Kitabı oku: «Japanese Literature», sayfa 15
Such was the tedious discourse which the priest held on the subject of his family affairs; yet it is not surprising that it awakened an interest in the susceptible mind of Genji for the fair maiden thus described as so promising. The priest at last, in spite of the shyness and reserve of the daughter, and the unwillingness of the mother, conducted Genji to the hill-side mansion, and introduced him to the maiden. In the course of time they gradually became more than mere acquaintances to each other. For some time Genji often found himself at the hill-side mansion, and her society appeared to afford him greater pleasure than anything else, but this did not quite meet with the approval of his conscience, and the girl in the mansion at Nijio returned to his thoughts. If this flirtation of his should become known to her, he thought, it perhaps would be very annoying to her. True, she was not much given to be jealous, but he well remembered the occasional complaints she had now and then made to him while in the capital. These feelings induced him to write more frequently and more minutely to her, and he soon began to frequent the hill-side mansion less often. His leisure hours were spent in sketching, as he used to do in Suma, and writing short poetic effusions explanatory of the scenery. This was also going on in the mansion at Nijio, where Violet passed the long hours away in painting different pictures, and also in writing, in the form of a diary, what she saw and did. What will be the issue of all these things?
Now, since the spring of the year there had been several heavenly warnings in the capital, and things in general were somewhat unsettled. On the evening of the thirteenth of March, when the rain and wind had raged, the late Emperor appeared in a dream to his son the Emperor, in front of the palace, looking reproachfully upon him. The Emperor showed every token of submission and respect when the dead Emperor told him of many things, all of which concerned Genji's interests. The Emperor became alarmed, and when he awoke he told his mother all about his dream. She, however, told him that on such occasions, when the storm rages, and the sky is obscured by the disturbance of the elements, all things, especially on which our thoughts have been long occupied, appear to us in a dream in a disturbed sleep; and she continued, "I further counsel you not to be too hastily alarmed by such trifles." From this time he began to suffer from sore eyes, which may have resulted from the angry glances of his father's spirit. About the same time the father of the Empress-mother died. His death was by no means premature; but yet, when such events take place repeatedly, it causes the mind to imagine there is something more than natural going on, and this made the Empress-mother feel a little indisposed.
The Emperor then constantly told her that if Genji were left in his present condition it might induce evil, and, therefore, it would be better to recall him, and restore his titles and honors to him. She obstinately opposed these ideas, saying, "If a person who proved to be guilty, and has retired from the capital, were to be recalled before the expiration of at least three years, it would naturally show the weakness of authority."
She gained her point, and thus the days were spent and the year changed.
The Emperor still continually suffered from indisposition, and the unsettled state of things remained the same as before. A prince had been born to him, who was now about two years old, and he began to think of abdicating the throne in favor of the Heir-apparent, the child of the Princess Wistaria. When he looked around to see who would best minister public affairs, he came to think that the disgrace of Genji was a matter not to be allowed to continue, and at last, contrary to the advice of his mother, he issued a public permission for Genji's return to the capital, which was repeated at the end of July. Genji therefore prepared to come back. Before, however, he started, a month passed away, which time was mostly spent in the society of the lady of the hill-side mansion. The expected journey of Genji was now auspicious, even to him, and ought also to have been so to the family of the priest, but parting has always something painful in its nature. This was more so because the girl had by this time the witness of their love in her bosom, but he told her that he would send for her when his position was assured in the capital.
Towards the middle of August everything was in readiness, and Genji started on his journey homeward. He went to Naniwa, where he had the ceremony of Horai performed. To the temple of Sumiyoshi he sent a messenger to say that the haste of his journey prevented him coming at this time, but that he would fulfil his vows as soon as circumstances would permit. From Naniwa he proceeded to the capital, and returned once more, after an absence of nearly three years, to his mansion at Nijiô. The joy and excitement of the inmates of the mansion were unbounded, and the development of Violet charmed his eyes. His delight was great and the pleasure of his mind was of the most agreeable nature; still, from time to time, in the midst of this very pleasure, the recollection of the maiden whom he had left at Akashi occurred to his thoughts. But this kind of perturbation was only the result of what had arisen from the very nature of Genji's character.
Before the lapse of many days all his titles and honors were restored to him, and he was soon created an extra Vice-Dainagon.
All those who had lost dignities or office on account of Genji's complications were also restored to them. It seemed to these like a sudden and unexpected return of spring to the leafless tree.
In the course of a few days Genji was invited by the Emperor to come and see him. The latter had scarcely recovered from his indisposition, and was still looking weak and thin. When Genji appeared before him, he manifested great pleasure, and they conversed together in a friendly way till the evening.
CHAPTER XIV
THE BEACON
Genji well remembered the dream which he had dreamt at Suma, and in which his father, the late ex-Emperor, had made a faint allusion to his fallen state. He was always thinking of having solemn service performed for him, which might prove to be a remedy for evils.
He was now in the capital, and at liberty to do anything he wished. In October, therefore, he ordered the grand ceremony of Mihakkô to be performed for the repose of the dead. Meanwhile the respect of the public towards Genji had now returned to its former state, and he himself had become a distinguished personage in the capital. The Empress-mother, though indisposed, regretted she had not ruined Genji altogether; while the Emperor, who had not forgotten the injunction of the late ex-Emperor, felt satisfied with his recent disposition towards his half-brother, which he believed to be an act of goodness.
This he felt the more, because he noticed the improvement in his health continued from day to day, and he experienced a sensation of fresh vigor. He did not, however, believe he should be long on the throne, and when he found himself lonely, he often sent for Genji, and spent hours conversing with him, without any reserve, on public affairs.
In February of the next year the ceremony of the "Gembuk" of the Heir-apparent, who was eleven years of age, was performed.
At the end of the same month the Emperor abdicated the throne in favor of the Heir-apparent, and his own son was made the Heir-apparent to the new Emperor.
The suddenness of these changes struck the Empress-mother with surprise, but she was told by her son that his abdication had been occasioned by his desire to enjoy quiet and repose.
The new reign opened with several changes in public affairs. Genji had been made Naidaijin. He filled this extra office of Daijin because there was no vacancy either in the Sadaijin or the Udaijin. He was to take an active part in the administration, but as he was not yet disposed to engage in the busy cares of official life, the ex-Sadaijin, his father-in-law, was solicited to become the regent for the young Emperor. He at first declined to accept the office, on the ground that he was advanced in age, that he had already retired from official life, and that the decline of his life left him insufficient energy. There was, however, an example in a foreign State, where some wise councillors, who resigned and had retired into the far-off mountains when their country was in a disturbed state, came forth from their retreat, with their snow-crowned heads, and took part in the administration of affairs. Nor was it an unusual thing for a statesman who had retired from political scenes to assume again a place under another government.
So the ex-Sadaijin did not persist in his refusal, but finally accepted the post of Dajiôdaijin (the Premier). He was now sixty-three years of age. His former retirement had taken place more on account of his disgust with the world than from his indisposition, and hence, when he accepted his new post, he at once showed how capable he was of being a responsible Minister. Tô-no-Chiûjiô, his eldest son, was also made the Gon-Chiûnagon. His daughter by his wife, the fourth daughter of Udaijin, was now twelve years old, and was shortly expected to be presented at Court; while his son, who had sung the "high sand" at a summer-day reunion at Genji's mansion, received a title. The young Genji too, the son of the late Lady Aoi, was admitted to the Court of the Emperor and of the Heir-apparent.
The attendants who faithfully served the young Genji, and those in the mansion at Nijiô, had all received a satisfactory token of appreciation from Genji, who now began to have a mansion repaired, which was situated to the east of the one in which he resided, and which had formerly belonged to his father. This he did with a notion of placing there some of his intimate friends, such as the younger one of the ladies in the "Villa of Falling Flowers."
Now the young maiden also, whom Genji had left behind at Akashi, and who had been in delicate health, did not pass away from his thoughts. He despatched a messenger there on the first of March, as he deemed the happy event would take place about that time. When the messenger returned, he reported that she was safely delivered of a girl on the sixteenth of the month.
He remembered the prediction of an astrologer who had told him that an Emperor would be born to him, and another son who would eventually become a Dajiôdaijin. He also remembered that a daughter, who would be afterwards an Empress, would be also born to him, by a lady inferior to the mothers of the other two children. When he reflected on this prediction and on the series of events, he began thinking of the remarkable coincidences they betrayed; and as he thought of sending for her, as soon as the condition of the young mother's health would admit, he hurried forward the repairs of the eastern mansion. He also thought that as there might not be a suitable nurse at Akashi for the child, he ought to send one from the capital. Fortunately there was a lady there who had lately been delivered of a child. Her mother, who had waited at Court when the late ex-Emperor lived, and her father, who had been some time Court Chamberlain, were both dead. She was now in miserable circumstances. Genji sounded her, through a certain channel, whether she would not be willing to be useful to him. This offer on his part she accepted without much hesitation, and was despatched with a confidential servant to attend on the new-born child. He also sent with her a sword and other presents. She left the capital in a carriage, and proceeded by boat to the province of Settsu, and thence on horseback to Akashi.
When she arrived the priest was intensely delighted, and the young mother, who had been gradually improving in health, felt great consolation. The child was very healthy, and the nurse at once began to discharge her duties most faithfully.
Hitherto Genji did not confide the story of his relations with the maiden of Akashi to Violet, but he thought he had better do so, as the matter might naturally reach her ears. He now, therefore, informed her of all the circumstances, and of the birth of the child, saying, "If you feel any unpleasantness about the matter, I cannot blame you in any way. It was not the blessing which I desired. How greatly do I regret that in the quarter where I wished to see the heavenly gift, there is none, but see it in another, where there was no expectation. The child is merely a girl too, and I almost think that I need pay no further attention. But this would make me heartless towards my undoubted offspring. I shall send for it and show it to you, and hope you will be generous to her. Can you assure me you will be so?" At these words Violet's face became red as crimson, but she did not lose her temper, and quietly replied:
"Your saying this only makes me contemptible to myself, as I think my generosity may not yet be fully understood; but I should like to know when and where I could have learnt to be ungenerous."
"These words sound too hard to me," said he. "How can you be so cruel to me? Pray don't attribute any blame to me; I never thought of it. How miserable am I!" And he began to drop tears when he came to reflect how faithful she had been all the time, and how affectionate, and also how regular had been her correspondence. He felt sorry for her, and continued, "In my anxious thoughts about this child, I have some intentions which may be agreeable to you also, only I will not tell you too hastily, since, if I do so now, they might not be taken in a favorable light. The attractions of the mother seem only to have arisen from the position in which she was placed. You must not think of the matter too seriously." He then briefly sketched her character and her skill in music. But on the part of Violet she could not but think that it was cruel to her to give away part of his heart, while her thoughts were with no one but him, and she was quite cast down for some time.
Genji tried to console her. He took up a kin and asked her to play and sing with him; but she did not touch it, saying that she could not play it so well as the maiden of Akashi. This very manner of her mild jealousy made her more captivating to him, and without further remarks the subject was dropped.
The fifth of May was the fiftieth day of the birth of the child, so Genji sent a messenger to Akashi a few days before the time when he would be expected. At Akashi the feast for the occasion was arranged with great pains, and the arrival of Genji's messenger was most opportune.
Let us now relate something about the Princess Wistaria.—Though she had become a nun, her title of ex-Empress had never been lost; and now the change in the reigning sovereign gave her fresh honors. She had been recognized as equivalent to an Empress-regnant who had abdicated. A liberal allowance was granted to her, and a becoming household was established for her private use. She, however, still continued her devotion to religion, now and then coming to Court to see her son, where she was received with all cordiality; so that her rival, the mother of the ex-Emperor, whose influence was overwhelming till lately, now began to feel like one to whom the world had become irksome.
In the meantime, public affairs entirely changed their aspects, and the world seemed at this time to have been divided between the Dajiôdaijin and his son-in-law, Genji, by whose influence all things in public were swayed.
In August, of this year, the daughter of Gon-Chiûnagon (formerly Tô-no-Chiûjiô) was introduced at Court. She took up her abode in the Kokiden, which had been formerly occupied by her maternal aunt, and she was also styled from this time the Niogo of Kokiden. Prince Hiôb-Kiô had also the intention of introducing his second daughter at Court, but Genji took no interest in this. What will he eventually do about this matter?
In the same autumn Genji went to the Temple of Sumiyoshi to fulfil his vows. His party consisted of many young nobles and Court retainers, besides his own private attendants.
By a coincidence the maiden of Akashi, who had been prevented from coming to the Temple since the last year, happened to arrive there on the same day. Her party travelled in a boat, and when it reached the beach they saw the procession of Genji's party crossing before them. They did not know what procession it was, and asked the bystanders about it, who, in return, asked them sarcastically, "Can there be anyone who does not know of the coming of Naidaijin, the Prince Genji, here to-day to fulfil his vows?"
Most of the young nobles were on horseback, with beautifully made saddles; and others, including Ukon-no-Jiô, Yoshikiyo, and Koremitz, in fine uniforms of different colors (blue, green, or scarlet), according to their different ranks, formed the procession, contrasting with the hue of the range of pine-trees on both sides of the road.
Genji was in a carriage, which was followed by ten boy pages, granted by the Court in the same way as a late Sadaijin, Kawara, had been honored. They were dressed in admirable taste, and their hair was twisted up in the form of a double knot, with ribbons of gorgeous purple. The young Genji was also in the procession on horseback, and followed the carriage.
The maiden of Akashi witnessed the procession, but she avoided making herself known. She thought she had better not go up to the Temple on that day; but she could not sail back to Akashi, so she had her boat moored in the bay of Naniwa for the night. As to Genji, he knew nothing of the maiden being a spectator of the procession, and spent the whole night in the Temple with his party in performing services which might please the God.
It was then that he was informed by Koremitz that he had seen the maiden of Akashi in a boat. On the morrow Genji and his party set off for their homes. As they proceeded Genji hummed,
and he stopped, while contemplating the bay. Koremitz, who stood beside him, and divined what he was thinking about, took out a small pen from his pocket and presented it to Genji, who took it and wrote the following on a piece of paper, which he sent to the maiden by one of his attendants who knew her whereabouts:—
"Divinely led by love's bright flame,
To this lone temple's shrine we come;
And as yon beacon meets our eye,
To dream, perchance, of days gone by."
A few words more. The change of the ruler had brought a change of the Saigû; and the Lady of Rokjiô, with her daughter, returned to the capital. Her health, however, began to fail, and she became a nun, and after some time died. Before her death Genji visited her, and with her last breath she consigned her daughter to his care. Genji was thinking, therefore, of introducing her at Court at some future time.
CHAPTER XV
OVERGROWN MUGWORT
When Genji was an exile on the sea-coast, many people had been longing for his return. Among these was the Princess Hitachi. She was, as we have seen, the survivor of his Royal father, and the kindness which she had received from Genji was to her like the reflection of the broad starlit sky in a basin of water. After Genji left the capital, however, no correspondence ever passed between them. Several of her servants left her, and her residence became more lonely than ever. A fox might have found a covert in the overgrown shrubbery, and the cry of the owl might have been heard among the thick branches. One might imagine some mysterious "tree-spirit" to reign there. Nevertheless, such grounds as these, surrounded with lofty trees, are more tempting to those who desire to have a stylish dwelling. Hence there were several Duriôs (local governors) who had become rich, and having returned from different provinces, sounded the Princess to see if she were inclined to part with her residence; but this she always refused to do, saying that, however unfortunate she might be, she was not able to give up a mansion inherited from her parents.
The mansion contained also a store of rare and antique articles. Several fashionable persons endeavored to induce the Princess to part with them; but such people appeared only contemptible to her, as she looked upon them as proposing such a thing solely because they knew she was poor. Her attendants sometimes suggested to her that it was by no means an uncommon occurrence for one to dispose of such articles when destiny necessitated the sacrifice; but her reply was that these things had been handed down to her only that she might make use of them, and that she would be violating the wishes of the dead if she consented to part with them, allowing them to become the ornament of the dwellings of some lowborn upstarts.
Scarcely anyone paid a visit to her dwelling, her only occasional visitor being her brother, a priest, who came to see her when he came to the capital, but he was a man of eccentric character, and was not very flourishing in his circumstances.
Such being the state of affairs with the Princess Hitachi, the grounds of her mansion became more and more desolate and wild, the mugwort growing so tall that it reached the veranda. The surrounding walls of massive earth broke down here and there and crumbled away, being trampled over by wandering cattle. In spring and summer boys would sometimes play there. In the autumn a gale blew down a corridor, and carried away part of the shingle roof. Only one blessing remained there—no thief intruded into the enclosure, as no temptation was offered to them for their attack.
But never did the Princess lose her accustomed reserve, which her parents had instilled into her mind. Society for her had no attractions. She solaced the hours of her loneliness by looking over ancient story-books and poems, which were stored in the old bookshelves, such as the Karamori, Hakoya-no-toji, or Kakya-hime. These, with their illustrations, were her chief resources.
Now a sister of the Princess's mother had married a Duriô, and had already borne him a daughter. This marriage had been considered an unequal match by the father of the Princess, and for this reason she was not very friendly with the family. Jijiû, however, who was a daughter of the Princess's nurse, and who still remained with the Princess, used to go to her. This aunt was influenced by a secret feeling of spite, and when Jijiû visited her she often whispered to her many things which did not become her as a lady. It seems to me that where a lady of ordinary degree is elevated to a higher position, she often acquires a refinement like one originally belonging to it; but there are other women, who when degraded from their rank spoil their taste and habits just like the lady in question. She fondly hoped to revenge herself for having been formerly looked down upon, by showing an apparent kindness to the Princess Hitachi, and by wishing to take her into her home, and make her wait upon her daughters. With this view she told Jijiu to tell her mistress to come to her, and Jijiu did so; but the Princess did not comply with this request.
In the meantime the lady's husband was appointed Daini (Senior Secretary to the Lord-Lieutenant), and they were to go down to Tzkushi (modern Kiusiu). She wished to take the Princess with her, and told her that she felt sorry to go to such a far-off locality, leaving her in her present circumstances; but the latter still unhesitatingly replied in the negative, and declined the offer; whereupon her aunt tauntingly remarked that she was too proud, and that, however exalted she might think herself, no one, not even Genji, would show her any further attention.
About this time Genji returned, but for some while she heard nothing from him, and only the public rejoicing of many people, and the news about him from the outside world reached her ears. This gave her aunt a further opportunity of repeating the same taunts. She said, "See now who cares for you in your present circumstances. It is not praiseworthy to display such self-importance as you did in the lifetime of your father." And again she pressed her to go with her, but the Princess still clung to the hope that the time would come when Genji would remember her and renew his kindness.
Winter came! One day, quite unexpectedly, the aunt arrived at the mansion, bringing as a present a dress for the Princess. Her carriage dashed into the garden in a most pompous style, and drove right up to the southern front of the building. Jijiu went to meet her, and conducted her into the Princess's apartment.
"I must soon be leaving the capital," said the visitor. "It is not my wish to leave you behind, but you would not listen to me, and now there is no help. But this one, this Jijiu at least, I wish to take with me. I have come to-day to fetch her. I cannot understand how you can be content with your present condition."
Here she manifested a certain sadness, but her delight at her husband's promotion was unmistakable, and she continued:—
"When your father was alive, I was looked down upon by him, which caused a coolness between us. But nevertheless I at no time entertained any ill-will towards you, only you were much favored by Prince Genji, as I heard, which made me abstain from visiting you often; but fortune is fickle, for those in a humble position often enjoy comfort, and those that are higher in station are not quite so well circumstanced. I do really feel sorry to leave you behind."
The Princess said very little, but her answer was, "I really thank you for your kind attention, but I do not think I am now fit to move about in the world. I shall be quite happy to bury myself under this roof."
"Well, you may think so, but it is simply foolish to abandon one's self, and to bury one's life under such a mass of dilapidation. Had Prince Genji been kind enough to repair the place, it might have become transformed into a golden palace, and how joyous would it not be? but this you cannot expect. As far as I am informed the daughter of Prince Hiob-Kio is the only favorite of the Prince, and no one else shares his attention, all his old favorites being now abandoned. How, then, can you expect him to say that, because you have been faithful to him, he will therefore come to you again?"
These words touched the Princess, but she gave no vent to her feelings. The visitor, therefore, hurried Jijiu to get ready, saying that they must leave before the dusk.
"When I hear what the lady says," said Jijiu, "it sounds to me very reasonable; but when I see how anxious the Princess is, that also seems natural. Thus I am puzzled between the two. Let me, however, say this, I will only see the lady off to-day."
Nevertheless, the Princess foresaw that Jijiu was going to leave her, and she thought of giving her some souvenir. Her own dress was not to be thought of, as it was too old; fortunately she had a long tress of false hair, about nine feet long, made of the hair which had fallen from her own head. This she put into an old casket, and gave it to Jijiu, with a jar of rare perfume.
Jijiu had been an attendant on the Princess for a very long time, besides, her mother (the nurse), before she died, told the Princess and her daughter that she hoped they might be long together; so the parting with Jijiu was very trying to the Princess who said to her that though she could not blame her for leaving, she still felt sorry to lose her. To this Jijiu replied, that she never forgot the wishes of her mother, and was only too happy to share joy and sorrow with the Princess; yet she was sorry to say that circumstances obliged her to leave her for some time; but before she could say much, she was hurried away by the visitor.
It was one evening in April of the following year that Genji happened to be going to the villa of "the falling flowers," and passed by the mansion of the Princess. There was in the garden a large pine-tree, from whose branches the beautiful clusters of a wistaria hung in rich profusion. A sigh of the evening breeze shook them as they hung in the silver moonlight, and scattered their rich fragrance towards the wayfarer. There was also a weeping willow close by, whose pensile tresses of new verdure touched the half-broken walls of earth underneath.
When Genji beheld this beautiful scene from his carriage, he at once remembered it was a place he had seen before. He stopped his carriage, and said to Koremitz, who was with him as usual—
"Is this not the mansion of the Princess Hitachi?"
"Yes, it is," replied Koremitz.
"Do ask if she is still here," said Genji; "this is a good chance; I will see her if she is at home—ask!"
Koremitz entered, and proceeding to the door, called out. An old woman from the inside demanded to know who he was. Koremitz announced himself, and asked if Jijiû was within. The old women replied that she was not, but that she herself was the same as Jijiû.
Koremitz recognized her as an aunt of the latter. He then asked her about the Princess, and told her of Genji's intention. To his inquiries he soon obtained a satisfactory answer, and duly reported it to Genji, who now felt a pang of remorse for his long negligence of one so badly circumstanced. He descended from his carriage, but the pathway was all but overgrown with tall mugwort, which was wet with a passing shower; so Koremitz whisked them with his whip, and led him in.
Inside, meanwhile, the Princess, though she felt very pleased, experienced a feeling of shyness. Her aunt, it will be remembered, had presented her with a suitable dress, which she had hitherto had no pleasure in wearing, and had kept it in a box which had originally contained perfume. She now took this out and put it on. Genji was presently shown into the room.
"It is a long time since I saw you last," said Genji, "but still I have never forgotten you, only I heard nothing from you; so I waited till now, and here I find myself once more."
