The Tale of Genji . Murasaki Shikibu
brings words, all softly, to the reed,
And the under leaves are nipped again by the frost.”
It might have been cleverer and in better taste not to have disguised the clumsy handwriting. He thought of the face he had seen by lamplight. He could forget neither of them, the governor’s wife, seated so primly before him, or the younger woman, chattering on so contentedly, without the smallest suggestion of reserve. The stirrings of a susceptible heart suggested that he still had important lessons to learn.
Quietly, forty-ninth-day services were held for the dead lady in the Lotus Hall on Mount Hiei. There was careful attention to all the details, the priestly robes and the scrolls and the altar decorations. Koremitsu’s older brother was a priest of considerable renown, and his conduct of the services was beyond reproach. Genji summoned a doctor of letters with whom he was friendly and who was his tutor in Chinese poetry and asked him to prepare a final version of the memorial petition. Genji had prepared a draft. In moving language he committed the one he had loved and lost, though he did not mention her name, to the mercy of Amitābha.
“It is perfect, just as it is. Not a word needs to be changed.” Noting the tears that refused to be held back, the doctor wondered who might be the subject of these prayers. That Genji should not reveal the name, and that he should be in such open grief — someone, no doubt, who had brought a very large bounty of grace from earlier lives.
Genji attached a poem to a pair of lady’s trousers which were among his secret offerings:
“I weep and weep as today I tie this cord.
It will be untied in an unknown world to come.”
He invoked the holy name with great feeling. Her spirit had wandered uncertainly these last weeks. Today it would set off down one of the ways of the future.
His heart raced each time he saw Tō no Chūjō. He longed to tell his friend that “the wild carnation” was alive and well; but there was no point in calling forth reproaches.
In the house of the “evening faces,” the women were at a loss to know what had happened to their lady. They had no way of inquiring. And Ukon too had disappeared. They whispered among themselves that they had been right about that gentleman, and they hinted at their suspicions to Koremitsu. He feigned complete ignorance, however, and continued to pursue his little affairs. For the poor women it was all like a nightmare. perhaps the wanton son of some governor, fearing Tō no Chūjō, had spirited her off to the country? The owner of the house was her nurse’s daughter. She was one of three children and related to Ukon. She could only long for her lady and lament that Ukon had not chosen to enlighten them. Ukon for her part was loath to raise a stir, and Genji did not want gossip at this late date. Ukon could not even inquire after the child. And so the days went by bringing no light on the terrible mystery.
Genji longed for a glimpse of the dead girl, if only in a dream. On the day after the services he did have a fleeting dream of the woman who had appeared that fatal night. He concluded, and the thought filled him with horror, that he had attracted the attention of an evil spirit haunting the neglected villa.
Early in the Tenth Month the governor of iyo left for his post, taking the lady of the locust shell with him. Genji chose his farewell presents with great care. For the lady there were numerous fans, and combs of beautiful workmanship, and pieces of cloth (she could see that he had had them dyed specially) for the wayside gods. He also returned her robe, “the shell of the locust.”
“A keepsake till we meet again, I had hoped,
And see, my tears have rotted the sleeves away.”
There were other things too, but it would be tedious to describe them. His messenger returned empty-handed. It was through her brother that she answered his poem.
“Autumn comes, the wings of the locust are shed.
A summer robe returns, and I weep aloud.”
She had remarkable singleness of purpose, whatever else she might have. It was the first day of winter. There were chilly showers, as if to mark the occasion and the skies were dark. He spent the day lost in thought.
“The one has gone, to the other I say farewell.
They go their unknown ways. The end of autumn.”
He knew how painful a secret love can be.
I had hoped, out of deference to him, to conceal these difficult matters; but I have been accused of romancing, of pretending that because he was the son of an emperor he had no faults. Now, perhaps, I shall be accused of having revealed too much.
The Tale of Genji, by Murasaki Shikibu
Chapter 5
Lavender
Traditionally credited to Tosa Mitsuoki (1617–1691).
Part of the Burke Albums, property of Mary Griggs Burke
Genji was suffering from repeated attacks of malaria. All manner of religious services were commissioned, but they did no good.
In a certain temple in the northern hills, someone reported, there lived a sage who was a most accomplished worker of cures. “During the epidemic last summer all sorts of people went to him. He was able to cure them immediately when all other treatment had failed. You must not let it have its way. You must summon him at once.”
Genji sent off a messenger, but the sage replied that he was old and bent and unable to leave his cave.
There was no help for it, thought Genji: he must quietly visit the man. He set out before dawn, taking four or five trusted attendants with him.
The temple was fairly deep in the northern hills. Though the cherry blossoms had already fallen in the city, it being late in the Third Month, the mountain cherries were at their best. The deepening mist as the party entered the hills delighted him. He did not often go on such expeditions, for he was of such rank that freedom of movement was not permitted him.
The temple itself was a sad place. The old man’s cave was surrounded by rocks, high in the hills behind. Making his way up to it, Genji did not at first reveal his identity. He was in rough disguise, but the holy man immediately saw that he was someone of importance.
“This is a very great honor. You will be the gentleman who sent for me? My mind has left the world, and I have so neglected the ritual that it has quite gone out of my head. I fear that your journey has been in vain.” Yet he got busily to work, and he smiled his pleasure at the visit.
He prepared medicines and had Genji drink them, and as he went through his spells and incantations the sun rose higher. Genji walked a fewsteps from the cave and surveyed the scene. The temple was on a height with other temples spread out below it. Down a winding path he saw a wattled fence of better workmanship than similar fences nearby. The halls and galleries within were nicely disposed and there were fine trees in the garden.
“Whose house might that be?”
“A certain bishop, I am told, has been living there in seclusion for the last two years or so.”
“Someone who calls for ceremony — and ceremony is hardly possible in these clothes. He must not know that I am here.”
Several pretty little girls had come out to draw water and cut flowers for the altar.
“And I have been told that a lady is in residence too. The bishop can hardly be keeping a mistress. I wonder who she might be.”
Several of his men went down to investigate, and reported upon what they had seen. “Some very pretty young ladies and some older women too, and some little girls.”
Despite