Larger Font   Reset Font Size   Smaller Font  

The Tale of Genji, Page 88

Murasaki Shikibu

  Genji did not spend the night there, and he only looked in during the day. He peered round her standing curtain. “The sad conviction that I have little time left has turned me to my devotions, life being as treacherous as it is, and all the commotion lately has discouraged me from coming. How are you? Are you feeling better? I worry about you.”

  She lifted her head. “I still doubt that I will live, and they say that that sort of sin is very grave.11 I think I shall become a nun, because that might help me live longer, or at least it might lighten this burden of sin if I am to die after all.” She spoke in a much more grown-up manner than usual.

  “You will do nothing of the kind. It is out of the question. What you have been through has frightened you, I imagine, but it hardly threatens your life.” Privately, though, his thoughts ran differently. It might be rather moving to help her do it, if that is really what she wants. The poor thing is all too likely to come under a cloud again if she goes on with me this way. I doubt that with the best will in the world I can change my opinion of her anymore, and there will be some difficult times; people will note my indifference, and that will be unfortunate, because when His Cloistered Eminence hears of it, the fault will appear to be entirely mine. Her present indisposition makes a good excuse to let her do it—I might as well.

  At the same time the idea repelled him. It hurt to imagine her so sadly renouncing her long, long hair and with it the long life that still lay before her. “Do pluck up your courage,” he said. “You will come to no harm. You have at hand the example of someone who seemed to be at death's door and who recovered nonetheless. Life does not always play us false, you know.” She drank her medicine. Lying there all pale and thin and troublingly frail, she had such a quiet sweetness about her that he felt he must indulgently forgive her after all, despite the gravity of her fault.

  His Eminence at his mountain temple was relieved to hear that his daughter's great moment had passed smoothly, and he was eager to see her; but then he heard nothing but talk of how ill she was, and anxiety disturbed his devotions.

  She was weak already, and by now she had not eaten for some days, which made her condition very worrying indeed. She missed her father far more than she had during all those years when she had not seen him at all. “I may never see him again!” she cried, weeping bitterly. Genji had a suitable messenger convey her words to His Eminence, who was so devastated that he set forth under cover of night, despite knowing full well that he should not.

  His sudden, completely unannounced arrival took Genji by surprise and covered him with confusion. “I understood that it was wrong of me to succumb again to worldly affections,” he said, “but the hardest delusion of all to renounce is the darkness in a father's heart. I was neglecting my practice, and fear that lasting ill feeling might arise between her and me if we were to lose each other in so untimely a manner decided me to ignore censure and come after all.” His unfamiliar guise was nonetheless appealingly and gracefully discreet, since he was not in formal religious robes, and he made so fine a figure in gray that Genji envied him.

  Genji began as usual by shedding tears. “There is nothing in particular wrong with her,” he explained. “It is probably just that she has been growing weaker for months and that she has gone so long now without eating properly.

  “I can only apologize for receiving you in such a room,” he went on, and led His Eminence to a cushion before his daughter's curtained bed. Her women tidied up their mistress as well as they could and brought her down to the floor.12

  His Eminence brushed the curtain slightly aside. “I feel rather like a monk on night prayer duty, although unfortunately I have done little yet to acquire any healing power; all I can offer you is my own person, which I gather you have been anxious to see.” He wiped his eyes, and Her Highness wept feebly as well.

  “I do not think I shall live,” she said. “Oh, please, now that you are here, make me a nun!”

  “That is an admirable request if you really mean it, but you cannot actually be sure how much longer you have, and you know, someone like you, with a long fu-ture before her, could easily regret it later on. People could well criticize you for it, too. You would do better to refrain.” He turned to Genji. “I would do it if she seemed to be dying, since she herself wants it. I believe that any time at all as a nun would help her.”

  “She has been talking that way for days, but an evil spirit may trick a person into entertaining that wish, and I have therefore ignored her.”

  “It would be one thing if there were anything wrong in this case with giving in to an evil spirit, even if it had put the idea into her head, but in fact I would bitterly regret it later on if I failed to listen to her when she is so weak already and almost gone.” His Eminence silently reflected that after accepting the daughter offered him with such boundless trust, Genji had failed in his devotion to her, as His Eminence himself had been greatly disappointed to learn over the years, although he had never been able to voice his reproaches and so had been reduced merely to deploring what other people thought and said. Why not take this opportunity to remove her from His Grace, he thought, without exposing her to ridicule by leaving the impression that she had merely despaired of him? He can still be counted on to look after her in the ways that matter most, and for that, at least, I did well to entrust her to him. She need not pointedly reject him; instead I might do up the large, pleasant house I have from our father and invite her to move there. As long as I am alive, I want to see her secure, and say what one will, His Grace is hardly likely to abandon her completely. Yes, His Eminence decided, that is what I shall do; and he continued aloud, “Well, then, I might take this opportunity to let her acquire a link with enlightenment by receiving the Precepts.”

  What does this mean? Genji silently protested, forgetting in his pity and dismay everything that he had against her. It was too much. He went straight in to her. “How can you consider abandoning me this way, when I have so few years left? Do calm down for a moment, drink your medicine, and have something to eat! I am sure that you mean well, but how can you possibly perform your devotions in your weakened condition? You must look after yourself first!” But she shook her head and thought how hatefully he spoke. He saw with sorrow and regret that despite her composure she must indeed feel she had reason to be angry with him.

  Daybreak came while he continued his wavering efforts to dissuade her. His Eminence wished to avoid being caught by daylight on the way back, and he summoned the worthiest of the monks present to pray and to cut off his daughter's hair. The ceremony during which she cast aside her rich and beautiful tresses and received the Precepts was simply too pathetic. Genji, who could not bear it, wept copiously.

  Having always felt so strongly and wanted the very best for her, His Eminence was deeply saddened to see all his hopes for her reduced to naught, and he wept, too. “There,” he said, “you must get well now, and it would be a good idea for you also to call the Name and chant the scriptures.” It was full day, and he hastened away. Her Highness was still all but fainting with weakness, and she had been unable to enjoy his visit properly or even to talk to him.

  “All this has been like a dream, and in the turmoil of my mind I have boorishly failed to show my gratitude for the visit I remember you paying me long ago.13 I shall call upon you later to that end.” Genji ordered an escort for His Eminence's journey back.

  “As long as I felt that every day might be my last,” His Eminence replied, “I could not bear imagining her lost and deprived of anyone else to give her his protection. That is why I approached you, although you might have preferred me not to, and after that I felt at peace for years; but if she survives now, it may not suit her to go on living among many people in so thoroughly unfamiliar a guise, and at the same time it could be extremely lonely for her off in some mountain village or other. I hope that you will remain concerned about her, in consonance with her new circumstances.”

  “I am only embarrassed that you should feel the need to say so. My confusion has been such that I hardly know what is happening.” His Grace did indeed seem extremely agitated.

  The spirit afflicting Her Highness came forth14 during the late-night prayers. “Take that, then!” it ranted. “You thought you were ever so clever getting the last one15 back, which was so annoying that I just kept lying in wait. Now I can go.” It laughed aloud. Genji was horrified. Why, has that spirit been here, too, all the time? He felt pity and dismay. Her Highness seemed to have revived a little, but she did not yet look out of danger. Her women kept their feelings to themselves, despite their shock, because they recognized that their mistress might be better off this way. Meanwhile, Genji had the Great Rite continued without a break and did everything he could for her.

  The Intendant lapsed close to unconsciousness when Her Highness's news reached him, until very little hope remained. He thought of having the Princess his wife come to him, because he was deeply concerned about her, but that might injure her dignity, and besides, his mother and father were with him all the time, and he felt that it would be disastrous if by some misfortune they were to see her. He told them that he would like to visit her one last time, but they would not hear of it.

  He begged them both to look after her. Her mother the Haven had never favored this alliance, but His Excellency had urged it on her with such enthusiasm that she allowed herself to be persuaded, and His Eminence had agreed as well, hardly knowing what else to do. His Eminence's anxiety over Her Highness moved him to observe in the end that she was the one after all who had found a promising, reliable protector, and the Intendant, who heard of his remark, now recalled it with despair. “I feel very sorry for many reasons whenever I reflect that I must soon leave her behind,” he said to his mother, “but it is not up to me whether I live or die, and what troubles me most is the idea that she may bitterly resent the broken tie between us. Do be kind to her and see to her needs.”

  “Please do not talk like that!” she replied. “How long do you suppose I will live, once you are gone, that you should speak to me this way about what lies in the future?” She was weeping too profusely for him to continue, and so he entrusted the rest of what he had to say to the Right Grand Controller.16

  The Intendant was so poised and capable that his younger brothers, especially the very youngest, looked up to him as to a father, and all were saddened that he should talk so bleakly. Every member of the household grieved. His Majesty, too, was extremely sorry. Upon learning that the Intendant was dying, His Majesty appointed him an Acting Grand Counselor on the spot, and he wondered whether the Intendant's gratitude might not give him the strength for a last visit to the palace; but the Intendant felt no such respite, and it was from his sickbed that he expressed his thanks for His Majesty's generosity. His Excellency was more stricken than ever by this evidence of His Majesty's high regard.

  The Commander deeply lamented his friend's condition and inquired after him often, and he came straight to congratulate him on his appointment. A noisy throng of people had gathered with their press of horses and carriages around the gate near the Intendant's wing. The Intendant had hardly risen at all since the year began, and he hesitated to receive so great a lord casually; but he also regretted having wasted away like this without ever doing so. “Never mind, then, come in,” he said. “I know that you will forgive me for receiving you amid such disorder.” He dismissed the monks a moment from around his pillow and had the Commander shown in.

  They had long been so close that nothing could come between them, and no parent, brother, or sister could have felt greater pain at the prospect of parting. The Commander hoped that today's happy occasion might have put the Intendant in a more cheerful mood, but alas, it had not. “Why is your health failing this way? I thought that the congratulations due you today would make you feel a little better.” He lifted a corner of the standing curtain.

  “Unfortunately, I am no longer the man I was.” The Intendant had his hat on,17 and he tried to sit up, but the effort seemed too much for him; instead he lay with the covers over him, wearing layers of comfortably soft white gowns. The room was clean and tidy, there was incense in the air, and his graceful mode of life showed that he remained alert despite his infirmity. Many a man when gravely ill becomes unkempt in beard and hair and makes a painful sight, but the Intendant in his wasted condition only looked paler and more distinguished than before. One saw how very weak he was when he raised his pillow and spoke, and one noted the pitiful faintness of his breath.

  “You have deteriorated very little, considering how long you have been unwell. Actually, you look even better now than before.” The Commander wiped his eyes nonetheless. “We promised ourselves that neither of us would go before the other. This is a terrible thing! I cannot even make out why you are so ill. We are so close, and yet I still do not know!”

  “I myself cannot say just when my condition became this serious. Nothing definable is wrong, and so I did not immediately realize what was happening to me, but I was soon so weak that by now I am hardly myself at all. Perhaps these prayers and vows are holding me back. I would gladly go, though, because it is actually a great trial to linger on like this, and if it were up to me, I would be quickly on my way. Still, there are many things I shall be sorry to leave. My parents will grieve even more when I am no longer there to serve them, and my service to my Sovereign will remain incomplete as well. As to my own fortunes, alas, there is something else besides the sorrow of leaving so many commonplace regrets, something that is my secret agony, and I wonder why I should confess it now, as my end approaches. Still, I feel as though I must speak after all, and to whom if not to you? I have all those brothers, I know, but for various reasons I cannot imagine bringing it up with them. There is a little matter on which I wronged His Grace of Rokujō, and for months I begged his pardon in my heart, until I became so miserable that I despaired of life and found that I was ill. Then I received his invitation to the music rehearsal for His Eminence's jubilee. I gathered from the way he looked at me while I was there that I was not yet forgiven, and that left me more than ever convinced that I dared live no longer. The horror I felt stirred a tempest in my heart, and as you see, I never knew peace again. I probably never counted that much for him, but he has meant a great deal to me since I was a boy, and since the question of what evil report reached him will remain my most bitter preoccupation in this life, it may easily stand in my way in the next as well. Please get his ear for a moment and explain my feelings properly to him, if you can manage to do so. If he ever pardons me, even after I am gone, you will deserve the credit for it.” The longer he spoke, the more the effort seemed to cost him. The Commander was powerfully moved. He had his own idea what the matter might be, but he could not be certain.

  Two monks

  “What could possibly prick your conscience this way? His Grace has never betrayed any such feelings. It has surprised and pained him to learn how ill you are, and he seems to be very sorry indeed about it. Why have you said nothing about this, when it worries you so much? I should have been speaking for each of you to the other. By now I suppose it is too late.” He sadly wished that he could turn back time.

  “Yes, I should really have talked to you in one of those moments when I felt a little better. Still, it never occurred to me that my hour might come so soon, and I foolishly went on telling myself that one cannot possibly know how long one has yet to live. Please never mention this to anyone else. I have told you, you know, only in order to ask you to speak for me when a suitable occasion arises. Please keep in touch with Her Highness at Ichijō18 whenever it seems proper to do so. His Eminence is certain to learn of her plight, and I hope that you will do what you can to reassure him.”

  He must have had much more to say, but he no longer had the strength to speak; instead he gestured with his hand that the Commander should leave him. The monks who were there to pray returned to his side, his parents and the others gathered around him, a great commotion arose, and the weeping Commander withdrew.

  The Commander's wife19 was grief-stricken, to say nothing of the Kokiden Consort. So generous was the Intendant's spirit, and so brotherly were his affections, that the wife of His Excellency of the Right20 felt close to him as well, and she therefore mourned him with all her heart and had prayer rites commissioned on his behalf; but no such remedy could heal his affliction,21 and it made no difference. He died as foam melts from the water, without ever managing to see the Princess again.

  His feeling for the Princess had never been deep or heartfelt, but he had treated her correctly in all ordinary matters, and since he had always been thoughtful and kind, without undue familiarity, she had never had cause to complain. She reflected on looking back that it must have been the very brevity of his life that had made him so strangely indifferent to the commonplace things of this world, and the thought was so painful that she sank into a pathetic melancholy. Her mother bitterly lamented the cruel ridicule that would be visited on her daughter.22 His Excellency and his wife naturally wished only that they had preceded their son, and they vainly burned with the pain of this break in the proper order of life.

  Her Cloistered Highness,23 to whom the Intendant's audacity had never been other than hateful and who did not wish him to live long, pitied him nonetheless when she heard the news. The way he had foreseen the birth of her son seemed to her to confirm that that dreadful incident had indeed been foreordained, and such were her many fears and sorrows that she, too, burst into tears.