Kitabı oku: «Diaries of Court Ladies of Old Japan», sayfa 8
In the Queen's presence was placed Genji-monogatari. Once the Lord Prime Minister saw it and after many playful words wrote to me on a [poem] paper attached to a plum branch.
[The following poem depends for its point on the play upon a word with two meanings.]
{ love
Being notorious for { sourness
I think none pass by without breaking a branch!
[Her answer]
No one in passing has ever broken the plum tree
Who then can know if it be sour?
Oh, regrettable! to be spoken of in such a way! One night I slept in a room near the corridor. Some one came knocking at the door. I was afraid and passed the night without making a sound. The next morning the following poem was sent me [from the Prime Minister]:
All the night through, knocking louder than a water-rail,
I stood in vain at the door of hinoki wood
weary and lamenting.
I wrote back:
A cause of deep regret, indeed,
Had the door opened at the knocking of the water-rail!
[Here a space of nearly one year elapses.]
Third day of First month [1010]. The August Princes have presented themselves before the King for three days186 to receive gifts of mochi. Ladies of high rank accompanied them. Saémon-no-Kami held the Prince, and the mochi was brought to His Majesty by the Lord Prime Minister. The King, facing towards the east door, gave it to the August Princes.187 It was a beautiful sight to see the young Princes coming and returning through the corridor. The Queen Dowager did not present herself. On the first day Lady Saisho served at table; her colour combination was cunningly executed. Ladies Takumi and Hyogo officiated as the Queen's secretaries. The ladies who tied their hair were particularly attractive. The lady who was entrusted with the preparation of toso188 was very vain of her skill and behaved as if she were a doctor of medicine. Ointment was distributed as usual.
The Prime Minister took the younger Prince in his arms and the King embraced him lovingly, saying, "Long life and health" as usual. The Lord Prime Minister replied, "I will uphold the younger Prince in my arms"; but at that His Augustness the Crown Prince became jealous and begged [to be taken up too], saying, "Ah! Ah!" The Prime Minister was much pleased, and the General of the Right Bodyguard and others were amused by it.
The Lord Prime Minister had an audience with the King and they came out together to find amusement. The Minister was much intoxicated. "Troublesome!" I thought, and hid myself away, but I was found. "You are summoned by the father of the Queen, yet you retire so early! Suspicious person!" said he. "Now, instead of the Queen's father it is you who must compose a poem! It is quite an ordinary occasion, so don't hesitate!" He urged, but it seemed to me very awkward to make one only to have it laughed at. As he was very much in liquor, his face was flushed and flamed out in the torchlight. He said, "The Queen had lived for years alone and solitary. I had seen it with anxiety. It is cheering to behold troublesome children on either side of her." And he went to look at the Princes, who had been put to bed, taking off the bedclothes. He was singing:
"If there be no little pines in the field
How shall I find the symbol of 1000 ages?"
People thought it more suitable that he should sing this old song than make a new one. The next evening the sky was hazy; as the different parts of the palace are built compactly in close rows I could only catch a slight glimpse of it from the veranda. I admired his recitation of last evening with the nurse Madam Nakadaka. This lady is of deep thought and learning.
I went home for a while. For the fifty days' ceremony of the second Prince, which was the fifteenth day of the Sociable Month, I returned in the early morning to the palace. Lady Koshosho returned in embarrassing broad daylight. We two live together; our rooms adjoin and we throw them together, each occupying the whole when the other is absent. When we are there together we put kichō between them. The Lord Prime Minister says we must be gossiping about other people. Some may be uneasy to hear that, but as there are no unfriendly strangers here we are not anxious about it.
I went to the Queen's audience. My friend wore brocaded uchigi of old rose and white, a red karaginu and figured train. My dress was of red and purple and light green. My karaginu was green and white. The rubbed design on the train was in the very latest fashion, and it would perhaps have been better if a younger lady had worn it. There were seventeen ladies of His Majesty the King's court who presented themselves before the Queen. Lady Tachibana of the third rank served the royal table. Ladies Kodayu and Shikibu on the balcony. The serving of the young August Prince's dinner was entrusted to Lady Koshosho. Their Majesties sat within the dais [one for each]. The morning sun shone in and I felt too much brilliancy in their presence. The King wore a robe with narrow sleeves. The Queen was dressed in red as usual. Her inner kimonos were purple and red with pale and dark green and two shades of yellow. His Majesty's outer dress was grape-coloured189 brocade, and his inner garment white and green – all rare and modern both in design and colour.
It seemed to be too dazzling in their presence, so I softly slid away into an inner room. The nurse, Madam Nakadaka, holding the young Prince in her arms, came out towards the south between the canopied King and Queen. She is short in stature, but of dignified demeanour. She was perfectly tranquil and grave and a good example for the young Prince [then not two months old!]. She wore grape-coloured uchigi and patternless karaginu of white and old rose. That day all did their utmost to adorn themselves. One had a little fault in the colour combination at the wrist opening. When she went before the Royal presence to fetch something, the nobles and high officials noticed it. Afterwards, Lady Saisho regretted it deeply. It was not so bad; only one colour was a little too pale. Lady Kotaiyu wore a crimson unlined dress and over it an uchigi of deep and pale plum colour bordered with folds. Her karaginu was white and old rose. Lady Gen Shikibu appears to have been wearing a red and purple figured silk. Some said it was unsuitable because it was not brocade. That judgment is too conventional. There may be criticism where want of taste is too apparent, but it were better to criticize manners. Dress is rather unimportant in comparison.
The ceremony of giving mochi to the Prince is ended and the table is taken away. The misu of the anteroom was rolled up, and we saw ladies sitting crowded at the west side of the dais. There were Lady Tachibana of the third rank, and Naishi Nosuké, the younger attendant of the August Princes sitting in the doorway. In the east anteroom near the shioji190 there were ladies of high rank. I went to seek Lady Dainagon and Lady Koshosho, who were sitting east of the dais. His August Majesty sat on the dais with his dining-table before him. The ornaments of it were exquisitely beautiful. On the south balcony there sat the Minister of the Right and Left and the Chamberlain, the first officials of the Crown Prince and of the Queen and the Great Adviser Shijo, facing towards the North, the West being the more honourable seat. There were no officials of low rank. Afterwards they begun to amuse themselves. Courtiers sat on the southeast corridor of the side building. The four lower officials took their usual places [on the steps below Royalty] to perform some music. They were Kagemasa, Korekazé, Yukiyoshi, Tonomasa. From the upper seat the Great Adviser Shijo conducted the music. To no Ben played the lute, Tsunetaka played the harp [koto]. The Lieutenant-General of the Left Bodyguard and State Councillor played the flute. Some outsiders joined in the music. One made a mistake in the notes and was hissed. The Minister of the Right praised the six-stringed koto. He became too merry, and made a great mistake, which sent a chill even to the onlookers.
The Prime Minister's gift was flutes put into two boxes.
III
THE DIARY OF IZUMI SHIKIBU
A.D. 1002-1003
Many months had passed in lamenting the World,191 more shadowy than a dream. Already the tenth day of the Deutzia month was over. A deeper shade lay under the trees and the grass on the embankment was greener.192 These changes, unnoticed by any, seemed beautiful to her, and while musing upon them a man stepped lightly along behind the hedge. She was idly curious, but when he came towards her she recognized the page of the late prince.193 He came at a sorrowful moment, so she said, "Is your coming not long delayed? To talk over the past was inclined." "Would it not have been presuming? – Forgive me – In mountain temples have been worshipping. To be without ties is sad, so wishing to take service again I went to Prince Sochino-miya."
"Excellent! that Prince is very elegant and is known to me. He cannot be as of yore?" [i.e. unmarried.] So she said, and he replied, "No, but he is very gracious. He asked me whether I ever visit you nowadays – 'Yes, I do,' said I; then, breaking off this branch of tachibana194 flowers, His Highness replied, 'Give this to her, [see] how she will take it.' The Prince had in mind the old poem:
The scent of tachibana flowers in May
Recalls the perfumed sleeves of him who is no longer here.
So I have come – what shall I say to him?"
It was embarrassing to return an oral message through the page, and the Prince had not written; discontented, yet wishing to make some response, she wrote a poem and gave it to the page:
That scent, indeed, brings memories
But rather, to be reminded of that other,
Would hear the cuckoo's 195 voice.
The Prince was on the veranda of his palace, and as the page approached him with important face, he led him into an inner room saying, "What is it?" The page presented the poem.
The Prince read it and wrote this answer:
The cuckoo sings on the same branch
With voice unchanged,
That shall you know.
His Highness gave this to the page and walked away, saying, "Tell it to no one, I might be thought amorous." The page brought the poem to the lady. Lovely it was, but it seemed wiser not to write too often [so did not answer].
On the day following his first letter this poem was sent:
To you I betrayed my heart —
Alas! Confessing
Brings deeper grief,
Lamenting days.
Feeling was rootless, but being unlearned in loneliness, and attracted, she wrote an answer:
If you lament to-day
At this moment your heart
May feel for mine —
For in sorrow
Months and days have worn away.
He wrote often and she answered – sometimes – and felt her loneliness a little assuaged. Again she received a letter. After expressing feelings of great delicacy:
[I would] solace [you] with consoling words
If spoken in vain
No longer could be exchanged.
To talk with you about the departed one; how would it be [for you] to come in the evening unobtrusively?
Her answer:
As I hear of comfort I wish to talk with you, but being an uprooted person there is no hope of my standing upright. I am footless [meaning, I cannot go to you].
Thus she wrote, and His Highness decided to come as a private person.
It was still daylight, and he secretly called his servant Ukon-no-zo, who had usually been the medium by which the letters had reached the Prince, and said,
"I am going somewhere," The man understood and made preparations.
His Highness came in an humble palanquin and made his page announce him. It was embarrassing. She did not know what to do; she could not pretend to be absent after having written him an answer that very day. It seemed too heartless to make him go back at once without entering. Thinking, "I will only talk to him," she placed a cushion by the west door on the veranda, and invited the Prince there. Was it because he was so much admired by the world that he seemed to her unusually fascinating? But this only increased her caution. While they were talking the moon shone out and it became uncomfortably bright.
He: "As I have been out of society and living in the shade, I am not used to such a bright place as this " – It was too embarrassing! – "Let me come in where you are sitting; I will not be rude as others are. You are not one to receive me often, are you?" "No indeed! What a strange idea! Only to-night we shall talk together I think; never again!" Thus lightly talking, the night advanced – "Shall we spend the night in this way?" he asked:
The night passes,
We dream no faintest dream —
What shall remain to me of this summer night?
She:
Thinking of the world
Sleeves wet with tears are my bed-fellows.
Calmly to dream sweet dreams —
There is no night for that.
He: "I am not a person who can leave my house easily. You may think me rude, but my feeling for you grows ardent." And he crept into the room. Felt horribly embarrassed, but conversed together and at daybreak he returned.
Next day's letter:
In what way are you thinking about me? I feel anxiety —
To you it may be a commonplace to speak of love,
But my feeling this morning —
To nothing can it be compared!
She answered:
Whether commonplace or not —
Thoughts do not dwell upon it
For the first time [I] am caught in the toils.
O what a person! What has she done! So tenderly the late Prince spoke to her! She felt regret and her mind was not tranquil. Just then the page came. Awaited a letter, but there was none. It disappointed her; how much in love! When the page returned, a letter was given.
The letter:
Were my heart permitted even to feel the pain of waiting!
It may be to wait is lesser pain —
To-night – not even to wait for —
The Prince read it, and felt deep pity, yet there must be reserve [in going out at night]. His affection for his Princess is unusually light, but he may be thinking it would seem odd to leave home every night. Perhaps he will reserve himself until the mourning for the late Prince is over;196 it is a sign that his love is not deep. An answer came after nightfall.
Had she said she was waiting for me with all her heart,
Without rest towards the house of my beloved
Should I have been impelled!
When I think how lightly you may regard me!
Her answer:
Why should I think lightly of you?
I am a drop of dew
Hanging from a leaf
Yet I am not unrestful
For on this branch I seem to have existed
From before the birth of the world.
Please think of me as like the unstable dew which cannot even remain unless the leaf supports it.
His Highness received this letter. He wanted to come, but days passed without realizing his wish. On the moon-hidden day [last day of month] she wrote:
If to-day passes
Your muffled voice of April, O cuckoo
When can I hear?
She sent this poem, but as the Prince had many callers it could only reach him the next morning.
His answer:
The cuckoo's song in spring is full of pain.
Listen and you will hear his song of summer
Full-throated from to-day. 197
And so he came at last, avoiding public attention. The lady was preparing herself for temple-going, and in the act of religious purification. Thinking that the rare visits of the Prince betrayed his indifference, and supposing that he had come only to show that he was not without sympathy, she continued the night absorbed in religious services, talking little with him.
In the morning the Prince said: "I have passed an extraordinary night" —
New is such feeling for me
We have been near,
Yet the night passed and our souls have not met.
And he added, "I am wretched."
She could feel his distress and was sorry for him; and said:
With endless sorrow my heart is weighted
And night after night is passed
Even without meeting of the eyelids.
For me this is not new.
May 2. The Prince wrote to her: "Are you going to the temple to-day? When shall you be at home again:
Answer:
In its season the time of gently falling rain will be over.
To-night I will drag from its bed the root of ayame. 198
Went to the temple and came back after two or three days to find a letter [from him]:
My heart yearns for thee, and I wish to see thee, yet I am discouraged by the treatment of the other night. I am sad and ashamed. Do not suppose that I remain at home because my feeling is shallow.
She is cold-hearted, yet I cannot forget her.
Time wipes out bitterness, but deepens longings
Which to-day have overcome me.
Not slight is my feeling, although —
Her reply:
Are you coming? Scarcely believable are your words,
For not even a shadow
Passes before my unfrequented dwelling.
The Prince came as usual unannounced. The lady did not believe that he would come at all, and being tired out with the religious observances of several days, fell asleep. No one noticed the gentle knocking at the gate. He, on the other hand, had heard some rumours, and suspecting the presence of another lover, quietly retired. A letter came on the morning of the next day:
I stood before your closed door
Never to be opened.
Seeing, it became the symbol of your pitiless heart!
I tasted the bitterness of love, and pitied myself.
Then she knew that he had come the night before – carelessly fallen asleep! – and wrote back:
How can you write the thought?
The door of precious wood was closely shut,
No way to read that heart.
All is thy suspicion – O that I could lay bare my heart [to you]!
The next night he wanted to come again, yet he was advised against it. He feared the criticism of the Chamberlain and Crown Prince, so his visits became more and more infrequent. In the continuous rains the lady gazed at the clouds and thought how the court would be talking about them. She had had many friends; now there was only the Prince. Though people invented various tales about her, she thought the truth could never be known to any. The Prince wrote a letter about the tedious rain:
You are thinking only of the long rains
Forever falling everywhere.
Into my heart also the rain falls —
Long melancholy days.
It was smile-giving to see that he seized upon every occasion to write her a poem, and she also felt as he did that this was a time for sentiment.
The reply:
Unaware of the sadness in your heart,
Knowing only of the rain in mine.
And on another paper she wrote another poem:
It passes, the very sorrowful life of the world —
By to-day's long { rains
{ meditation it can be known
The { high-water mark
{ flood will be exceeded.
Is it still long? [before you come].
The Prince read this letter and the messenger came back with his answer:
Helpless man,
I am weary even of life.
Not to you alone beneath the sky
Is rain and dulness.
For us both it is a stupid world.
It was the sixth day of the Fifth month – rain not yet stopped. The Prince had been much more touched by her answer of the day before, which was deeper in feeling, and on that morning of heavy rain he sent with much kindness to inquire after her.
Very terrible was the sound of rain …
Of what was I thinking
All the long night through
Listening to the rain against the window?
I was sheltered, but the storm was in my heart.
The lady wrote thus to the Prince, and he thought, "Not hopeless."
His poem:
All the night through, it was of you I thought —
How is it in a house where is no other
To make rain forgotten?
At noon people were talking about the flooding of the Kamo River, and many went to see it, the Prince among them. He wrote:
How are you at present? I have just come back from flood-seeing.
The feeling of my heart, like the overflowing waters of the flood,
But deeper my heart's feeling.
Do you know this?
She wrote:
Toward me the waters do not overflow.
No depth lies there
Though the meadow is flooded.
Words are not enough.
In these words she replied to him; and his Highness made up his mind to come, and ordered perfumery for himself. Just then his old nurse, Jiju-no-Menoto, came up: "Where are you going?" she said,
"People are talking about it. She is no lady of high birth. If you wish her to serve you, you may summon her here as a servant. Your undignified goings-out are very painful for us. Many men go to her, and some awkward thing may happen. All these improper things are suggested by Ukon-no-Zo.199 He accompanied the late Prince also. If you wander out in the depths of night no good can come of it. I will tell the Prime Minister200 of the persons who accompany you in these night visits. In the world there may be changes. No one can tell what will happen to-morrow. The late Minister loved you much and asked the present one to show you favour. You must keep yourself from these indiscretions till worldly affairs are quite settled."
The Prince said: "Where shall I go? I am so bored, and am seeking temporary recreation. People are foolish to make much of it."
He said this, although much hurt by the necessity for it. Besides that, he thought her not unworthy of him and even wished to bring her to the palace [as a concubine]. On the other hand, he reflected that in that case things even more painful to hear would be said, and in his trouble of mind days were passed.
At last he visited her. "I could not come in spite of my desires. Please do not think that I neglect you. The fault is in you; I have heard that there are many friends of yours who are jealous of me. That makes me more reserved, and so many days have gone by."
The Prince talked gently, and said: "Now come for this night only. There is a hidden place no one sees; there I can talk with tranquil mind." The palanquin was brought near the veranda. She was forced to enter it and went, without her own volition, with unsteady mind. She kept thinking that people would know about it, but as the night was far advanced no one found them out. The conveyance was quietly brought to a corridor where no one was and he got out.
He whispered, "As the moon is very bright, get down quickly." She was afraid, but hurriedly obeyed him. "Here there is no one to see us; from this time we will meet here. At your honourable dwelling I am always anxious about other men. I can never be at ease there." His words were gentle, and when it was dawn he made her get into the palanquin and said, "I wish to go with you, but as it is broad daylight I fear people may think I have passed the night outside the Court."
He remained in the palace, and she on her way home thought of that strange going out and of the rumours that would fly about – yet the uncommonly beautiful features of the Prince at dawn were lingering in her mind.
Her letter:
Rather would I urge your early return at evening
Than ever again make you arise at dawn
It is so sorrowful.
His reply:
To see you departing in the morning dew —
Comparing,
It were better to come back in the evening unsatisfied.
Let us drive away such thoughts. I cannot go out this evening on account of the evil spirit [i.e., he might encounter it]. Only to fetch you I venture.
She felt distress because this [sort of thing] could not go on always. But he came with the same palanquin and said, "Hurry, hurry!" She felt ashamed because of her maids, yet stole out into the carriage. At the same place as last night voices were heard, so they went to another building. At dawn he complained of the cock's crowing, and leading her gently into the palanquin, went out [with her]. On the way he said, "At such times as these, always come with me," and she – "How can it always be so?" Then he returned.
Two or three days went by; the moon was wonderfully bright; she went to the veranda to see it and there received a letter:
What are you doing at this moment? Are you gazing at the moon?
Are you thinking with me
Of the moon at the mountain's edge?
In memory lamenting the short sweet night —
Hearing the cock, awake too soon!
More than usually pleasing was that letter, for her thoughts were then dwelling on the bright moon-night when she was unafraid of men's eyes at the Prince's palace.
The answer:
That night
The same moon shone down —
Thinking so I gaze,
But unsatisfied is my heart,
And my eyes are not contented
With moon-seeing.
She mused alone until the day dawned. The next night the Prince came again, but she knew not of it. A lady was living in the opposite house. The Prince's attendant saw a palanquin stopping before it and said to His Highness, "Some one has already come – there is a palanquin." "Let us retire," said the Prince, and he went away. Now he could believe the rumours. He was angry with her, yet being unable to make an end of it he wrote: "Have you heard that I went to you last night? It makes me unhappy that you don't know even that.
Against the hill of pines where the maiden pines for me,
Waves were high – that I had seen.
Yet to-day's sight, O ominous!" 201
She received the letter on a rainy day, O unlooked-for disaster! She suspected slanderous tongues.
You only are my always-waited-for island —
What waves can sweep it away!
So she answered, but the Prince being somewhat troubled by the sight of the previous night, did not write to her for a long time.
Yet at last:
Love and misery in various shapes
Pass through my mind and never rest.
She wished to answer, but was ashamed to explain herself, so only wrote:
Let it be as you will, come or not, yet to part without bitter feeling would lighten my sorrow.
From that time he seldom sent letters. One moon-bright night she was lying with grieving thoughts. She envied the moon in its serene course and could not refrain from writing to the Prince:
In her deserted house
She gazes at the moon —
He is not coming
And she cannot reveal her heart —
There is none who will listen.
She sent her page to give the poem to Ukon-no-Zo. Just then the Prince was talking with others before the King. When he retired from the presence, Ukon-no-Zo offered the letter. "Prepare the palanquin," he said, and he came to her. The lady was sitting near the veranda looking at the sky, and feeling that some one was coming had had the sudaré rolled down. He was not in his court robe, but in his soft, everyday wear, which was more pleasing to her eye. He silently placed his poem before her on the end of his fan, saying, "As your messenger returned too soon without awaiting my answer – " She drew it towards her with her own.
The Prince seemed to think of coming in, but went out into the garden, singing, "My beloved is like a dew-drop on a leaf." At last he came nearer, and said: "I must go to-night. I came secretly, but on such a bright night as this none can escape being seen. To-morrow I must remain within for religious duties, and people will be suspicious if I am not at home." He seemed about to depart, when she – "Oh, that a shower might come! So another brightness, more sweet than the heavenly one, might linger here for a while!" He felt that she was more amiable than others had admitted. "Ah, dear one," he said, and came up for a while, then went away, saying:
Unwillingly urged by the moon on her cloudy track
His body is going out, but not his heart
When he was gone she had the sudaré rolled up and read his poem in the moonlight.
She is looking at the moon,
But her thoughts are all of me
Hearing this
It draws me to her side.
How happy! He seemed to have been thinking her a worthless woman, but he has changed his mind, she thought. The Prince, on his side, thought the lady would have some value for him when he wanted to be amused, but even while he was thinking it, he was told that the Major-General was her favourite and visited her in the daytime. Still others said, "Hyobukyo is another of her lovers." The Prince was deterred by these words and wrote no more.
One day His Highness's little page, who was the lover of one of her maids, came to the house. While they were chattering the page was asked if he had brought a letter, he answered: "No; one day my Lord came here, but he found a palanquin at the gate. From that time he does not write letters. Moreover, he has heard that others visit here." When the boy was gone this was told. She was deeply humiliated. No presumptuous thoughts nor desire for material dependence had been hers. Only while she was loved and respected had she wished for intercourse. Estrangement of any other kind would have been bearable, but her heart was torn asunder to think that he should suspect her of so shameful a thing. In the midst of mourning over her unfortunate situation, a letter was brought her:
I am ill and much troubled these days. Of late I visited your dwelling, but alas! at an unlucky time. I feel that I am unmanly.
Let it be —
I will not look toward the beach —
The seaman's little boat has rowed away.
Her answer:
You have heard unmentionable things about me. I am humiliated and it is painful for me to write any more. Perhaps this will be the last letter.
Off the shore of { aimlessness
{ Sodé
With burning heart and dripping sleeves,
I am he who drifts in the seaman's boat.
It was already the Seventh month. On the seventh day she received many letters from elegant persons in deference to the celestial lovers,202 but her heart was not touched by them. She was only thinking that she was utterly forgotten by the Prince, who had never lost such an opportunity to write to her; but [at last] there came a poem:
Alas! that I should become like the Herder-God
Who can only gaze at the Weaving One
Beyond the River of Heaven.
The lady saw that he could not forget her and she was pleased.
Her poem:
I cannot even look towards that shore
Where the Herder-God waits:
The lover stars also might avoid me.
His Highness would read, and he would feel that he must not desert her. Towards the moon-hidden day [end of the month] he wrote to her:
I am very lonely. Please write to me sometimes as to one of your friends.
Her reply:
Because you do not wake you cannot hear —
The wind is sighing in the reeds —
Ah, nights and nights of Autumn!
The messenger who took the poem came back with one from him:
O my beloved, how can you think my sleep untroubled? Lately sad thoughts have been mine and never sleep is sound.
The wind blows over the reeds —
I will not sleep, but listen
Whether its sigh thrills my heart.
After two or three days, towards evening, he came unexpectedly and made his palanquin draw into the courtyard. As she had not yet seen him in the daylight, he was abashed, he said, but there was no help for it. He went away soon and did not write for so long that anxiety began to fill her heart, so at last she sent:
