party were in tears.
The assistant viceroy sent a message. "I had hoped to call on you
immediately upon returning to the city from my distant post, and when,
to my surprise, I found myself passing your house, I was filled with the
most intense feelings of sorrow and regret. Various acquaintances who
might have been expected to come from the city have done so, and our
party has become so numerous that it would be out of the question to call
on you. I shall hope to do so soon."
His son, the governor of Chikuzen, brought the message. Genji had
taken notice of the youth and obtained an appointment for him in the
imperial secretariat. He was sad to see his patron in such straits, but people
were watching and had a way of talking, and he stayed only briefly.
"It was kind of you to come," said Genji. "I do not often see old
friends these days."
His reply to the assistant viceroy was in a similar vein. Everyone in
the Kyushu party and in the party newly arrived from the city as well was
deeply moved by the governor's description of what he had seen. The tears
of sympathy almost seemed to invite worse misfortunes.
The Gosechi dancer contrived to send him a note.
"Now taut, now slack, like my unruly heart,
The tow rope is suddenly still at the sound of a koto.
"Scolding will not improve me."
He smiled, so handsome a smile that his men felt rather inadequate.
"Why, if indeed your heart is like the tow rope,
Unheeding must you pass this strand of Suma?
"I had not expected to leave you for these wilds."
There once was a man who, passing Akashi on his way into exile,
brought pleasure into an innkeeper's life with an impromptu Chinese
poem. For the Gosechi dancer the pleasure was such that she would have
liked to make Suma her home.
<P 240>
As time passed, the people back in the city, and even the emperor
himself, found that Genji was more and more in their thoughts. The crown
prince was the saddest of all. His nurse and Omyo~bu would find him
weeping in a corner and search helplessly for ways to comfort him. Once
so fearful of rumors and their possible effect on this child of hers and
Genji's, Fujitsubo now grieved that Genji must be away.
In the early days of his exile he corresponded with his brothers and
with important friends at court. Some of his Chinese poems were widely
praised.
Kokiden flew into a rage. "A man out of favor with His Majesty is
expected to have trouble feeding himself. And here he is living in a fine
stylish house and saying awful things about all of us. No doubt the grovel-
ers around him are assuring him that a deer is a horse.
And so writing to Genji came to be rather too much to ask of people,
and letters stopped coming.
The months went by, and Murasaki was never really happy. All the
women from the other wings of the house were now in her service. They
had been of the view that she was beneath their notice, but as they came
to observe her gentleness, her magnanimity in household matters, her
thoughtfulness, they changed their minds, and not one of them departed
her service. Among them were women of good family. A glimpse of her
was enough to make them admit that she deserved Genji's altogether
remarkable affection.
And as time went by at Suma, Genji began to feel that he could bear
to be away from her no longer. But he dismissed the thought of sending
for her: this cruel punishment was for himself alone. He was seeing a little
of plebeian life, and he thought it very odd and, he must say, rather dirty.
The smoke near at hand would, he supposed, be the smoke of the salt
burners' fires. In fact, someone was trying to light wet kindling just behind
the house.
"Over and over the rural ones light fires.
Not so unflagging the urban ones with their visits."
It was winter, and the snowy skies were wild. He beguiled the tedium
with music, playing the koto himself and setting Koremitsu to the flute,
with Yoshikiyo to sing for them. When he lost himself in a particularly
moving strain the others would fall silent, tears in their eyes.
He thought of the lady the Chinese emperor sent off to the Huns.
How must the emperor have felt, how would Genji himself feel, in so
<P 241>
disposing of a beautiful lady? He shuddered, as if some such task might
be approaching, "at the end of a frosty night's dream."
A bright moon flooded in, lighting the shallow-eaved cottage to the
farthest corners. He was able to imitate the poet's feat of looking up at the
night sky without going to the veranda. There was a weird sadness in the
setting moon. "The moon goes always to the west," he whispered.
"All aimless is my journey through the clouds.
It shames me that the unswerving moon should see me."
He recited it silently to himself. Sleepless as always, he heard the sad
calls of the plovers in the dawn and (the others were not yet awake)
repeated several times to himself:
"Cries of plovers in the dawn bring comfort
To one who awakens in a lonely bed."
His practice of going through his prayers and ablutions in the deep of
<P 242>
night seemed strange and wonderful to his men. Far from being tempted
to leave him, they did not return even for brief visits to their families.
The Akashi coast was a very short distance away. Yoshikiyo remem-
bered the daughter of the former governor, now a monk, and wrote to her.
She did not answer.
"I would like to see you for a few moments sometime at your conven-
ience," came a note from her father. "There is something I want to ask
you.
Yoshikiyo was not encouraged. He would look very silly if he went
to Akashi only to be turned away. He did not go.
The former governor was an extremely proud and intractable man.
The incumbent governor was all-powerful in the province, but the eccen-
tric old man had no wish to marry his daughter to such an upstart. He
learned of Genji's presence at Suma.
"I hear that the shining Genji is out of favor," he said to his wife, "and
that he has come to Suma. What a rare stroke of luck--the chance we have
been waiting for. We must offer our girl."
"Completely out of the question. People from the city tell me that he
has any number of fine ladies of his own and that he has reached out for
one of the emperor's. That is why the scandal. What interest can he
possibly take in a country lump like her?"
"You don't understand the first thing about it. My own views couldn't
be more different. We must make our plans. We must watch for a chance
to bring him here." His mind was quite made up, and he had the look of
someone whose plans were not easily changed. The finery which he had
lavished upon house and daughter quite dazzled the eye.
"He may be ever so grand a grand gentleman," persisted the mother,
"but it hardly seems the right and sensible thing to choose of all people
a man who has been sent into exile for a serious crime. It might just
possibly be different if he were likely to look at her--but no. You must
be joking."
"A serious crime! Why in China too exactly this sort of thing happens
to every single person who has remarkable talents and stands out from the
crowd. And who do you think he is? His late mother was the daughter of
my uncle, the Lord Inspector. She had talent and made a name for herself,
and when there wasn't enough of the royal love to go around, the others
were jealous, and finally they killed her. But she left behind a son who was
a royal joy and comfort. Ladies should have pride and high ambitions. I
may be a bumpkin myself, but I doubt that he will think her entirely
beneath contempt."
Though the girl was no great beauty, she was intelligent and sensitive
and had a gentle grace of which someone of far higher rank would have
been proud. She was reconciled to her sad lot. No one among the great
persons of the land was likely to think her worth a glance. The prospect
of marrying someone nearer her station in life revolted her. If she was left
behind by those on whom she depended, she would become a nun, or
perhaps throw herself into the sea.
<P 243>
Her father had done everything for her. He sent her twice a gear to
the Sumiyoshi Shrine, hoping that the god might be persuaded to notice
her.
The New Year came to Suma, the days were longer, and time went
by slowly. The sapling cherry Genji had planted the year before sent out
a scattering of blossoms, the air was soft and warm, and memories flooded
back, bringing him often to tears. He thought longingly of the ladies for
whom he had wept when, toward the end of the Second Month the year
before, he had prepared to depart the city. The cherries would now be in
bloom before the Grand Hall. He thought of that memorable cherry-
blossom festival, and his father, and the extraordinarily handsome figure
his brother, now the emperor, had presented, and he remembered how his
brother had favored him by reciting his Chinese poem.
A Japanese poem formed in his mind:
"Fond thoughts I have of the noble ones on high,
And the day of the flowered caps has come again."
To~ no Chu~jo~ was now a councillor. He was a man of such fine charac-
<P 244>
ter that everyone wished him well, but he was not happy. Everything made
him think of Genji. Finally he decided that he did not care what rumors
might arise and what misdeeds he might be accused of and hurried off to
Suma. The sight of Genji brought tears of joy and sadness. Genji's house
seemed very strange and exotic. The surroundings were such that he would
have liked to paint them. The fence was of plaited bamboo and the pillars
were of pine and the stairs of stone. It was a rustic, provincial sort of
dwelling, and very interesting.
Genji's dress too was somewhat rustic. Over a singlet dyed lightly in
a yellowish color denoting no rank or office he wore a hunting robe and
trousers of greenish gray. It was plain garb and intentionally countrified,
but it so became the wearer as to bring an immediate smile of pleasure to
his friend's lips. Genji's personal utensils and accessories were of a make-
shift nature, and his room was open to anyone who wished to look in. The
gaming boards and stones were also of rustic make. The religious objects
that lay about told of earnest devotion. The food was very palatable and
very much in the local taste. For his friend's amusement, Genji had fisher-
men bring fish and shells. To~ no Chu~jo~ had them questioned about their
maritime life, and learned of perils and tribulations. Their speech was as
incomprehensible as the chirping of birds, but no doubt their feelings were
like his own. He brightened their lives with clothes and other gifts. The
stables being nearby, fodder was brought from a granary or something of
the sort beyond, and the feeding process was as novel and interesting as
everything else. To~ no Chu~jo~ hummed the passage from "The Well of
Asuka" about the well-fed horses.
Weeping and laughing, they talked of all that had happened over the
months.
"Yu~giri quite rips the house to pieces, and Father worries and worries
about him."
Genji was of course sorry to hear it; but since I am not capable of
recording the whole of the long conversation, I should perhaps refrain from
recording any part of it. They composed Chinese poetry all through the
night. To~ no Chu~jo~ had come in defiance of the gossips and slanderers, but
they intimidated him all the same. His stay was a brief one.
Wine was brought in, and their toast was from $$ Po Chu-i:
"Sad topers we. Our springtime cups flow with tears."
The tears were general, for it had been too brief a meeting.
A line of geese flew over in the dawn sky.
"In what spring tide will I see again my old village?
I envy the geese, returning whence they came."
<P 245>
Sorrier than ever that he must go, To~ no Chu~jo~ replied:
"Sad are the geese to leave their winter's lodging.
Dark my way of return to the flowery city."
He had brought gifts from the city, both elegant and practical. Genji
gave him in return a black pony, a proper gift for a traveler.
"Considering its origins, you may fear that it will bring bad luck; but
you will find that it neighs into the northern winds."
It was a fine beast.
"To remember me by," said To~ no Chu~jo~, giving in return what was
recognized to be a very fine flute. The situation demanded a certain reti-
cence in the giving of gifts.
The sun was high, and To~ no Chu~jo~'s men were becoming restive. He
looked back and looked back, and Genji almost felt that no visit at all
would have been better than such a brief one.
"And when will we meet again? It is impossible to believe that you
will be here forever."
"Look down upon me, cranes who skim the clouds,
And see me unsullied as this cloudless day.
"Yes, I do hope to go back, someday. But when I think how difficult
it has been for even the most remarkable men to pick up their old lives,
I am no longer sure that I want to see the city again."
"Lonely the voice of the crane among the clouds.
Gone the comrade that once flew at its side.
"I have been closer to you than ever I have deserved. My regrets for
what has happened are bitter."
They scarcely felt that they had had time to renew their friendship.
For Genji the loneliness was unrelieved after his friend's departure.
It was the day of the serpent, the first such day in the Third Month.
"The day when a man who has worries goes down and washes them
