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The Tale of Genji, Page 92

Murasaki Shikibu

  “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,”

  she said very low, and with a wonderful air of grace and artless distinction.

  “What do you mean?” Genji replied. “I never thought to hear you say that!

  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.”16

  He called for a kin and played, as he had not done for so long. She forgot to tell her beads and listened intently after all. The moon was out in moving glory. Genji gazed into the sky and lost himself in reflections on life's shifting ways, playing more beautifully than ever as he did so.

  His Highness of War arrived on the assumption that there would be the customary music tonight; then the Commander appeared, too, accompanied by suitable privy gentlemen. Genji's kin announced where he was, and they all went straight to join him. “I have so little to do that I wanted to hear again that rare sound I have missed so long,” he said, “although my playing alone hardly makes a proper concert. I am glad you have come.” He had a seat prepared and His Highness shown in. A moon-viewing party had been planned for tonight in His Majesty's presence, but then it had been disappointingly canceled, and the news that people were gathering at Rokujō brought several senior nobles there. They discussed which of the crickets sang best.

  Several instruments were playing to delightful effect when Genji remarked, “Every moonlit night has its own mood, but the moon's brilliance tonight sends one's thoughts soaring far beyond this world. I think of the late Intendant more and more now he is gone, and it seems to me that events both public and private have lost their savor without him. He perfectly appreciated the colors of flowers and the songs of birds, and his great intelligence always made him worth talking to.” The music he himself was playing moistened his sleeves with tears. He remained partly aware that Her Highness must be listening from within her blinds, but it was on musical occasions of this kind that he missed the gentleman the most, and His Majesty remembered him fondly, too.

  “Let us spend tonight honoring the bell cricket,” he said. The wine cup had gone round twice when a message came from Retired Emperor Reizei. The Left Grand Controller17 and the Commissioner of Ceremonial,18 disappointed by the sudden cancellation of the music at the palace, had arrived with a group of like-minded companions, and His Eminence had just learned that the Commander and several others were at Rokujō.

  “Even where I live, far removed from that realm high above the clouds,

  the moon still remembers me on a lovely autumn night.19

  ‘Oh, that I might only show…’”20 His Eminence had written.

  “As I am, I have few claims on my time, but I hardly call on him anymore now that he has taken up a life of quiet retirement, and I am afraid he wishes to remind me that he finds me remiss,” Genji explained, preparing to set off despite the appearance of acting precipitately.

  “Your moon as before shines aloft for all to see, high above the clouds,

  while such is this home of mine that for me autumn has changed. ”21

  The poem could have been better—it had probably just come to him while his thoughts dwelled on memories of His Eminence, old and new. He offered the messenger wine and rewarded him handsomely.

  The carriages were rearranged in order of rank, a large escort gathered, the quiet concert came to an end, and the party set forth. His Highness rode in Genji's carriage, and the Commander, the Intendant of the Left Gate Watch, the Fujiwara Consultant,22 and the others followed behind. They added train-robes to their costumes, since they had been wearing only dress cloaks, and under a moon risen higher yet in a lovely, late-night sky the discreet procession moved on while at Genji's request the young gentlemen casually played their flutes. Genji and His Eminence had seen each other on formal occasions amid imposing pomp and ceremony, but Genji remembered, too, the days when he had been a mere commoner, and tonight he arrived in that spirit so very simply that His Eminence was greatly surprised and delighted. In his mature years he looked more than ever like Genji. All on his own he had renounced a glorious reign, and Genji was moved to note the tranquillity of his present life. Their Chinese and Japanese poems that night were all touching and deeply felt, and I cannot bring myself to record, as usual, only a few.23 The Chinese poems were read out as dawn came on, and then everyone withdrew.

  Before going home, Genji went to Her Majestys, and the two of them talked. “I should really visit him often now,” he said, “considering the quiet life he leads, because even in the absence of any particular occasion to do so, I would like to talk over all sorts of things from a past that at my age I never forget. However, since I am really neither one thing nor the other, I am afraid of either presuming or imposing.24 So many younger people seem to have gone on before me25 that life's shifting ways have left me almost without comfort, and I find myself longing for a peaceful place to live at last, far removed from the world; except that those who remained behind would then be left forlorn. Please see to keeping them from harm, as I have already begged you to do in the past.” He spoke very gravely.

  Her Majesty replied with all her customary youth and composure. “After years spent confined in the palace, I deplore more and more frequently that my present state makes any meeting with you so difficult to arrange, and while the world that so many are leaving now is hateful to me as well, I have not yet mentioned these feelings to you because it has always been my practice to turn to you first in all things, and I have hesitated to do so.”

  “Indeed, when you were at court, I could count on certain times when you were obliged to withdraw to your home and could look forward to greeting you then, but as things are now, what excuse could you cite to move about as you wish? Life is treacherous, I know, but no one rejects the world just like that, without some grievance against it, and there are always ties to detain even someone in a position to please himself. What makes you talk this way? To some people a religious aspiration like yours, one that seeks to emulate the example of others, could only seem strange. You must give up the idea once and for all.”

  She gathered bitterly from his response that he had understood very little of what moved her. Through what hellish fumes might her mother, the Rokujō Haven, now be wandering in her agony? His Grace had done all he could to conceal the way her mother had announced her by now detested presence even after death, but gossip about it had of course reached her, and the intense shock had made life hateful. She longed to know exactly what her mother had said in the course of these visitations,26 but she could not bring herself to speak plainly and instead touched only obliquely on the matter. “I have vaguely gathered that the departed's present state suggests a heavy burden of sin, which is easy enough to assume even in the absence of proof, but I myself will never forget the sorrow of losing her, and it is very distressing to me not to be more considerate of her in the beyond. I long more and more to accept the guidance of those who speak comfort27 and to quench those flames, all on my own if need be, and that is the reason I now feel as I do.”

  Genji quite understood her mood, and he was moved. “Those are flames that no one evades, as we all know, yet we who go with the morning dew still cling to what we have. The holy man Mokuren was close to the Buddha, and they say that he saved his mother immediately, but I doubt that you are up to following his example,28 and even if you renounced the jade in your hair, you might still regret this world bitterly. Cultivate the resolve you mentioned and do what must be done to free her from the smoke. I share your wish, and yet what with one thing and another, I spend my days and nights in a manner far removed from the peace I desire; all I can do now is quietly to add prayers for her to my own devotions, which, as you say, is indeed all too little.” Thus they confessed to each other their distaste for this world and their wish to renounce it, but it was not yet time for them, as they still were, to put off th
eir finery.

  Genji's discreet, lighthearted excursion of the evening before was well known by morning, and all the senior nobles and others gathered at His Eminence's attended him on his return. He derived great satisfaction from the success with which he had reared the Heir Apparent's Consort, since it was evident in her present glory and from the Commander's clear superiority over all others, but his deepest affection still went to His Eminence Reizei, who meant so much to him. His Eminence, too, had always longed to be closer to Genji, and the unfortunate rarity of their meetings was what had spurred him to take up his present, quieter life.

  In contrast, Her Majesty could now leave him even less than before, for they were constantly together like any commoner couple, and they enjoyed music more brilliant and stylish than any heard during his reign. No aspect of her circumstances could fail to please her, were it not that concern for her mother confirmed her desire to devote herself to pious practice. She would never have leave to do so, however, and she therefore busied herself with good works, realizing meanwhile ever more profoundly the true character of this world.

  39

  YŪGIRI

  Evening Mist

  One misty evening Yūgiri (the word means “evening mist”) visits the villa in the hills to which Ochiba no Miya has retired with her mother, and there he sends her the poem that gave both him and the chapter their name:

  “While such evening mists as bring a mountain village new melancholy

  veil the sky, I cannot wish to leave and set out for home.”

  RELATIONSHIP TO EARLIER CHAPTERS

  “Evening Mist” begins at about the same time as the end of “The Bell Cricket” (the two chapters overlap slightly) and lasts into the winter of the same year.

  PERSONS

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

  Her Highness of Ichijō, the Second Princess (Ochiba no Miya)

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

  The Haven, mother of Ochiba no Miya (Ichijō no Miyasudokoro)

  His Reverence, the Master of Discipline

  The Commander's wife, 31 (Kumoi no Kari)

  Koshōshō, a gentlewoman in Ochiba no Miya's household and also her cousin

  The Governor of Yamato, Ochiba no Miya's cousin and Koshōshō's brother

  Lady Murasaki, 42

  His Excellency (Tō no Chūjō)

  His Cloistered Eminence, 53 (Suzaku In)

  The lady of the northeast quarter (Hanachirusato)

  The Chamberlain Lieutenant, one of Tō no Chūjō's sons

  The Dame of Staff, Koremitsu's daughter

  The Commander, ever the stalwart gentleman he was reputed to be, had decided that Her Highness at Ichijō was exactly what he wanted, and he cultivated her goodwill assiduously, maintaining meanwhile before the world an appearance of respect for the memory of the departed. Secretly, he became more and more convinced as the months and days went by that things could not end as they were now. Amid the growing loneliness and monotony of her life the Haven was touched and grateful for his attentions, because his constant visits were often a great comfort to her.

  He had never ventured the slightest hint to Her Highness, for, he thought, I would only give offense if all at once I were to start putting on suggestive airs and graces, but I will show her the depth of my devotion, and I know that she will yield in time. He seized every chance for a glimpse of her. She herself never said a word. He was watching for an opportunity to express himself plainly and to gauge her response when the Haven became gravely afflicted by a spirit and moved to a mountain villa of hers at Ono.1 She did so because her preferred healer, a Master of Discipline2 who had always banished spirits for her, had retired into the mountains and sworn never to go out among men again; and since the place was among the foothills, it was one to which she could have him come. The Commander provided her escort and even her carriage, while all the young gentlemen3 who really had once been close to her were too busy with their own lives to give her a moment's thought. The Controller4 had let it be known that he was not uninterested, but he had met such a rebuff that he never insisted on calling again.

  The Commander went about his approach very discreetly and cautiously. He was thoughtful enough even to send offerings of pure raiment5 for the monks and so on when he learned that the Haven was commissioning prayer services. Since she was unable to thank him, Her Highness was the one who replied when her gentlewomen observed to her that a note written by them would offend so grand a gentleman. The unassumingly pleasing writing of her single line,6 and the warmth of her accompanying words, made him more eager than ever to be with her, and he began to send her frequent letters. Things became difficult when his wife noticed that there seemed to be something going on between them, and he could not call on her immediately, as he would have so much liked to do.

  Brushwood fence

  It was the middle of the eighth month, and the countryside was lovely; he longed to see what it was like at her villa in the hills. “The Master of Discipline is down there for once, I hear,” he blandly explained, “and there is something I simply must discuss with him. I am off, then, since this will also give me an opportunity to inquire after the Haven's health.” His discreet escort consisted of no more than five or six men in hunting cloaks. The destination was far into the mountains, but the hills above Matsugasaki, if not exactly noble crags, nonetheless wore their autumn colors, and their beauty absorbed him more than did that superb garden in the City.7

  The light, brushwood fence had genuine style and distinction, although the Haven planned only a short stay. A fire altar8 had been built in an extension on the east side of what he took to be the main house, and since she occupied the north, Her Highness was at the front of the chamber, to the west. The Haven would have preferred her daughter not to come at all, for fear of the afflicting spirit, but Her Highness had not wanted to leave her mother, who had therefore had a light partition put up between them. She would not allow her any nearer, lest the spirit move to her.

  There being nowhere to receive a guest, he was brought in to sit before Her Highness's blinds,9 whence the older gentlewomen conveyed his greetings. “I am extremely grateful for all your kind letters and for this thoughtful visit from you,” the Haven replied. “The fear of being unable to thank you properly, should anything happen to me, has inspired me to wish to live a little longer.”

  “I had hoped to escort you here, but alas, I was detained at Rokujō and therefore could not do so. So many things preoccupy me from day to day that I regret having been far less attentive to you than I would wish.”

  Her Highness sat very quietly far back in the room, but among such simple furnishings and in so plain a setting it naturally was clear that she was there. The rustle of her slightest movement made it obvious. The agitated Commander talked as usual with Koshōshō10 and the other women, while messages passed between him and the rather distant Haven. “I have been calling for some years now,” he remarked, “and it is very disappointing that Her Highness still receives me so coolly. To think that even now, before her very blinds, I send her my distant greetings through somebody else! I have never seen the like! My old-fashioned ways must be making her and the rest of you smile—it is so embarrassing! I would feel less awkward now if only I had practiced gallantry a little more when I was young and hardly mattered. No, no one else at my age could possibly be so fussy and dull!”

  Indeed, nothing about him encouraged cavalier treatment, and his words confirmed the women in what they had long assumed. “My lady, it would not become you to fail to reply as he deserves,” they said, nudging one another. “It is as though his complaint meant nothing to you.”

  This is the message that reached him: “I should properly remedy my mother's unfortunate inability to reply to you in person, but it has tested me greatly to nurse her through such a time of danger, and I am afraid that I simply cannot do so.”

  “Is this from Her Highness?” He sat up straight. “Why is it that
I feel your mother's suffering as though it were my own?” he answered. “What has brought me here, if I may say so, is my conviction that it is vital for you both, when you yourself have had such occasion to mourn, that she should remain in good health to see you into happier times. I am very sorry that you should take my goodwill to be directed to her alone and fail to perceive my long-standing concern for you as well.”

  The gentlewomen assured Her Highness that what he said was quite right.

  Sunset was approaching, mist beautifully veiled the sky, and the mountain's shadow seemed to dim, while everywhere cicadas sang11 and pinks gracefully nodded their pretty colors along the fence.12 The flowers in the near garden bloomed in bright profusion to cooling water sounds, while the pines sighed like a forest in the mournful mountain wind; and when the bell rang in new monks to take up the perpetual scripture reading for the old, the voices of both blended a moment to awesome effect. The melancholy of the place gave a sad cast to all his thoughts. He did not wish to leave. The Master of Discipline could be heard at his prayers, chanting the darani in inspiring tones.