mist and still wholly beguiling, while a hundred birds sang as sweetly as the flutes. Beauty and delight were at their peak when the rapid closing music of “The Warrior King” rang out brilliantly, and the colors of the garments doffed then by all present5 turned the moment into an enchanting spectacle. Every Prince or senior noble accomplished at music showed off all his skill. It stirred many feelings in her to see everyone so pleased and so merry, high or low, because privately she knew how little time remained.

  Now she lay prostrate and in pain, perhaps because she had for once been up the day before. For years she had wondered on every such occasion whether she would ever
again see the faces and figures of those assembled, ever again enjoy their skill on flutes and strings, and she looked with emotion even on some who barely

  The dance “The Warrior King”

  deserved notice. None of the ladies present at the summer or winter concerts and games—not without a sense of mutual rivalry, though they got on so well—would live forever, but it struck her vividly that she would go before them, alone, into the unknown, and the thought filled her with great sorrow.

  Once the event was over and they all prepared to go, she mourned what to her was an eternal farewell. She sent the lady of Falling Flowers,

  “This is the last time rites of mine will serve the Law, yet I have great faith

  they shall be to you and me a bond that lasts many lives.”

  The lady responded,

  “They shall be a tie that endures for ages yet, though it is too true

  few will ever see again such pious magnificence.”

  At Genji's behest the dedication ceremony continued without a break into other holy services like perpetual scripture readings and the Rite of Confession.6 He had the Great Rite performed continuously, as a matter of daily practice, at several worthy temples, because otherwise it had for some time done her no visible good.