The sight of these afforded them a delightful enjoyment while they were partaking of refreshment. A son of Tâ-no-Chiûjiâ, about eight or nine years old, was present. He was the second boy by his wife, Udaijin's daughter, and a tolerable player on the Sâh-flute. Both his countenance and disposition were amiable. The party was in full enjoyment when the boy rose and sang “Takasago” (high sand).15 When he proceeded to the last clause of his song,
“Oh, could I see that lovely flower,
That blossomed this morn!”
Tâ-no-Chiûjiâ offered his cup to Genji, saying,
“How glad am I to see your gentleness,
Sweet as the newly blooming flower!”
Genji, smiling, took the cup as he replied,
“Yet that untimely flower, I fear,
The rain will beat, the wind will tear,
Ere it be fully blown.”
And added,
“Oh, I myself am but a sere leaf.”
Genji was pressed by Tâ-no-Chiûjiâ to take several more cups, and his humor reached its height. Many poems, both in Chinese and Japanese, were composed by those present, most of whom paid high compliment to Genji. He felt proud, and unconsciously exclaimed, “The son of King Yuen, the brother of King Mu;” and would have added, “the King Ching's—”16 but there he paused.
To describe the scene which followed at a time such as this, when every mind is not in due equilibrium, is against the warning of Tsurayuki, the poet, so I will here pass over the rest.
Naishi-no-Kami, the young daughter of Udaijin, now retired to her home from the Court, having been attacked by ague; and the object of her retirement was to enjoy rest and repose, as well as to have spells performed for her illness.
This change did her great good, and she speedily recovered from the attack.
We had mentioned before that she always had a tender yearning for Genji, and she was the only one of her family who entertained any sympathy or good feeling towards him. She had seen, for some time, the lack of consideration and the indifference with which he was treated by her friends, and used to send messages of kind inquiry. Genji, on his part also, had never forgotten her, and the sympathy which she showed towards him excited in his heart the most lively appreciation.
These mutual feelings led at length to making appointments for meeting during her retirement. Genji ran the risk of visiting her secretly in her own apartments. This was really hazardous, more especially so because her sister, the Empress-mother, was at this time staying in the same mansion. We cannot regard either the lady or Genji as entirely free from the charge of imprudence, which, on his part, was principally the result of his old habits of wandering.
It was on a summer's evening that Genji contrived to see her in her own apartment, and while they were conversing, a thunderstorm suddenly broke forth, and all the inmates got up and ran to and fro in their excitement. Genji had lost the opportunity of escape, and, besides, the dawn had already broken.
When the storm became lighter and the thunder ceased, Udaijin went first to the room of his royal daughter, and then to that of Naishi-no-Kami. The noise of the falling rain made his footsteps inaudible, and all unexpectedly he appeared at the door and said: “What a storm it has been! Were you not frightened?”
This voice startled both Genji and the lady. The former hid himself on one side of the room, and the latter stepped forth to meet her father. Her face was deeply flushed, which he soon noticed. He said, “You seem still excited; is your illness not yet quite passed?” While he was so saying he caught sight of the sash of a man's cloak, twisted round her skirt.
“How strange!” thought he. The next moment he noticed some papers lying about, on which something had been scribbled. “This is more strange!” he thought again; and exclaimed, “Whose writings are these?” At this request she looked aside, and all at once noticed the sash round her skirt, and became quite confused. Udaijin was a man of quiet nature; so, without distressing her further, bent down to pick up the papers, when by so doing he perceived a man behind the screen, who was apparently in great confusion and was endeavoring to hide his face. However, Udaijin soon discovered who he was, and without any further remarks quitted the room, taking the papers with him.
The troubled state of Genji and the lady may be easily imagined, and in great anxiety he left the scene.
Now it was the character of Udaijin that he could never keep anything to himself, even his thoughts. He therefore went to the eldest daughter—that is, the Empress-mother, and told her that he had found papers which clearly were in the handwriting of Genji, and that though venturesomeness is the characteristic of men, such conduct as that which Genji had indulged in was against all propriety. “People said,” continued Udaijin, “that he was always carrying on a correspondence with the present Saiin. Were this true, it would not only be against public decorum, but his own interest; although I did not entertain any suspicion before.”
When the sagacious Empress-mother heard this, her anger was something fearful. “See the Emperor,” she said; “though he is Emperor, how little he is respected! When he was Heir-apparent, the ex-Sadaijin, not having presented his daughter to him, gave her to Genji, then a mere boy, on the eve of his Gembuk; and now this Genji boldly dares to carry on such intrigues with a lady who is intended to be the Royal consort! How daring, also, is his correspondence with the sacred Saiin! On the whole, his conduct, in every respect, does not appear to be as loyal as might be expected, and this only seems to arise from his looking forward to the ascent of the young Prince to the throne.”
Udaijin somehow felt the undesirability of this anger, and he began to change his tone, and tried to soothe her, saying: “You have some reason for being so affected; yet don't disclose such matters to the public, and pray don't tell it to the Emperor. It is, of course, an impropriety on the part of the Prince, but we must admit that our girl, also, would not escape censure. We had better first warn her privately among ourselves; and if the matter does not even then come all right, I will myself be responsible for that.”
The Empress-mother, however, could not calm her angry feelings. It struck her as a great disrespect to her dignity, on Genji's part, to venture to intrude into the very mansion where she was staying. And she began to meditate how to turn this incident into a means of carrying out the design which she had been forming for some time.
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A temporary residence expressly built for the Saigû to undergo purification.
A peculiar gate erected in front of the sacred places.
Shinto priests.
Name of a river of the province of Ise, which the travellers had to cross.
A dress made of the bark of the Wistaria was worn by those who were in deep mourning for near relatives.
This was an office held by a Court lady, whose duty it was to act as a medium of communication in the transmitting of messages between the Emperor and State officials.
It is said that the tomb of the authoress of this work is to be found at this spot.
In the Tendai sect of Buddhists there are sixty volumes of the theological writings which are considered most authoritative for their doctrine.
A passage of a Chinese history. The story is, that a Prince of a certain Chinese kingdom contrived to have assassinated an Emperor, his enemy. When he sent off the assassin this event took place. The allusion here seems to imply the allegation that Genji intended high treason.
She was the favorite of the first Emperor of the Hung dynasty in China, and the rival of the Empress. When the Emperor died, the Empress, a clever and disdainful woman, revenged herself by cutting off her feet, and her arms, and making away with her son.
This seems to have been the name of an aged attendant.
Among Japanese children it often happens that the milk teeth become black and decayed, which often gives a charm to their expression.
It was the custom to show a white horse on the seventh day of the new year to the Empress, the superstition being that this was a protestation against evil spirits.
A game consisting in opening Chinese poetry books and covering the rhymes, making others guess them.
Name of a ballad.
In Chinese history it is recorded that in giving an injunction to his son, Duke Choau, a great statesman of the eleventh century B.C., used these words: “I am the son of King Yuen, the brother of King Mu, and the uncle of King Ching; but I am so ready in receiving men in any way distinguished, that I am often interrupted three times at my dinner, or in my bath.” It would seem that Genji, in the pride of his feeling, unconsciously made the above quotation in reference to himself.