The Tale of Genji, Page 91

  “I would have the wind, if I may indulge that hope, blow upon this flute

  a music for generations to pass on down in my own line.

  I had someone else in mind,” the figure said.

  The Commander was about to ask a question when he woke up to the crying of a baby boy, frightened in his sleep. The boy was crying very loudly and retching up milk. His nurse arose in haste while the lady of the house had the lamp brought near, tucked her hair behind her ears, wiped and tidied the baby, and held him in her arms. She bared a beautifully full, rounded breast for him to suck. He was a very sweet baby, ever so white and pretty, and she enjoyed comforting him this way even though she had no milk.

  “What is the matter?” he asked, going to her. The commotion of the women scattering rice16 must have completely dispelled the mood of his dream.

  “He seems upset. I suppose that a spirit has got in as usual, what with you wandering around like a young man and then coming back to raise the shutters and admire the moon.”

  This reproach from a face so young and pretty made him smile. “I let in a spirit? It could not have got in if I had not raised that shutter, though, I agree. The more children you have, the more wisely you talk.”

  The way he looked at her made her shy, and she fell silent after all. “Now, stop that. I am not fit to be seen,” she said. Her bashful figure in the bright lamplight made quite a nice picture. The baby took up the rest of the night with his fussing.

  What am I to do with this flute, then? the Commander wondered, remembering his dream. It means a great deal to him, and it is not for me. Having it from a woman means nothing.17 What can he have been thinking? They say someone caught up at the end in single-minded love or hate must wander the darkness of eternal night. That is exactly why I do not want to leave any attachment behind when I go. In this mood he had scriptures read at Otagi and at other temples the late Intendant had favored, and he decided that while it certainly would be a good deed to offer the flute directly to the Buddha, since it had come to him as a treasured gift, that would be too easy. Accordingly, he set out for Rokujō.

  Minding a baby

  Genji was then with the Consort. He had chosen her Third Prince, now three and the most attractive of her children, to live with him, and the little boy came running up to the visitor.18 “Commander, Commander,” he cried with mischievous self-deference, “pick up His Highness and take him with you!”19

  The Commander smiled. “Come, then. But I cannot very well walk straight past her ladyship's20 blinds with you! That would be very rude.” He sat down and took the boy in his arms.

  “Nobody is looking! I'll hide! Do it! Do it!” The enchanting little fellow put his sleeve over his face, and the Commander took him along. He found Genji there, fussing over the Second Prince and his own little boy,21 who were playing together.

  “The Commander has to carry me, too!” the Second Prince announced when he saw the Commander put his younger brother down in the corner.22

  “But the Commander is mine!” the Third Prince protested, holding tightly to him.

  “You are naughty boys!” Genji scolded them when he noticed. “There you are, fighting over His Majesty's guardsman and wanting him all for yourselves! You, the Third Prince, are a proper rascal. You are always trying to do your brother in!”

  The Commander laughed. “The Second Prince is such a good fellow, giving in that way just as an elder brother should. To my mind he is almost frightening for his age.”

  The smiling Genji thought them both quite delightful. “That is no place for a senior noble like you to sit,” he said. “Let us go back.” However, the Princes clung to him when he moved to set off, and they would not let him go. At heart he did not believe that he should treat Her Cloistered Highness's child as their equal, but the boy's mother, with her bad conscience, might mistake his reason for not doing so, and he was kind enough by nature to give him all the care that he would have lavished on a treasure.

  Acutely aware that he had not yet had a good look at the boy, the Commander picked up a fallen branch from a flowering tree and beckoned to him with it when he appeared in the gap between two blinds. The boy came running. He had on only a violet dress cloak, and his plump figure was very pleasing indeed, with his beautifully white, glowing skin and his features that outshone the Princes’. Perhaps it was the Commander's imagination, but while the boy's glance had somewhat more force and intelligence than that of the gentleman he had in mind, the strikingly graceful outline of his eyes was almost the same. That mouth, with its peculiarly brilliant smile—perhaps his eyes were deceiving him, but Genji must surely have noticed. He wanted more and more to see how his father would take the subject he meant to bring up. The Princes of course displayed becoming pride, but otherwise they were quite ordinarily attractive children, while this boy's great distinction made him unusually appealing. How awful! The Commander compared them in his mind. If my suspicion is correct, then my father is quite wrong not to inform His Excellency, who weeps and grieves that no one should come forward to call himself the Intendant's son and who so wishes that the Intendant had left a child to be remembered by. But no, he caught himself, it cannot be. He could make no sense of it. The little boy was sweet and dear, and he found him a pleasure to play with.

  They went to the east wing, and the sun began to set while they talked quietly. Genji smiled at the Commander's account of how he had been to the Princess's at Ichijō the day before and of how he had found her. They were going over various memories of the late, lamented Intendant when Genji observed, “Yes, her idea of playing ‘I Love Him So’ certainly deserves to be cited as an example hereafter, but it all goes to remind one that a woman should never make the slightest gesture that might arouse a man's interest. As long as you have given her to understand that you have not forgotten his kindness in the past and that you remain devoted to his memory, I believe you are better off, both for your sake and for hers, to keep everything with her perfectly proper and to let no common temptation lead you astray.”

  Right you are! the Commander said to himself. You are expert enough at giving other people advice, but what about when the gallantry is yours? “In what way would I go astray?” he asked aloud. “Obviously, now that I have begun to show sympathy for her loss, I would only come under the usual kind of suspicion if I were suddenly to stop. As for ‘I Love Him So,’ it would be one thing if she had been forward enough to start it herself, but the little she played in response to me was entirely appropriate and, I thought, very nice. Everything depends on the person and the circumstances. She is not that young anymore, nor am I myself much given to light or gallant behavior, and I suppose she must have felt at ease with me, because her whole manner was warm and pleasant.”

  He had contrived the perfect moment, and he now moved a little closer to Genji to bring up his dream. Genji listened but did not immediately reply. He saw that the dream made sense.

  “The flute is for me to look after,” he said. “There is a reason for that. It once belonged to Emperor Yōzei.23 His Late Highness of Ceremonial,24 who valued it extremely, felt that even as a boy the Intendant had drawn a particularly beautiful tone from it, and so one day at a party he gave to celebrate hagi, he made him a present of it. The Haven probably did not quite understand what she was doing.” How could one possibly mistake “to pass down in my own line”? he wondered. That must be what he had in mind. The Commander is extremely quick, and he has undoubtedly got it.

  The Commander kept his eyes on his father's face and felt increasingly constrained. For a moment he found nothing to say, but being determined to press the matter, he remarked vaguely, as though only now reminded of the moment, “I went to see him at the very end, and one of the things he asked me again and again to do after he was gone was to convey to you the profound apology that he felt he owed you. I wonder what he meant. So far I have not been able to make any sense of it.” He spoke as though quite mystified.

  I knew it! Still, Genji saw no reas
on to acknowledge what had happened, and for a moment he feigned incomprehension. “I am afraid that I cannot remember ever giving him reason to feel bitterly toward me. At any rate, I shall think over the dream you describe and let you know. Women often warn against discussing a dream at night.”

  It was hardly an answer, and they say that it left the Commander anxious about what his father might think of him for having brought up the matter at all.

  38

  SUZUMUSHI

  The Bell Cricket

  The suzumushi (“bell cricket”) sings in autumn. On the great full-moon night of the eighth month, Genji and Onna San no Miya exchange poems in praise of its song. To Onna San no Miya's

  “I have long since learned how very cruel a time autumn often brings,

  yet I would not wish to lose the bell cricket's lovely song,”

  Genji answers,

  “You may, for yourself, have no wish but to be free of this poor abode,

  yet your sweet bell cricket song for me never will grow old.”

  RELATIONSHIP TO EARLIER CHAPTERS

  “The Bell Cricket” takes place in the summer and early autumn of the year following “The Flute.”

  PERSONS

  His Grace, the Honorary Retired Emperor, Genji, age 50

  Her Cloistered Highness, 24 or 25 (Onna San no Miya)

  The Lecturer (Kōji)

  His Highness of War, Genji's brother (Hotaru Hyōbukyō no Miya)

  The Commander, Genji's son, 29 (Yūgiri)

  His Eminence, Retired Emperor Reizei, 31

  Her Majesty, the Empress, 42 (Akikonomu)

  Genji arranged to have Her Cloistered Highness's sacred images1 made and dedicated that summer, when the lotuses were in full bloom. For the occasion he took advantage of all the things that he had had assembled for her personal chapel. He had the banners2 made from a particularly lovely and intriguing Chinese brocade; Lady Murasaki had them sewn. The flower-stand covers, with their pretty tie-dyed pattern, were especially attractive, and the dyeing had been done in a most unusual way. The night curtains were rolled up on all four sides,3 and a Lotus Mandala4 hung at the back. Offerings of flowers in magnificent colors stood before it in tall silver vases. The incense burning on the altar was Chinese and of “hundred paces” quality, and the Amida and his two attendant bodhisattvas5 were very finely and beautifully made from white sandalwood. The holy-water vessel was notably small, as usual, and adorned with blue, white, and purple lotuses. The incense, compounded according to the “lotus petal” method with the addition of only a sprinkling of honey,6 diffused a fragrance that blended perfectly with that of the lotuses on the altar. Genji had provided six copies of the sutra, one for sentient beings in each of the six realms,7 and he himself had made her own. The prayer he had written to accompany it expressed the wish that this scripture, at least, should preserve the bond between them and that they should assist one another on the path. As for the Amida Sutra,8 he doubted that Chinese paper was strong enough for a scripture that she would handle day and night, and he had called in men from the paper workshop to make paper for the purpose. In the spring he had applied himself with all his heart to copying out the text, and the least glimpse of the scroll dazzled the viewer. The luminous quality of the writing itself was even more extraordinary than the lines ruled in gold. There is no need to describe the scroll's roller, mounting paper, or box. It rested on an aloeswood stand that stood on the dais with the sacred images.

  The Lecturer9 arrived once the chapel was finished, and the gentlemen gathered to distribute the incense.10 On his way there, Genji looked into the west aisle, where Her Highness was, and found her installed in rather hot and cramped surroundings among fifty or sixty elaborately dressed gentlewomen. Page girls were wandering about all the way to the north aisle, and the air was heavy with smoke fanned from several incense burners. He went to the women. “When you want to perfume the air, you should arrange it so that no one knows where the smoke is coming from,” he said. “More smoke than ever rose from Mount Fuji is not a good idea. You must make no noise while the preaching is going on, and you should also avoid any unrestrained, casual rustling or movement, since one is supposed to listen quietly and with full attention.” It was just like him to have a few words of advice even for the inexperienced young women. Her Highness lay there oppressed by all the people and looking very pretty and small. “Your little boy may get in the way,” he said. “You should send him somewhere out of sight.”

  The sliding panels on the north had been replaced by blinds through which the women entered. It was touching to see how Genji made sure they were settled and then carefully explained to Her Highness the progress of the rite.

  The sight of this beautiful altar where she had once slept stirred many thoughts. “I never imagined us arranging any ceremony like this together,” he said. “Very well, imagine us both lodged in one flower at least in the life to come!” He burst into tears, then moistened a brush on her inkstone to write on her clove-dyed fan,

  “In our future life we will share one lotus throne, that I promise you;

  yet how sad it is today that we part as dewdrops do.”

  She wrote in reply,

  “Promise as you please a single throne for us both on one lotus flower,

  surely you do not at heart wish to be with me at all.”

  “How you dash my hopes!” He smiled, but one easily saw how sad he felt.

  The Princes all came, as usual, and the ladies of Rokujō had eagerly provided generous offerings of their own. Everything else, including the vestments for the seven priests,11 had been prepared by Lady Murasaki. The vestments were silk twill, and even the way the stoles were sewn must have impressed the discerning eye, but these little things are all too much to describe. The Lecturer gave an inspiring explanation of the rite, and with a flood of the learned eloquence that had justly earned him his fame, he acknowledged the holy resolve with which Her Cloistered Highness was now putting behind her all thought of worldly glory to entrust herself for all future lives to the Lotus Sutra. It was a solemn moment, and the assembly wept.

  Genji had hoped to keep this inauguration of Her Cloistered Highness's private chapel a secret, but His Majesty and His Cloistered Eminence on his mountain had both heard of it, and both sent envoys. Offerings for the scripture readings poured in on an impressive scale. An event arranged by Genji was always out of the ordinary, even when he had originally meant to keep it simple, and the splendid touches added to this one naturally meant that the monks returned to their temple that evening laden with such wealth that they hardly knew where to put it all.

  Genji now felt worse about Her Cloistered Highness than ever, and he pampered her without reserve. Her father let him know that appearances would be served if she were to move to the residence that he intended for her, but Genji would not have it. “I would worry about her if she were that far away,” he said, “and I would greatly miss being able to see her and talk to her day or night. It is true that I now have little time left, but at least for as long as I live, I prefer not to be deprived of the opportunity to make it clear how much she means to me.” Meanwhile, he had the Sanjō residence in question done up very beautifully indeed, and he had its storehouses filled with the best of the products derived from her emoluments or sent in offering from her estates and pastures in the provinces. Indeed, he built new ones as well and placed in them, with scrupulous care, every treasure that was hers or that had been given to her in such vast abundance by her father. The attentions he continually lavished on her and his kindness toward her many women, high or low, all proceeded entirely from his own generosity.

  Holy-water shelf

  That autumn he turned the garden before the western bridgeway, up to the east side of the median fence,12 into a wild moor, and he decorated that part of the house most becomingly with a holy-water shelf and so on. He also chose and assigned to her service not only those who had become nuns for love of her—her nurses and senior women and so on—
but also the younger ones, still in the flower of their youth, whom it had suited to spend the rest of their lives in this manner. Many vied to join them, but when Genji heard how eager they were, he declared that he would not allow it. ‘The presence among them of a single one who lacks the heart for it would disturb the others around her and would risk giving them all an invidious name,” he warned. Hardly more than ten now served Her Cloistered Highness in their new guise.

  He had crickets13 released on the garden moor, and on evenings when the breeze was a little cooler, he would come there as though to listen to their song. This caused Her Highness very great distress, because he still made it plain to her that he had not given her up, and she saw that what he had in mind could not be allowed. To all appearances he treated her exactly as before, but it was obvious that his anger lived on and that he had in fact completely changed toward her. Her wish at all costs to avoid him in this mood was what had decided her to become a nun, and he should have left her in peace by now, but instead she suffered so much from his continued pursuit that she longed to move elsewhere, far away. However, she lacked the courage to insist.

  At dusk on the fifteenth night Her Highness sat before her altar, near the veranda, abstractedly calling the Name. Two or three young nuns were offering flowers. The holy-water vessel rang, there were water sounds, and all this bustle over such unfamiliar tasks put her in a very melancholy mood. Just then, as so often, Genji entered. “The crickets are singing everywhere this evening!” he remarked and quietly joined her, in low but inspiring tones, to chant the great darani of the Buddha Amida. There were indeed many crickets singing, and among them the bell crickets' voices rose bravely and beautifully above the rest. “All the autumn crickets’ songs are lovely,” he said, “but Her Majesty14 especially preferred pine crickets, and those are the ones she gathered from distant moors to release in her garden. I hear very few went on singing there, though. Pine crickets probably do not live long, despite what their name suggests.15 They really and truly sing only in the mountains, where no one can hear them, or among the pine forests below, which suggests that they prefer solitude. The bell cricket's gentle freshness is what makes it so appealing.”