permitted to go hand in hand down the way to the Pure Land. He had also
made a copy of the Amita~bha Sutra. Fearing that Chinese paper might
<P 669>
begin to crumble after frequent use, he had ordered a fine, unmarked paper
from the royal provisioner. He had been hard at work since spring and the
results quite justified his labors. A glimpse of an unrolled corner was
enough to tell the most casual observer that it was a masterpiece. The gilt
lines were very good, but the sheen of the black ink and the contrast with
the paper were quite marvelous. I shall not attempt to describe the spindle,
the cover, and the box, save to say that they were all of superb workman-
ship. On a new aloeswood stand with flared legs, it occupied a central place
beside the holy trinity.
<N 2>
The chapel thus appointed, the officiants took their places and the
procession assembled. Genji looked in upon the west antechamber, where
the princess was in temporary residence. It seemed rather small, now
crowded with some fifty or sixty elaborately dressed women, and rather
warm as well. Indeed some of the little girls had been pushed out to the
north veranda.
The censers were being tended so assiduously that the room was dark
with their smoke. "An incense is sometimes more effective," said Genji,
thinking that these giddy novices needed advice, "when one can scarcely
tell where it is coming from. This is like a smoldering Fuji. And when we
gather for these ceremonies we like to get quietly to the heart of the matter,
and would prefer to be without distractions. Too emphatic a rustling of
silk, for instance, gives an unsettling awareness of being in a crowd."
Tiny and pretty and overwhelmed by the crowd, the princess was
leaning against an armrest.
"The boy is likely to be troublesome," he added. "Suppose you have
someone put him out of sight."
Blinds hung along the north side of the room in place of the sliding
doors, and it was there that the women were gathered. Asking for quiet,
he gave the princess necessary instructions, politely and very gently. The
sight of her bedchamber now made over into a chapel moved him to tears.
"And so here we are, rushing into monkish ceremonies side by side.
Who would have expected it? Let us pray that we will share blossom-
strewn lodgings in the next world."
Borrowing her inkstone, he wrote a poem on her cloves-dyed fan:
"Separate drops of dew on the leaf of the lotus,
We vow that we will be one, on the lotus to come."
She answered:
"Together, you say, in the lotus dwelling to come.
But may you not have certain reservations?"
"And so my proposal is rejected, and I am castigated for it?" He was
smiling, but it was a sad, meditative smile.
<N 3>
There were as usual large numbers of princes in the congregation. The
other Rokujo~ ladies had sought to outdo one another in the novelty and
<P 670>
richness of their offerings, which quite overflowed the princess's rooms.
Murasaki had seen to the most essential provisions, robes for the seven
officiants and the like. They were all of brocade, and people with an eye
for such things could see that every detail, the most inconspicuous seam
of a surplice, for instance, was of unusually fine workmanship. I feel
compelled to touch upon very small details myself.
The sermon, by a most estimable cleric, described the significance of
the occasion. It was entirely laudable, and food for profound thought, he
said, that so young and lovely a lady should renounce the world and seek
to find in the Lotus Sutra her future for all the lives to come. A gifted and
eloquent man, he quite outdid himself today and had the whole congrega-
tion in tears.
Genji had wanted the dedication of the chapel and its images to be
quiet and unpretentious, but the princess's brother and father had word
of the preparations and sent representatives, and the proceedings suddenly
became rather elaborate. Ceremonies which Genji sought to keep simple
had a way of becoming elaborate from the outset, and the brilliance of
these added offerings made one wonder what monastery would be large
enough to accommodate them.
<N 4>
Genji's feelings for the princess had deepened since she had taken her
<P 671>
vows. He was endlessly solicitous. Her father had indicated a hope that she
might one day move to the Sanjo~ mansion, which he was giving her, and
suggested that appearances might best be served if she were to go now.
"I would prefer otherwise," said Genji. "I would much prefer to have
her here with me, so that I can look after her and ask her this and tell her
that--I would feel sadly deprived if she were to leave me. No one lives
forever and I do not expect to live much longer. Please do not deny me the
pleasure while I am here."
He spared no expense in remodeling the Sanjo~ mansion, where he
made arrangemements for storing the finest produce of her fields and
pastures. He had new storehouses built and saw that all her treasures, gifts
from her father and the rest, were put under heavy guard. He himself
would be responsible for the general support of her large and complex
household.
<N 5>
In the autumn he had the garden to the west of the main hall at
Rokujo~ done over to look like a moor. The altar and all the votive dishes
were in gentle, ladylike taste. The princess readily agreed that the older of
her women, her nurse among them, follow her in taking vows. Among the
younger ones she chose only those whose resolve seemed firm enough to
last out their lives. All of the others, caught up in a certain contagion, were
demanding that they be admitted to the company.
Genji did not at all approve of this flight to religion. "If any of you,
I don't care how few, are not ready for it, you are certain to cause mischief,
and the world will say that you have been rash and hasty."
Only ten or so of them finally took vows.
Genji had autumn insects released in the garden moor, and on eve-
nings when the breeze was cooler he would come visiting. The insect songs
his pretext, he would make the princess unhappy by telling her once again
of his regrets. He seemed to have forgotten her vows, and in general his
behavior was not easily condoned. It was proper enough when there were
others present, but he managed to make it very clear to her that he knew
of her misdeeds. It was chiefly because she found his attentions so distaste-
ful that she had become a nun. She had hoped that she might now find
peace--and here he was with endless regrets. She longed to withdraw to
a retreat of her very own, but she was not one to say so.
<N 6>
On the evening of the full moon, not yet risen, she sat near the
veranda of her chapel meditatively invoking the holy name. Two or three
young nuns were arranging flowers before the holy images. The sounds of
the nunnery, so far from the ordinary world, the clinking of the sacred
vessels and the murmur of holy water, were enough to induce tears.
Genji paid one of his frequent visits. "What a clamor of insects you
do have!" He joined her, very softly and solemnly, in the invocation to
Amita~bha.
<P 672>
None was brighter and clearer among the insects than the bell cricket,
swinging into its song.
"They all have their good points, but Her Majesty seems to prefer
the pine cricket. She sent some of her men a great distance to bring them
in from the moors, but when she had them in her garden only a very few
of them sang as sweetly for her as they had sung in the wilds. One would
expect them to be as durable as pines, but in fact they seem to have short
lives. They sing very happily off in forests and mountains where no one
hears them, and that seems unsociable of them. These bell crickets of yours
are so bright and cheerful."
"The autumn is a time of deprivation,
I have thought--and yet have loved this cricket."
She spoke very softly and with a quiet, gentle elegance.
"What can you mean,'deprivation'?
"Although it has chosen to leave its grassy dwelling,
It cannot, this lovely insect, complain of neglect."
He called for a koto and treated her to a rare concert. She quite forgot
her beads. The moon having come forth in all its radiance, he sat gazing
up at it, lost in thoughts of his own. What a changeable, uncertain world
it is, he was thinking. His koto seemed to plead in sadder tones than usual.
Prince Hotaru, his brother, came calling, having guessed that on such
an evening there would be music. Yu~giri was with him, and they were well
and nobly attended. The sound of the koto led them immediately to the
princess's rooms.
"Please do not call it a concert; but in my boredom I thought I might
have a try at the koto I have so long neglected. Here I am playing for
myself. It was good of you to hear and to come."
He invited the prince inside.
One after another the high courtiers came calling. There was to have
been a moon-viewing fete at the palace, but it had been canceled, to their
very great disappointment. Then had come word that people were gather-
ing at Rokujo~.
There were judgments upon the relative merits of the insect songs.
"One is always moved by the full moon," said Genji, as instrument
after instrument joined the concert," but somehow the moon this evening
takes me to other worlds. Now that Kashiwagi is no longer with us I find
that everything reminds me of him. Something of the joy, the luster, has
gone out of these occasions. When we were talking of the moods of nature,
the flowers and the birds, he was the one who had interesting and sensitive
things to say."
The sound of his own koto had brought him to tears. He knew that
the princess, inside her blinds, would have heard his remarks about Ka-
shiwagi.
<P 673>
The emperor too missed Kashiwagi on nights when there was music.
Genji suggested that the whole night be given over to admiring the
bell cricket. He had just finished his second cup of wine, however, when
a message came from the Reizei emperor. Disappointed at the sudden
cancellation of the palace fete, Ko~bai and Shikibu no Tayu~ had appeared
at the Reizei Palace, bringing with them some of the more talented poets
of the day. They had heard that Yu~giri and the others were at Rokujo~.
"It does not forget, the moon of the autumn night,
A corner remote from that realm above the clouds.
"Do please come, if you have no other commitments."
Even though he in fact had few commitments these days and the
Reizei emperor was living in quiet retirement, Genji seldom went visiting.
It was sad that the emperor should have found it necessary to send for him.
Despite the suddenness of the invitation he immediately began making
ready.
"In your cloud realm the moonlight is as always,
And here we see that autumn means neglect."
<P 674>
It was not a remarkable poem, but it was honest, speaking of past
intimacy and recent neglect. The messenger was offered wine and richly
rewarded.
<N 7>
The procession, led by numerous outrunners and including Yu~giri and
his friends Saemon no Kami and To~saisho~, formed in order of rank, and
so Genji gave up his quiet evening at home. Long trains gave a touch of
formality to casual court dress. It was late and the moon was high, and the
young men played this and that air on their flutes as the spirit moved them.
It was an unobtrusively elegant progress. Bothersome ceremony always
went with a formal meeting, and Genji wished this one to take them back
to days when he had been less encumbered. The Reizei emperor was
delighted. His resemblance to Genji was more striking as the years went
by. The emperor had chosen to abdicate when he still had his best years
ahead of him, and had found much in the life of retirement that pleased
him.
The poetry, in Chinese and Japanese, was uniformly interesting and
evocative, but I have fallen into an unfortunate habit of passing on but a
random sampling of what I have heard, and shall say no more. The Chinese
poems were read as dawn came over the sky, and soon afterwards the
visitors departed.
<N 8>
Genji called on Akikonomu before returning to Rokujo~.
"Now that you are not so busy," he said, "I often think how good it
would be to pass the time of day with you and talk of the things one does
not forget. But I am neither in nor out of the world, a very tiresome
position. My meditations on the uselessness of it all are unsettled by an
awareness of how many people younger than I are moving ahead down the
true path; and so I want more and more to find myself a retreat away from
everything. I have asked you to look after the one I would be leaving
behind. I am sure that I can count on you."
"I almost think that you are more inaccessible than when all those
public affairs stood between us." She managed, as always, to seem both
youthful and wise. "The thought that I would no longer have your kind
advice and attention has been my chief reason for not following the exam-
ple of so many others in renouncing the world. I have been very dependent
on you and it is a painful thought."
"I awaited with the greatest pleasure the visits which protocol allowed
you to make, and know that I should not expect to see much of you now.
It is an uncertain and unreliable world, and yet one is attached to it, and
unless there are very compelling reasons cannot easily give it up. Even
when the right time seems to have come and everything seems in order,
the ties still remain. It must be with you as with everyone else, and if you
