But sadder still my soul, taking leave of you.
I have heard with strange pleasure of the birth of the child. We need not
worry about him, for he will be reared in security. And yet--
"Had we but life, we could watch it, ever taller,
The seedling pine unseen among the rocks."
The writing, fevered and in disarray, went to the very edge of the
paper. The letter was addressed to Kojiju~.
The pouch had become a dwelling place for worms and smelled
strongly of mildew; and yet the writing, in such compromising detail, was
as clear as if it had been set down the day before. It would have been a
disaster if the letter had fallen into the hands of outsiders, he thought, half
in sorrow and half in alarm. He was so haunted by this strange affair,
stranger than any the future could possibly bring, that he could not per-
suade himself to set out for court. Instead he went to visit his mother.
Youthful and serene, she had a sutra in her hand, which she put shyly out
of sight upon his arrival. He must keep the secret to himself, he thought.
It would be cruel to let her know of his own new knowledge. His mind
jumped from detail to detail of the story he had heard.
<W Murasaki Shikibu>{Translated by Edward G.Seidensticker}
<T The Tale of Genji>
<K 5>
<C 46>{Beneath the Oak}
<N 1>
<P 799>
On about the twentieth of the Second Month, Niou made a pilgrimage to
Hatsuse. Perhaps the pleasant thought of stopping in Uji on the return
from Hatsuse made him seek now to honor a vow he had made some years
before. The fact that he should be so interested in a place the name of
which tended to call up unpleasant associations suggested a certain
frivolity. Large numbers of the highest-ranking officials were in his reti-
nue, and as for officials of lower ranks, scarcely any were left in the city.
On the far bank of the river Uji stood a large and beautifully appointed
villa which Yu~giri, Minister of the Right, had inherited from his father,
Genji. Yu~giri ordered that it be put in readiness for the prince's visit.
Protocol demanded that he go himself to receive Niou on the return jour-
ney from Hatsuse, but he begged to be excused. Certain occurrences had
required him to consult soothsayers, who had replied that he must spend
some time in retreat and abstinence Niou was vaguely displeased; but
when he heard that Kaoru would be meeting him he decided that this
breach of etiquette was in fact a piece of good luck. He need feel no
reticence about sending Kaoru to look into the situation on the opposite
bank of the Uji, where the Eighth Prince lived. There was, in any case,
something too solemn about Yu~giri, a stiffness that invited an answering
stiffness in Niou himself.
<P 800>
Several of Yu~giri's sons were in Kaoru's retinue: a moderator of the
first order, a chamberlain, a captain, and two lesser guards officers. Because
he was the favorite of his royal parents, Niou's prestige and popularity
were enormous; and for even the humblest and least influential of Genji's
retainers he was "our prince." The apartments in which he and his attend-
ants meant to rest were fitted out with the greatest care, in a manner that
put the advantages of the setting to the best possible use.<N 2> The gaming
boards were brought out, Go and backgammon and _tagi_ and the rest, and
the men settled down for trials of strength as fancy took them. Not used
to travel and persuaded by something more than fatigue, Niou decided that
it would be a pleasant spot for a night's lodging. After resting for a time,
he had instruments brought out. It was late afternoon. As so often happens
far away from the noisy world, the accompaniment of the water seemed
to give the music a clearer, higher sound.
The Eighth Prince's villa was across the river, a stone's throw away.
The sound came over on the breeze to make him think of old days at court.
<P 801>
"What a remarkable flutist that is," said the prince to himself. "Who
might it be? Genji played an interesting flute, a most charming flute; but
this is somehow different. It puts me in mind of the music we used to hear
at the old chancellor's, bold and clear, and maybe just a little haughty.
It has been a very long time indeed since I myself took part in such a
concert. The months and the years have gone by like waking dead!"
Pity for his daughters swept over him. If there were only a way to get
them out of these mountains! Kaoru was exactly what he hoped a son-in-
law might be, but Kaoru seemed rather wanting in amorous urges. How
could he think of handing his daughters over to trifling young men of the
sort the world seemed to produce these days? The worries chased each
other through his mind, and the spring night, endless for someone lost in
melancholy thought, went on and on. Beyond the river, the travelers were
enjoying themselves quite without reserve, and for them, in their fuddle-
ment, the spring night was all too quick to end. It seemed a pity, thought
Niou, to start for home so soon.
The high sky with fingers of mist trailing across it, the cherries coming
into bloom and already shedding their blossoms, "the willows by the
river," their reflections now bowing and now soaring as the wind caught
them--it was a novel sight for the visitor from the city, and one he was
reluctant to leave.
Kaoru was thinking what a pity it would be not to call on the Eighth
Prince. Could he avoid all these inquiring eyes and row across the river?
Would he be thought guilty of indiscretion? As he was debating the
problem, a poem was delivered from the prince:
"Parting the mist, a sound comes in on the wind,
But waves of white, far out on the stream, roll between us."
The writing, a strong, masculine hand, was most distinguished.
Well, thought Niou--from precisely the place that had been on his
mind. He himself would send an answering poem:
"On far shore and near, the waves may keep us apart.
Come in all the same, 0 breeze of the river Uji!"
Kaoru set out to deliver it. In attendance upon him were men known
to be particularly fond of music. Summoning up all their artistry, the
<P 802>
company played "The River Music" as they were rowed across. The
landing that had been put out from the river pavilion of the prince's villa,
and indeed the villa itself, seemed in the best of taste, again quite in
harmony with the setting. Cleaned and newly appointed in preparation for
a distinguished visit, it was a house of a very different sort from the one
in which they had passed the night. The furnishings, screens of wattled
bamboo and the like, simple and yet in very good taste, were right for a
mountain dwelling. Unostentatiously, the Eighth Prince brought out an-
tique kotos and lutes of remarkable timbre. The guests, tuning their instru-
ments to the _ichikotsu_ mode, played "Cherry-Blossom Girl," and when
they had finished they pressed their host to favor them with something on
that famous seven-stringed koto of his. He was diffident, and only joined
in with a short strain from time to time. Perhaps because it was a style they
were not used to, the young men found that it had a somewhat remote
sound to it, a certain depth and mystery, strangely moving.
As for the repast to which they were treated, it was most tasteful in
an old-fashioned way, exactly what the setting asked for, and much su-
perior to what they would have expected. There were in the neighborhood
numbers of elderly people who, though not of royal blood, came from
gentle families, and some who were distant relatives of the emperor him-
self. They had long wondered what the prince would do if such an occasion
were to arise, and as many of them as were able came to help; and the
guests found that their cups were being kept full by attendants who,
though not perhaps dressed in the latest fashions, could hardly have been
called rustic. No doubt there were a number of youngsters whose hearts
were less than calm at the thought of ladies' apartments. Matters were even
worse for Niou. How constricting it was, to be of a rank that forbade
lighthearted adventures! Unable to contain himself, he broke off a fine
branch of cherry blossoms and, an elegantly attired page boy for his
messenger, sent it across the river with a poem:
"I have come, the mountain cherries at their best,
To break off sprays of blossom for my cap."
And it would seem that he added: "Then stayed the night, enamored
of the fields."
What could they send by way of answer? The princesses were at a
loss. But they must send something, that much was sure, said the old
women. This was hardly the occasion for a really formal poem, and it
would be rude to wait too long. Finally Oigimi composed a reply and had
Nakanokimi set it down for her:
<P 803>
"It is true that you have fought your way through the mountain
tangles, and yet
"For sprays to break, the springtime wanderer pauses
Before the rustic fence, and wanders on."
The hand was subtle and delicate.
And so music answered music across the river. It was as Niou had
requested, the wind did not propose to keep them apart. Presently Ko~bai
arrived, upon order of the emperor; and with great crowds milling about
Niou made a noisy departure. His attendants looked back again, and he
promised himself that he would find an excuse for another visit. The view
was magical, with the blossoms at their best and layers of mist trailing
among them. Many were the poems in Chinese and in Japanese that the
occasion produced, but I did not trouble myself to ask about them.
<N 3>
Niou was unhappy. In the confusion he had not been able to convey
the sort of message he had wished to. He sent frequent letters thereafter,
not bothering to ask the mediation of Kaoru.
"You really should answer," said the Eighth Prince. "But be careful
not to sound too serious. That would only excite him. He has his pleasure-
loving ways, and you are a pleasure he is not likely to forgo."
Though with this caveat, he encouraged replies. It was Nakanokimi
who set them down. Oigimi was much too cautious and deliberate to let
herself become involved in the least significant of such exchanges.
The prince, ever deeper in melancholy, found the long, uneventful
spring days harder to get through than other days. The beauty and grace
of his daughters, more striking as the years went by, had the perverse effect
of intensifying the melancholy. If they were plain little things, he said to
himself, then it might not matter so much to leave them in these moun-
tains. His mind ran the circle of worries and ran it again, day and night.
Oigimi was now twenty-five, Nakanokimi twenty-three.
It was a dangerous year for him. He was more assiduous than ever
in his devotions. Because his heart was no longer in this world, because
he was intent on leaving it behind as soon as possible, the way down the
cool, serene path seemed clear. But there was one obstacle, worry about
the future of his daughters.
"When he puts himself into his studies," said the people around him,
"his will power is extraordinary. But don't you suppose he'll weaken when
the final test comes? Don't you suppose his worries about our ladies will
be too much for him?"
If only there were _someone_, he thought--someone not perhaps up to the
standard he had always set, but still, after his fashion, of a rank and
character that would not be demeaning, and someone who would under-
take in all sincerity to look after the princesses--then he would be inclined
<P 804>
to give his tacit blessing. If even one of the girl s could find a secure place
in the world, he could without misgivings leave the other innoer charge.
But thus far no one had come forward with what could be described as
serious intentions. Occasionally, on some pretext, there would be a sugges-
tive letter, and occasionally too some fellow, in the lightness of his young
heart, stopping on his way to or from a temple, would show signs of
interest. But there was always something insulting about these advances,
some hint that the man looked down upon ladies left to waste away in the
mountains. The prince would not permit the most casual sort of reply.
And now came Niou, who said that he could not rest until he had
made the acquaintance of the princesses. Was this ardor a sign of a bond
from a former life?
<N 4>
In the autumn Kaoru was promoted to councillor of the middle or-
der. The distinction of his manner and appearance was more pronounced
as he rose in rank and office, and the thoughts that tormented him made
similar gains. They were more tenacious than when the doubts about his
birth had still been vague and unformed. As he tried to imagine how it had
been in those days, so long ago now, when his father had sickened and
died, he wanted to lose himself in prayers and rites of atonement. He had
been strongly drawn to the old woman at Uji, and he tried circumspectly
to let her know of his feelings.
It was now the Seventh Month. He had been away from Uji, he
thought, for a very long while.
Autumn had not yet come to the city, but by the time he reached
Mount Otowa the breeze was cool, and in the vicinity of Mount Oyama
autumn was already at the tips of the branches. The shifting mountain
scenery delighted him more and more as he approached Uji.
The prince greeted him with unusual warmth, and talked on and on
of the melancholy thoughts that were so much with him.
"If you should find reasonable occasion, after I am gone," he said,
guiding the conversation to the problem of his daughters, "do please come
and see them from time to time. Put them on your list, if you will, of the
