Several fishermen came with the fish which they had caught. Genji called them in and made them show their spoils. He also led them to talk of their lives spent on the sea, and each in his own peculiar local dialect gave him a narration of his joys and sorrows. He then dismissed them with the gift of some stuff to make them clothing. All this was quite a novelty to the eyes of Tâ-no-Chiûjiâ, who also saw the stable in which he obtained a glimpse of some horses. The attendants at the time were feeding them. Dinner was presently served, at which the dishes were necessarily simple, yet tasteful. In the evening they did not retire to rest early, but spent their time in continuing their conversation and in composing verses.
Although Tâ-no-Chiûjiâ had, in coming, risked the displeasure of the Court, he still thought it better to avoid any possible slander, and therefore he made up his mind to set out for his home early next morning. The saké cup was offered, and they partook of it as they hummed,
“In our parting cup, the tears of sadness fall.”
Several presents had been brought from the capital for Genji by Tâ-no-Chiûjiâ, and, in return, the former made him a present of an excellent dark-colored horse, and also a celebrated flute, as a token of remembrance.
As the sun shed forth his brilliant rays Tâ-no-Chiûjiâ took his leave, and as he did so he said, “When shall I see you again, you cannot be here long?” Genji replied,
“Yon noble crane that soars on high,8
And hovers in the clear blue sky,
Believe my soul as pure and light;
As spotless as the spring day bright.
However, a man like me, whose fortune once becomes adverse seldom regains, even in the case of great wisdom, the prosperity he once fully enjoyed, and so I cannot predict when I may find myself again in the capital.”
So Tâ-no-Chiûjiâ, having replied as follows:—
“The crane mounts up on high, 'tis true,
But now he soars and cries alone,
Still fondly thinking of his friend,
With whom in former days he flew,”
set off on his homeward road, leaving Genji cast down for some time.
Now the coast of Akashi is a very short distance from Suma, and there lived the former Governor of the province, now a priest, of whom we have spoken before. Yoshikiyo well remembered his lovely daughter, and, after he came to Suma with Genji, he wrote to her now and then. He did not get any answer from her, but sometimes heard from her father, to whom Genji's exile became soon known, and who wished to see him for a reason not altogether agreeable to himself. It should be remembered that this old man always entertained aspirations on behalf of his daughter, and in his eyes the successive governors of the province who came after him, and whose influence had been unbounded, were considered as nobodies. To him, his young daughter was everything; and he used to send her twice a year to visit the temple of Sumiyoshi, in order that she might obtain good fortune by the blessing of the god.
She was not of an ideal beauty, but yet expressive in countenance and exalted in mind. She could, in this respect, rival any of those of high birth in the capital.
The priest said one day to his wife, “Prince Genji, the imperial son of the Kâyi of Kiritsubo is now at Suma in exile, having offended the Court. How fortunate it would be if we could take the opportunity of presenting our child to him!”
The wife replied, “Ah, how dreadful, when I heard what the townspeople talk, I understood that he has several mistresses. He went even so far as to carry on a secret intimacy, which happened to be obnoxious to the Emperor, and it is said that this offence was the cause of his exile.”
“I have some reason for mentioning this to you,” he interrupted, impatiently; “it is not a thing which you understand, so make up your mind, I shall bring the matter about, and take an opportunity of making him come to us.”
“No matter how distinguished a personage he is,” replied the wife, “it is a fact that he has offended the Court and is exiled. I do not understand why you could take a fancy to such a man for our maiden daughter. It is not a joking matter. I hope you will take it into graver consideration.”
“That a man of ability and distinction should meet with adverse fortune is a very common occurrence,” said he, still more obstinately, “both in our empire and in that of China. How then do you venture to say such things against the Prince? His mother was the daughter of an Azechi Dainagon, who was my uncle. She enjoyed a good reputation, and when she was introduced at Court, became both prosperous and distinguished. Although her life was shortened by the suffering caused by the fierce jealousy of her rivals, she left behind the royal child, who is no other person than Prince Genji. A woman should always be aspiring, as this lady was. What objection then is there in the idea of introducing our only child to a man like him? Although I am now only a country gentleman, I do not think he would withdraw his favor from me.”
Such were the opinions of this old man, and hence his discouragement of the advances of Yoshikiyo.
The first of March came, and Genji was persuaded by some to perform Horai (prayer for purification) for the coming occasion of the Third.9 He therefore sent for a calendar-priest, with whom he went out, accompanied by attendants, to the seashore. Here a tent was erected ceremoniously, and the priest began his prayers, which were accompanied by the launching of a small boat, containing figures representing human images. On seeing this Genji said,
“Never thought I, in my younger day,
To be thrown on the wild sea-shore,
And like these figures to float away,
And perhaps see my home no more.”
As he contemplated the scene around him, he perceived that the wild surface of the sea was still and calm, like a mirror without its frame. He offered prayers in profound silence, and then exclaimed,
“Oh, all ye eight millions of gods,10 hear my cry,
Oh, give me your sympathy, aid me, I pray,
For when I look over my life, ne'er did I
Commit any wrong, or my fellows betray.”
Suddenly, as he spoke these words, the wind arose and began to blow fiercely. The sky became dark, and torrents of rain soon followed. This caused great confusion to all present, and each ran back to the house without finishing the ceremony of prayers. None of them were prepared for the storm, and all got drenched with the rain. From this the rain continued to pour down, and the surface of the sea became as it were tapestried with white, over which the lightning darted and the thunder rolled. It seemed as if thunderbolts were crashing overhead, and the force of the rain appeared to penetrate the earth. Everyone was frightened, for they thought the end of the world was near.
Genji occupied his time in quietly reading his Buddhist Bible. In the evening, the thunder became less loud, though the wind still blew not less violently than in the daytime. Everyone in the residence said that they had heard of what is termed a floodtide, which often caused a great deal of damage, but they had never witnessed such a scene as they had that day. Genji dropped off into a slumber, when indistinctly the resemblance of a human figure came to him and said, “You are requested to come to the palace, why don't you come?”
Genji was startled by the words, and awoke. He thought that the king of the dragon palace11 might have admired him, and was perhaps the author of this strange dream. These thoughts made him weary of remaining at Suma.