Genji Monogatari (The Tale of Genji) — Young Violet Part 1
CHAPTER V YOUNG VIOLET
It was the time when Genji became subject to periodical attacks of ague, that many exorcisms and spells were performed to effect a cure, but all in vain.
At length he was told by a friend that in a certain temple on the northern mountain (Mount Kurama) there dwelt a famous ascetic, and that when the epidemic had prevailed during the previous summer, many people had recovered through his exorcisms.
"If," added the friend, "the disease is neglected it becomes serious; try therefore, this method of procuring relief at once, and before it is too late."
Genji, therefore, sent for the hermit, but he declined to come, saying that he was too old and decrepit to leave his retreat.
"What shall I do?"
exclaimed Genji, "shall I visit him privately?"
Eventually, taking four or five attendants, he started off early one morning for the place, which was at no great distance on the mountain.
It was the last day of March, and though the height of the season for flowers in the capital was over, yet, on the mountain, the cherry-trees were still in blossom.
They advanced on their way further and further.
The haze clung to the surface like a soft sash does round the waist, and to Genji, who had scarcely ever been out of the capital, the scenery was indescribably novel.
The ascetic lived in a deep cave in the rocks, near the lofty summit.
Genji did not, however, declare who he was, and the style of his retinue was of a very private character.
Yet his nobility of manners was easily recognizable.
"Welcome your visit!"
cried the hermit, saluting him.
"Perhaps you are the one who sent for me the other day?
I have long since quitted the affairs of this world, and have almost forgotten the secret of my exorcisms.
I wonder why you have come here for me."
So saying, he pleasingly embraced him.
He was evidently a man of great holiness.
He wrote out a talismanic prescription, which he gave to Genji to drink in water, while he himself proceeded to perform some mysterious rite.
During the performance of this ceremony the sun rose high in the heavens.
Genji, meantime, walked out of the cave and looked around him with his attendants.
The spot where they stood was very lofty, and numerous monasteries were visible, scattered here and there in the distance beneath.
There was immediately beyond the winding path in which they were walking a picturesque and pretty building enclosed by hedges.
Its well arranged balconies and the gardens around it apparently betokened the good taste of its inhabitants.
"Whose house may that be?"
inquired Genji of his attendants.
They told him it was a house in which a certain priest had been living for the last two years.
"Ah!
I know him," said Genji.
"Strange, indeed, would it be if he were to discover that I am here in this privacy."
They noticed a nun and a few more females with her walking in the garden, who were carrying fresh water for their offerings, and were gathering flowers.
"Ah!
there are ladies walking there," cried the attendants in tones of surprise.
"Surely, the Reverend Father would not indulge in flirtations!
Who can they be?"
And some of them even descended a little distance, and peered over the enclosure, where a pretty little girl was also seen amongst them.
Genji now engaged in prayer until the sun sank in the heavens.
His attendants, who were anxious about his disease, told him that it would be good for him to have a change from time to time.
Hereupon, he advanced to the back of the temple, and his gaze fell on the far-off Capital in the distance, which was enveloped in haze as the dusk was setting in, over the tops of the trees around.
"What a lovely landscape!"
exclaimed Genji.
"The people to whom such scenery is familiar, are perhaps happy and contented."
"Nay," said the attendants, "but were you to see the beautiful mountain ranges and the sea-coast in our various provinces, the pictures would indeed be found lovely."
Then some of them described to him Fuji Yama, while others told him of other mountains, diverting his attention by their animated description of the beautiful bays and coasts of the Western Provinces;
thus as they depicted them to him, they cheered and gladdened his mind.
One of them went on to say: "Among such sights and at no great distance, there is the sea-coast of Akashi, in the Province of Harima, which is, I think, especially beautiful.
I cannot, indeed, point out in detail its most remarkable features, but, in general, the blue expanse of the sea is singularly charming.
Here, too, the home of the former Governor of the Province constitutes an object of great attraction.
He has assumed the tonsure, and resides there with his beautiful daughter.
He is the descendant of a high personage, and was not without hope of elevation at Court, but, being of an eccentric character, he was strongly averse to society.
He had formerly been a Chiûjiô of the Imperial Guard, but having resigned that office, had become Governor of Harima.
He was not, however, popular in that office.
In this state of affairs he reflected within himself, no doubt, that his presence in the Capital could not but be disagreeable.
When, therefore, his term of office expired, he determined still to remain in the province.
He did not, however, go to the mountainous regions of the interior, but chose the sea-coast.
There are in this district several places which are well situated for quiet retirement, and it would have seemed inconsistent in him had he preferred a part of the sea-coast so near the gay world; nevertheless, a retreat in the too remote interior would have been too solitary, and might have met with objections on the part of his wife and child.
For this reason, it appears, that he finally selected the place which I have already alluded to for the sake of his family.
When I went down there last time, I became acquainted with the history and circumstances of the family, and I found that though he may not have been well received in the Capital, yet, that here, having been formerly governor, he enjoys considerable popularity and respect.
His residence, moreover, is well appointed and of sufficient magnitude, and he performs with punctuality and devoutness his religious duties--nay, almost with more earnestness than many regular priests."
Here Genji interrupted.
"What is his daughter like?"
"Without doubt," answered his companion, "the beauty of her person is unrivalled, and she is endowed with corresponding mental ability.
Successive governors often offer their addresses to her with great sincerity, but no one has ever yet been accepted.
The dominant idea of her father seems to be this: 'What, have I sunk to such a position!
Well, I trust, at least, that my only daughter may be successful and prosperous in her life!'
He often told her, I heard, that if she survived him, and if his fond hopes for her should not be realized, it would be better for her to cast herself into the sea."
Genji was much interested in this conversation, and the rest of the company laughingly said, "Ah!
she is a woman who is likely to become the Queen of the Blue Main.
In very truth her father must be an extraordinary being!"
The attendant who had given this account of the ex-governor and his daughter, was the son of the present Governor of the Province.
He was until lately a Kurand, and this year had received the title of Jugoi.
His name was Yoshikiyo, and he, too, was a man of gay habits, which gave occasion to one of his companions to observe: "Ah!
perhaps you also have been trying to disappoint the hopes of the aged father."
Another said, "Well, our friend has given us a long account, but we must take it with some reserve.
She must be, after all, a country maiden, and all that I can give credit to is this much: that her mother may be a woman of some sense, who takes great care of the girl.
I am only afraid that if any future governor should be seized with an ardent desire to possess her, she would not long remain unattached."
"What possible object could it serve if she were carried to the bottom of the sea?
The natives of the deep would derive no pleasure from her charms," remarked Genji, while he himself secretly desired to behold her.
"Ay," thought his companions, "with his susceptible temperament, what wonder if this story touches him."
The day was far advanced, and the Prince prepared to leave the mountain.
The Hermit, however, told him that it would be better to spend the evening in the Temple, and to be further prayed for.
His attendants also supported this suggestion.
So Genji made up his mind to stay there, saying, "Then I shall not return home till to-morrow."
The days at this season were of long duration, and he felt it rather tiresome to pass a whole evening in sedate society, so, under the cover of the shades of the evening, he went out of the Temple, and proceeded to the pretty building enclosed by hedges.
All the attendants had been despatched home except Koremitz, who accompanied him.
They peeped at this building through the hedges.
In the western antechamber of the house was placed an image of Buddha, and here an evening service was performed.
A nun, raising a curtain before Buddha, offered a garland of flowers on the altar, and placing a Kiô (or Sutra, i. e. , Buddhist Bible) on her "arm-stool," proceeded to read it.
She seemed to be rather more than forty years old.
Her face was rather round, and her appearance was noble.
Her hair was thrown back from her forehead and was cut short behind, which suited her very well.
She was, however, pale and weak, her voice, also, being tremulous.
Two maiden attendants went in and out of the room waiting upon her, and a little girl ran into the room with them.
She was about ten years old or more, and wore a white silk dress, which fitted her well and which was lined with yellow.
Her hair was waved like a fan, and her eyes were red from crying.
"What is the matter?
Have you quarrelled with the boy?"
exclaimed the nun, looking at her.
There was some resemblance between the features of the child and the nun, so Genji thought that she possibly might be her daughter.
"Inuki has lost my sparrow, which I kept so carefully in the cage," replied the child.
"That stupid boy," said one of the attendants.
"Has he again been the cause of this?
Where can the bird be gone?
And all this, too, after we had tamed it with so much care."
She then left the room, possibly to look for the lost bird.
The people who addressed her called her Shiônagon, and she appeared to have been the little girl's nurse.
"To you," said the nun to the girl, "the sparrow may be dearer than I may be, who am so ill; but have I not told you often that the caging of birds is a sin?
Be a good girl; come nearer!"
The girl advanced and stood silent before her, her face being bathed in tears.
The contour of the child-like forehead and of the small and graceful head was very pleasing.
Genji, as he surveyed the scene from without, thought within himself, "If she is thus fair in her girlhood, what will she be when she is grown up?"
One reason why Genji was so much attracted by her was, that she greatly resembled a certain lady in the Palace, to whom he, for a long time, had been fondly attached.
The nun stroked the beautiful hair of the child and murmured to herself, "How splendid it looks!
Would that she would always strive to keep it thus.
Her extreme youth makes me anxious, however.
Her mother departed this life when she only a very young girl, but she was quite sensible at the age of this one.
Supposing that I were to leave her behind, I wonder what would happen to her!"
As she thus murmured, her countenance became saddened by her forebodings.
The sight moved Genji's sympathy as he gazed.
It seemed that the tender heart of the child was also touched, for she silently watched the expression of the nun's features, and then with downcast eyes bent her face towards the ground, the lustrous hair falling over her back in waves.
The nun hummed, in a tone sufficiently audible to Genji, "The dews that wet the tender grass, At the sun's birth, too quickly pass, Nor e'er can hope to see it rise In full perfection to the skies."
Shiônagon, who now joined them, and heard the above distich, consoled the nun with the following:-- "The dews will not so quickly pass, Nor shall depart before they see The full perfection of the grass, They loved so well in infancy."
At this juncture a priest entered and said, "Do you know that this very day Prince Genji visited the hermit in order to be exorcised by him.
I must forthwith go and see him."
Genji observing this movement quickly returned to the monastery, thinking as he went what a lovely girl he had seen.
"I can guess from this," thought he, "why those gay fellows (referring to his attendants) so often make their expeditions in search of good fortune.
What a charming little girl have I seen to-day!
Who can she be?
Would that I could see her morning and evening in the palace, where I can no longer see the fair loved one whom she resembles!"
He now returned to the monastery, and retired to his quarters.
Soon after a disciple of the priest came and delivered a message from him through Koremitz, saying, "My master has just heard of the Prince's visit to the mountain, and would have waited on him at once, but thought it better to postpone calling.
Nevertheless he would be much pleased to offer a humble welcome, and feels disappointed that he has not yet had an opportunity of doing so."
Genji said in reply, "I have been afflicted with constant attacks of ague for the last few weeks, and, therefore, by the advice of my friends, I came to this mountain to be exorcised.
If, however, the spells of the holy man are of no avail to me, his reputation might suffer in consequence.
For that reason I wish to keep my visit as private as possible, nevertheless I will come now to your master."
Thereupon the priest himself soon made his appearance, and, after briefly relating the circumstances which had occasioned his retirement to this locality, he offered to escort Genji to his house, saying, "My dwelling is but a rustic cottage, but still I should like you to see, at least, the pretty mountain streamlet which waters my garden."
Genji accepted the offer, thinking as he went, "I wonder what the priest has said at home about myself to those to whom I have not yet been introduced.
But it will be pleasant to see them once more."
The night was moonless.
The fountain was lit up by torches, and many lamps also were lighted in the garden.
Genji was taken to an airy room in the southern front of the building, where incense which was burning threw its sweet odors around.
The priest related to him many interesting anecdotes, and also spoke eloquently of man's future destiny.
Genji as he heard him, felt some qualms of conscience, for he remembered that his own conduct was far from being irreproachable.
The thought troubled him that he would never be free from the sting of these recollections through his life, and that there was a world to come, too!
"Oh, could I but live in a retreat like this priest!"
As he thus thought of a retreat, he was involuntarily taken by a fancy, that how happy would he be if accompanied to such a retreat by such a girl as he had seen in the evening, and with this fancy her lovely face rose up before him.
Suddenly he said to the priest, "I had once a dream which made me anxious to know who was living in this house, and here to-day that dream has again come back to my memory!"
The priest laughed, and said, "A strange dream!
even were you to obtain your wish it might not gratify you.
The late Lord Azechi Dainagon died long ago, and perhaps you know nothing about him.
Well!
his widow is my sister, and since her husband's death her health has not been satisfactory, so lately she has been living here in retirement."
"Ah, yes," said Genji, venturing upon a guess, "and I heard that she bore a daughter to Dainagon."
"Yes, she had a daughter, but she died about ten years ago.
After her father's death the sole care of her fell upon her widowed mother alone.
I know not how it came to pass, but she became secretly intimate with Prince Hiôbkiô.
But the Prince's wife was very jealous and severe, so she had much to suffer and put up with.
I saw personally the truth that 'care kills more than labor.'
" "Ah, then," thought Genji, "the little one is her daughter, and no wonder that she resembles the one in the palace (because Prince Hiôbkiô was the brother of the Princess Wistaria).
How would it be if I had free control over her, and had her brought up and educated according to my own notions?"
So thinking, he proceeded to say how sad it was that she died!
"Did she leave any offspring?"
"She gave birth to a child at her death, which was also a girl, and about this girl the grandmother is always feeling very anxious."
"Then," said Genji, "let it not appear strange to you if I say this, but I should be very happy to become the guardian of this girl.
Will you speak to her grandmother about it?
It is true that there is one to whom my lot is linked, but I care but little for her, and indeed usually lead a solitary life."
"Your offer is very kind," replied the priest, "but she is extremely young.
However every woman grows up under the protecting care of some one, and so I cannot say much about her, only it shall be mentioned to my sister."
The priest said this with a grave and even a stern expression on his countenance, which caused Genji to drop the subject.
He then asked the Prince to excuse him, for it was the hour for vespers, and as he quitted the room to attend the service, said he would return as soon as it was finished.
Genji was alone.
A slight shower fell over the surrounding country, and the mountain breezes blew cool.
The waters of the torrent were swollen, and the roar of them might be heard from afar.
Broken and indistinct, one might hear the melancholy sound of the sleepy intonation of prayers.
Even those people who have no sorrow of their own often feel melancholy from the circumstances in which they are placed.
So Genji, whose mind was occupied in thought, could not slumber here.
The priest said he was going to vespers, but in reality it was later than the proper time for them.
Genji perceived that the inmates had not yet retired to rest in the inner apartments of the house.
They were very quiet, yet the sound of the telling of beads, which accidentally struck the lectern, was heard from time to time.
The room was not far from his own.
He pulled the screen slightly aside, and standing near the door, he struck his fan on his hand, to summon some one.
"What can be the matter," said an attendant, and as she came near to the Prince's room she added, "Perhaps my ear was deceived," and she began to retire.
"Buddha will guide you; fear not the darkness, I am here," said Genji.
"Sir!"
replied the servant, timidly.
"Pray do not think me presumptuous," said Genji; "but may I beg you to transmit this poetical effusion to your mistress for me?
Since first that tender grass I viewed, My heart no soft repose e'er feels, But gathering mist my sleeve bedews, And pity to my bosom steals."
"Surely you should know, sir, that there is no one here to whom such things can be presented!"
"Believe me, I have my own reasons for this," said Genji.
"Let me beseech you to take it."
So the attendant went back, and presented it to the nun.
"I do not see the real intent of the effusion," thought the nun.
"Perhaps he thinks that she is already a woman.
But"--she continued, wonderingly--"how could he have known about the young grass?"
And she then remained silent for a while.
At last, thinking it would be unbecoming to take no notice of it, she gave orally the following reply to the attendant to be given to Genji:-- "You say your sleeve is wet with dew, 'Tis but one night alone for you, But there's a mountain moss grows nigh, Whose leaves from dew are never dry."
When Genji heard this, he said: "I am not accustomed to receive an answer such as this through the mouth of a third person.
Although I thank the lady for even that much, I should feel more obliged to her if she would grant me an interview, and allow me to explain to her my sincere wishes."
This at length obliged the nun to have an interview with the Prince.
He then told her that he called Buddha to witness that, though his conduct may have seemed bold, it was dictated by pure and conscientious motives.
"All the circumstances of your family history are known to me," continued he.
"Look upon me, I pray, as a substitute for your once loved daughter.
I, too, when a mere infant, was deprived by death of my best friend--my mother--and the years and months which then rolled by were fraught with trouble to me.
In that same position your little one is now.
Allow us, then, to become friends.
We could sympathize with each other.
'Twas to reveal these wishes to you that I came here, and risked the chance of offending you in doing so."
"Believe me, I am well disposed at your offer," said the nun; "but you may have been incorrectly informed.
It is true that there is a little girl dependent upon myself, but she is but a child.
Her society could not afford you any pleasure; and forgive me, therefore, if I decline your request."
"Yet let there be no reserve in the expression of your ideas," interrupted Genji; but, before they could talk further, the return of the priest put an end to the subject, and Genji retired to his quarters, after thanking the nun for his kind reception.
The night passed away, and dawn appeared.
The sky was again hazy, and here and there melodious birds were singing among the mountain shrubs and flowers that blossomed around.
The deer, too, which were to be seen here, added to the beauty of the picture.
Gazing around at these Genji once more proceeded to the temple.
The hermit--though too infirm to walk--again contrived to offer up his prayers on Genji's behalf, and he also read from the Darani.
[61] The tremulous accents of the old man--poured forth from his nearly toothless mouth--imparted a greater reverence to his prayers.
