The Tale of Genji: (Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition) (Junichiro Breakdown of Genji)

by Murasaki Shikibu

  At her age she had a certain number of years behind her, but quite apart from her own ignorance of men's ways, she knew no one with the smallest experience of the world, and greater intimacy than this was therefore still beyond her ken. She was so visibly devastated by this shocking turn in her fortunes that her gentle-women thought she was ill and could not imagine how to make her feel better.

  “My lord is so extraordinarily attentive and kind!”

  “Surely not even your real father would be so unfailingly devoted to your welfare, my lady!” Hyōbu42 and the others whispered, but Genji's astonishing behavior had by now made him so hateful that she could only lament her unhappy lot.

  A letter came from him early the next morning. She still lay as though ill, but she read it reluctantly when her women brought her an inkstone and so on and urged a quick reply. Its seemingly innocent white paper conveyed detachment, but it was very beautifully written.

  “What an extraordinary way to treat me! Your cruelty will not be easy to forget. I wonder what it all looked like to your women.

  Not once have we lain in a lovers' full embrace—why, then, little plant,

  are you so sadly downcast, as though something had happened?

  What a child you are!”

  This last, paternal remark particularly repelled her, and since it certainly would have looked strange for her not to answer at all, she only wrote on thick Michinokuni paper, “Thank you for your note. I am unwell, and I hope that you will therefore forgive my failure to reply.” Genji could only smile to see how her modesty betrayed the promise of her beauty, and it seemed to him, as deplorably as ever, that she was well worth a lover's bitter complaint.

  Once he had shown his colors, he did not stop at “pine of Ōta”43 intimations but wrote to her instead so often and so insistently that she felt more and more hedged about until, trapped and at her wits' end, she fell frankly ill. Very few people knew what the matter was, and considering that everyone else, near or far, was lost in admiration of Genji's fatherly ways, it seemed to her that if any rumor of this got out, she would be a laughingstock and her name would be ruined forever. Why (she said to herself in a frenzy of anxiety), even if my father did find out about me, he would probably make no great effort, and if he heard news like this, it would probably mean the end!

  His Highness and the Commander, who had gathered indirectly that Genji did not look unfavorably on them, pursued their courtships intently. The Captain, he of “welling from among the rocks,” knew only through Miruko that Genji sanctioned his suit, which gave him great joy, since he did not know the truth, and he seems to have devoted himself entirely to voicing distraught expressions of bitter complaint.

  25

  HOTARU

  The Fireflies

  Hotaru means “fireflies.” In this chapter Genji gives one of Tamakazura's suitors, His Highness of War, a glimpse of her by the light of fireflies.

  RELATIONSHIP TO EARLIER CHAPTERS

  “Butterflies” ends in the fourth month, and “The Fireflies” goes on to cover the fifth.

  PERSONS

  His Grace, the Chancellor, Genji, age 36

  The lady in the west wing, 22 (Tamakazura)

  His Highness of War, Genji's brother (Hotaru Hyōbukyō no Miya)

  Saishō, Tamakazura's gentlewoman

  The lady in the northeast quarter (Hanachirusato)

  The lady from Akashi, 27 (Akashi no Kimi)

  Murasaki, 28

  The young lady, Genji's daughter, 8 (Akashi no Himegimi)

  The Captain, Genji's son, 15 (Yūgiri)

  The Right Captain, Tō no Chūjō's eldest son, 20 or 21 (Kashiwagi)

  His Excellency, the Palace Minister (Tō no Chūjō)

  An expert in interpreting dreams

  Genji's weighty dignity now relieved him of all care and left him so entirely at peace that those who depended on him were satisfied and lived secure, fortunate lives. Sad to say, the lady in the west wing was the one assailed by unforeseen troubles and the one who suffered anguish and perplexity. Not that these troubles could compare to the threat posed by the dreadful Audit Commissioner, but this sort of thing was so unlike what anyone could imagine of Genji that she kept it to herself and disliked him intensely for it. Being old enough by now to understand many things, she pondered it in all sorts of ways, grieved afresh for her mother, and bitterly regretted her loss.

  Now that Genji had declared himself, he, too, only suffered from the consequences. Fear of being caught discouraged him from sending her the most trivial word, which was such a torment to him that he was constantly calling on her. Whenever her women had left her quietly to herself, and he yet again betrayed his ardor, she merely pretended with a stricken heart to notice nothing, since she could not openly shame him. Smiling and friendly as she naturally was, her resolute attempts at grave caution still failed to conceal her delightful appeal.

  His Highness of War, like the others, kept up his earnest campaign. He had not yet been at it that long when, after complaining to her about the fifth-month rains, he went on, “If only you would allow me a bit closer! I so long to unburden myself to you a little!”

  Genji saw his letter. “Why not? I am sure it is worth seeing these gentlemen courting. Do not be distant when you address him, and please sometimes give him an answer.” He told her what to write, but she was only more repelled than ever and pleaded indisposition not to do so. Very few among her gentlewomen had any great rank or backing. The only one who did was Saishō, the daughter of a Consultant, an uncle of her mother's, and a woman of quite acceptable taste whom Genji had rescued from declining fortunes. She wrote a good hand and was generally sensible, and Genji had her write suitable replies as needed. He therefore summoned her to do this now. No doubt he was curious in any case about all His Highness's letters.

  After the wretchedness of Genji's indiscretions, she herself began now and then at least to glance over His Highness's heartrending missives. Not that he particularly interested her, but by now even she had the finesse to wish to find a way out of seeing a man she could no longer abide.

  His Highness, astonished to receive a passable reply from her, came very discreetly to call without ever guessing that Genji in his disgraceful way was lying in wait for him. He was offered a cushion inside the double doors, and she sat nearby with only a standing curtain between them. Genji had seen to it that a seductive incense floated on the air, and despite his hateful and unfatherly perverseness his elaborately groomed figure looked marvelous. When poor Saishō just sat there, hardly knowing how to convey her mistress's answers, he compounded her confusion by pinching her to reprove her for being so dull. The dark evenings1 were over now, and by the dim light from a cloudy sky His Highness's subdued dignity had a marked allure. The air wafting faintly from within, mingled with the more distinctive fragrance from Genji's own person, enveloped him in exquisite odors, and what he gathered of the lady's presence suggested that she was even lovelier than he had imagined. He poured forth his declaration with great dignity, avoiding any suggestiveness of tone and cutting meanwhile an unusual figure. Genji caught some of what he said and thought it all great fun.

  She had retired to lie down in the eastern aisle, and Genji added his own reproaches when Saishō slipped in to convey His Highness's words. “You are making it very difficult for His Highness. Tact is always to be preferred. This is no time for you to insist on behaving like a mere girl. You simply cannot have someone running back and forth this far when you are talking to a Prince. You could at least stay a little closer to him, even if you prefer him not to hear your voice.”

  Desperate, and unwilling either to go or to stay, since staying might give Genji the excuse to invade at any moment, she slipped out to lie on her side behind the standing curtain at the edge of the chamber. She was hesitating over how to answer a particularly long speech from His Highness when Genji approached and tossed a curtain panel over the crosspiece. At that moment, to her horror, there was a burst of light
; she thought someone had held up a hand torch.

  Earlier that evening Genji had put a swarm of fireflies in thin silk and covered them up, and just now, as innocently as though merely adjusting his costume, he had removed the cover. The sudden illumination made her hide in dismay behind her fan, revealing an enchanting profile as she did so. A bright light will give him a good look at her, Genji had reasoned. I am sure it is only her being my daughter that makes him so eager—he can hardly assume that she has such grace and beauty on her own. I shall sow turmoil in that heart no doubt so tried in love. Genji would never have made all this fuss if she had really been his daughter. No, he was not very nice. Once the deed was done, he stole out by another way and went home.

  His Highness had been gauging where the young lady might be, and his heart beat when he gathered that she was after all a little closer than he had thought. He was just peering through the gap in an impossibly delicate silk gauze curtain when, not ten feet off2 and in full view, there came a marvelous and completely unexpected flash of light. It was smothered in a moment, but not before its glow had shown him the pleasures that she promised. Never mind that it had been only a glimpse, because now he dwelled eagerly on the beauty of a slender reclining form that had indeed left a lasting impression.

  “Labor as you please, those fires that the ardent fly nurtures in longing,

  though its cry is never heard, burn too brightly to be quenched.3

  Do you follow me?”

  Too much thought about the reply to a poem like that would only yield something clever, and she spoke what came first to mind:

  “Rather, the firefly, who burns with an inner flame and utters no cry,

  is the one whose devotion passes all that words can say.”4

  After this offhand reply she withdrew, leaving him to rage at her cruelly distant treatment. He did not stay until dawn, since that would have been excessively forward of him; instead he left late at night, wet with rain, amid many painful drops from the dripping eaves. A cuckoo must have called, too, but I did not take the trouble to listen.5 Her women praised his elegant appearance and his close resemblance to His Grace. Being ignorant of the truth, they all expressed gratitude and admiration for the motherly care His Grace had given their mistress that evening.

  It seemed to her that her own misfortune accounted for Genji's deceitful zeal. If I had already come to my father's notice and had gained my own place in the world, she reflected, and His Grace still felt this way toward me, there would be nothing especially wrong with what he desires; no, it is the strange position I am caught in that may in the end make me the talk of all. Her anguished thoughts dwelled on the subject day and night. Nonetheless, Genji remained determined never to make a tedious spectacle of her. What with that quirk of his, one of course need not imagine that his thoughts of Her Majesty, for example, were entirely pure, and at times he would address her quite provocatively, although her impossibly exalted rank kept him from making his words or his approaches to her too clear. As for this young lady, her warmth and freshness made her so nearly irresistible that he often indulged in behaving with her in ways that would have aroused suspicion if anyone had seen them together; but, wonder of wonders, he refrained from going further and so kept their relationship in perilous balance.

  On the fifth,6 a visit to the riding ground pavilion gave him an occasion to call on her as well. “How was it?” he asked. “Did His Highness stay late? We must not allow him too close. He has his unfortunate peculiarities, you know. After all, few people have never hurt anyone or been guilty of any serious lapse.” He looked endlessly young and handsome while he praised and damned His Highness in turn. Over a gown exquisite in gloss and hue he casually wore a dress cloak so perfectly right that one wondered how it was possible, for the dyeing appeared beyond the craft of anyone in this world; even its color, the same as always, seemed a miracle to her on this Sweet Flag Festival day, and a miracle, too, his fragrance, which would have completed the pleasure of his presence, if it were not for all the sorrows that he brought her.

  A letter came from His Highness. It certainly looked very nice, since it was written with great distinction on thin white paper,7 but when read aloud it turned out to have little to it.

  “Has a sweet flag root spurned by all even today, where it grows unseen,

  hidden beneath the water, no solace but cries of grief?”8

  He had tied the poem to a memorably splendid root. Before Genji left, he urged her to reply. “You really ought to,” others reminded her, and for some reason she actually wrote,

  “But when seen at last, how shallow that sweet flag root then appears to be,

  lifting its pathetic cries in defiance of all sense—

  and childish, too.” That was all, in faint ink. Fastidious as he was, His Highness probably thought her hand could do with a bit more style and felt somewhat disappointed.

  The herbal balls, all indescribably pretty, poured in from everywhere. Gone now were her years of trial, and with so much to be thankful for that she naturally wished if at all possible to avoid giving offense.

  Genji looked in on the lady in the northeast.9 “The Captain10 said he would bring his men around—his Palace Guards' archery contest is today.11 I hope that you will be ready to receive them. I gather they will be here before dark. I had wanted to keep our event quiet and informal, but the whole thing is turning out to be quite elaborate, since Their Highnesses have heard about it and will be coming, too. Please be prepared.”

  From his position in the gallery he could see the riding ground pavilion, a short distance away. “The young women should look on through the open bridgeway doors,” he said. “There are a lot of fine young officers in the Left Palace Guards these days. They easily equal the minor privy gentlemen.” The women were pleased to be able to watch, and the page girls from the west wing came to join them. Fresh green blinds were hung in the gallery entrance, and curtains in the latest style, darkening toward the hem,12 stood across it; the page girls, servants, and so on wandered about behind them. The page girls in sweet flag layered gowns and violet silk gauze dress gowns seemed to be the ones from the west wing, and the four pleasantly practiced servants in bead-tree trains darkening toward the hem and Chinese jackets the color of young pink leaves were especially well dressed for the day's festival. The ones from the east wing, in deep scarlet layerings artlessly worn under pink dress gowns, made an attractive sight as each side vied to be seen. The bright-eyed young privy gentlemen were showing off, too. At the hour of the Sheep,13 Genji went out to the riding ground pavilion and, sure enough, found Their Highnesses gathered there. This contest, unlike the one at the palace, brought in the Captains and Lieutenants as well, and Genji enjoyed these novel amusements until darkness fell. The ladies understood little of what was happening, but even the rank-and-file guardsmen were most attractively dressed, and it was a pleasure to watch their dashing display of the archer's magic. The southeast quarter, too, offered a clear though distant view of the riding ground, and young women watched from there as well. The dancing of “Strike the Ball” and “Twin Dragons,” as well as the victory music, went on till it was too dark to see anything at all. The guardsmen received gifts according to their rank. Those present did not leave until it was very late indeed.

  The dance “Strike the Ball”

  Genii stayed where he was for the night. “What a very fine gentleman His Highness of War is!” he exclaimed in the course of his conversation with the lady there. “His looks do not stand out, but his wit and presence make him attractive. Have you managed to steal a look at him? One can do better, though, despite the praise he gets.”

  “I know that he is your younger brother,” she replied, “but to me he looked older than you. I gather that he comes faithfully to keep you company on these occasions, but I had not seen him since my last glimpse of him at the palace. He is very handsome and dignified now. One could say that His Highness the Viceroy has a degree of looks, but he lacks presence and hard
ly resembles a proper Prince.”14

  She misses nothing, does she, Genji thought. He smiled and skirted discussing the others who had been present. Disapproving as he did of those who criticize or belittle others, he said nothing of the Right Commander,15 although despite that gentleman's fine reputation he found himself for some reason shying from the idea of a close alliance with him.

  His relationship with her was perfunctory now, and they slept apart. He wondered unhappily why this distance had come between them. Nothing ever piqued her to look at him askance. So far she had only heard of such entertainments from other people, and she was pleased to see today's rare event confer luster on her quarter, too.

  “Have you then today chosen to pluck after all at the water's edge

  the sweet flag that everyone knows full well a steed disdains?”16

  she said quietly.

  It was no masterpiece, but he was touched.