 CHAPTER IV. EVENING GLORY PART II. The midnight passed, and the wind blew louther, rushing amongst the branches of the old pines, and making them moan more and more sadly. The cries of strange, weird birds were heard, probably the shrieks of the ill-omans screech owl, and the place seemed more and more remote from all human sympathy. Genji could only helplessly repeat, how could I have chosen such a retreat? Al Ukon, quite dismayed, cried pitifully at his side. To him it seemed even that this girl might become ill, might die, the light of the lamp flickered and burnt dim. Each side of the walls seemed to his alarmed sight to present numberless openings one after another, where the demon might rush in, and the sound of mysterious footsteps seemed approaching along the deserted passages behind him. Ah, where Koremitsu bat here, was the only thought of Genji. But it would seem that Koremitsu was from home, and the time Genji had to wait for him seemed an age. At last the crowing cocks announced the coming day, and gave him new courage. He said to himself, I must now admit this to be a punishment for all my inconsiderateness. However secretly we strive to conceal our faults, eventually they are discovered. First of all, what might not my father think, and then the general public, and what a subject for scandal the story of my escapades will become. Koremitsu now arrived, and all at once, the courage with which Genji had fought against calamity gave way, and he burst into tears, and then slowly spoke. Here a sad and singular event has happened, I cannot explain to you why, for such sudden afflictions, prayers I believe, are the only resource. For this reason I wished your brother to accompany you here. He returned to his monastery only yesterday, replied Koremitsu. But tell me what has happened, any unusual event to the girl? She is dead, returned Genji in a broken voice, dead without any apparent cause. Koremitsu, like the prince, was but young, if he had greater experience, he would have been more serviceable to Genji, indeed, they both were equally perplexed to decide what were the best steps to be taken under the trying circumstances of the case. At last Koremitsu said, if the stewards should learn this strange misfortune it might be awkward, as to the man himself, he might be relied on, but his family, who probably would not be so discreet, might hear of the matter, it would therefore be better to quit this place at once. But where can we find a spot where there are fewer observers than here? replied Genji. That is true. Suppose the old lodgings of the deceased, no, there are too many people there, I think, a mountain convent would be better, because there, they are accustomed to receive the dead within their walls, so that matters can be more easily concealed. And after a little reflection he continued, there is a nun whom I know, living in a mountain convent in Higashiyama, let us take the corpse there, she was my father's nurse, she is living there in strict seclusion, that is the best plan I can think of. This proposal was decided on, and the carriage was summoned, presuming that Genji would not like to carry the dead body in his arms, Koremit covered it with a mantle, and lifted it into the carriage. Over the features of the dead maiden, a charming calmness was still spread, unlike what usually happens, there being nothing repulsive. Her wavy hair fell outside the mantle, and her small mouth, still parted, wore a faint smile. The sight distressed both the eyes and heart of Genji, he fain would have followed the body, but this Koremitz would not permit. Do take my horse and ride back to Nijio at once, he said, and ordered the horse for him. Then taking Ukon away in the same carriage with the dead, he, girding up his dress, followed it on foot. It was by no means a pleasant task for Koremitz, but he put up with it cheerfully. Genji, sunk in apathy, now rode back to Nijio, he was greatly fatigued and looked pale. The people of the mansion noticed his sad and haggard appearance, Genji said nothing, but hurried straight away to his own private apartment. Why did I not go with her, he still vainly exclaimed, what would she think of me were she to return to life, and these thoughts affected him so deeply that he became ill, his head ached, his pulse beat high, and his body burned with fever. The sun rose high, but he did not leave his couch, his domestics were all perplexed, rice gruel was served up to him, but he would not touch it. The news of his indisposition soon found its way out of the mansion, and in no time a messenger arrived from the imperial palace to make inquiries. His brother-in-law also came, but Genji only allowed Dono Chujo to enter his room, saying to him, my agent nurse has been ill since last May, and has been tauntured and received consecration. It was perhaps from this sacrifice that at one time she became better, but lately she has had a relapse, and is again very bad. I was advised to visit her, moreover she was always most kind to me, and if she had died without seeing me it would have pained her, so I went to see her, at this time a servant of her house who had been ill died suddenly, being rendered unclean by this event, I am passing the time privately, besides since the morning I have become ill, evidently the effects of cold. By the by you must excuse me receiving you in this way. Well, sir, replied Dono Chujo, I will represent these circumstances to his majesty, your absence last night has given much inquiitude to the emperor, he caused inquiries to be made for you everywhere, and his humour was not very good. And thereupon Dono Chujo took his leave, thinking as he went, what sort of uncleanness can this really be? I cannot put perfect faith in what he tells me. Little did Dono Chujo imagine that the dead one was no other than his own long-lost dokonatsu. In the evening came Koremitsu from the mountain, and was secretly introduced, though all general visitors were kept excluded on the pretext of the uncleanness. What has become of her, cried Genji passionately when he saw him, is she really gone? Her end has come, replied Koremitsu, in a tone of sadness, and we must not keep the dead too long, tomorrow we will place her in the grave, tomorrow is a good day, I know a faithful old priest, I have consulted with him how to arrange all. And what has become of Ukon, asked Genji, how does she bear it? That is indeed a question, she was really deeply affected, and she foolishly said, I will die with my mistress. She was actually going to throw herself headlong from the cliff, but I warned, I advised, I consoled her, and she became more pacified. The state of her feelings may be easily conceived, I am myself, not less deeply wounded than she, I do not even know what might become of myself. Why do you grieve so uselessly? Every uncertainty is the result of a certainty, there is nothing in this world really to be lamented, if you do not wish the public to know anything of this matter, I, Koremitsu, will manage it. I also am aware that everything is fated, still I am deeply sorry to have brought this misfortune on this poor girl by my own inconsiderate rashness, the only thing I have now to ask you is to keep these events in the dark, do not mention them to anyone, nay, not even to your mother. Even from the priests to whom it must necessarily be known, I will conceal the reality, replied Koremitsu, do manage all this most skillfully. Why, of course, I shall manage it as secretly as possible, cried Koremitsu, and he was about to take his departure, but Genji stopped him. I must see her once more, said Genji sorrowfully, I will go with you to behold her before she is lost to my sight forever, and he insisted on accompanying him. Koremitsu, however, did not at all approve of this project, but his resistance gave way to the earnest desire of Genji, and he said, if you think so much about it, I cannot help it. Let us hazen then, and return before the night be far advanced. You shall have my horse to ride. Genji rose, and dressed himself in the ordinary plain style he usually adopted for his private expeditions, and started away with one confidential servant besides Koremitsu. They crossed the River Kamo, the torches carried before them burning dimly, they passed the gloomy cemetery of Toribeno, and at last reached the convent. It was a rude wooden building, and enjoining was a small Buddha hall, through whose walls votive tapers mysteriously twinkled. Within nothing but a faint sound of a female's voice repeating prayers was to be heard. Outside and around, the evening services in the surrounding temples were all finished, and all nature was in silent repose. In the direction of Kyomitsu alone some scattered lights studying the dark scene betrayed human habitations. They entered. Genji's heart was beating fast with emotion. He saw Ukon reclining beside a screen, with her back to the lamp. He did not speak to her, but proceeded straight to the body, and gently drew aside the mantle which covered its face. It still wore a look of tranquil calmness, no change had yet attacked the features. He took the cold hand in his own, crying out as he did so. Do let me hear thy voice once more, why have you left me thus bereaved? But the silence of death was unbroken. He then, half sobbing, began to talk with Ukon, and invited her to come to his mansion, and help to console him. But Koremitsu now admonished him to consider that time was passing quickly. On this Genji threw a long, sad farewell glance at the face of the dead, and rose to depart. He was so feeble and powerless, that he could not mount his horse without the help of Koremitsu. The countenance of the dead girl floated ever before his sight, with the look she wore when living, and it seemed as if he were being led on by some mysterious influence. The banks of the river Kamo were reached, when Genji found himself too weak to support himself on horseback, and so dismounted. I am afraid, he exclaimed, I shall not be able to reach home. Koremitsu was a little alarmed. If I had only been firm, he thought, and had prevented this journey, I should not have exposed him to such a trial. He descended to the river, and, bathing his hands, offered up a prayer to Kwanon of Kiyomitsu, and again assisted Genji to mount, who struggled to recover his energy, and managed somehow to return to Nijio, praying in silence as he rode along. The people of the mansion entertained grave apprehensions about him, and not unnaturally, seeing he had been unusually restless for some days, and had become suddenly ill since the day before, and they could never understand what urgency had called him out on that evening. Genji now lay down on his couch, fatigued and exhausted, and continued in the same state for some days, when he became quite weak. The emperor was greatly concerned, as was also Sadaijin. Numerous prayers were offered, and exorcisms performed everywhere in his behalf, all with a most careful zeal. The public was afraid he was too beautiful to live long. The only solace he had at this time was Ukon. He had sent for her, and made her stay in his mansion, and whenever he felt better he had her near him, and conversed with her about her dead mistress. In the meantime it might have been the result of his own energetic efforts to realize the ardent hopes of the emperor and his father-in-law, that his condition became better, after a heavy trial of some three weeks, and towards the end of September he became convalescent. He now felt as though he had been restored to the world to which he had formerly belonged. He was, however, still thin and weak, and for consolation, still resorted to talk with Ukon. How strange, he said to her, as they were conversing together one fine autumn evening. Why did she not reveal to me all her past life? If she had but known how deeply I loved her, she might have been a little more frank with me. Ah, no, replied Ukon. She would not intentionally have concealed anything from you. But it was, I imagine, more because she had no choice. You at first conducted yourself in such a mysterious manner, and she, on her part, regarded her acquaintance with you as something like a dream. That was the cause of her reticence. What a useless reticence it was, exclaimed Genji. I was not so frank as perhaps I ought to have been, but you may be sure that made no difference in my affection towards her. Only, you must remember, there is my father, the Emperor, besides many others whose vigilant admonitions I am bound to respect. That was the reason why I had to be careful. Nevertheless, my love to your mistress was singularly deep, too deep, perhaps, to last long. Do tell me now all you know about her. I do not see any reason why you should conceal it. I have carefully ordered the weekly requiem for the dead, but tell me in whose behalf it is, and what was her origin. I have no intention of concealing anything from you. Why should I? I only thought it would be blamable if one should reveal after death what another had thought best to reserve, replied Ukon. Her parents died when she was a mere girl. Her father was called Samichujo, and loved her very dearly. He was always aspiring to better his position and wore out his life in the struggle. After his death she was left helpless and poor. She was, however, by chance, introduced to Tonochujo when he was still shioshio and not chujo. During three years they kept on very good terms, and he was very kind to her. Some wind or other attacks every fair flower, and in the autumn of last year she received a fearful menace from the house of Udaijin to whose daughter, as you know, Tonochujo is married. Poor girl, she was terrified at this. She knew not what to do and hid herself with her nurse in an obscure part of the capital. It was not a very agreeable place, and she was about removing to a certain mountain hamlet. But as its celestial direction was closed this year she was still hesitating, and while matters were in this state you appeared on the scene. To do her justice she had no thought of wandering from one to another, but her circumstances often make things appear as if we did so. She was, by nature, extremely reserved, so that she did not like to speak out her feelings to others, but rather suffered in silence by herself. This perhaps you also have noticed. Then it was so, after all, she was the Tokonatsu of Tonochujo, thought Genji, and now it also transpired that all that Koremitsu had stated about Tonochujo's visiting her at the Yugao house was a pure invention suggested by a slight acquaintance with the girl's previous history. The Chujo told me once, said Genji, that she had a little one. Was there any such? Yes, she had one in the spring of the year before last, a girl, a nice child, replied Okon. Where is she now, asked Genji? Perhaps you will bring her to me some day. I should like to have her with me as a memento of her mother. I should not mind mentioning it to her father, but if I did so I must reveal the whole sad story of her mother's fate, and this would not be advisable at present. However, I do not see any harm if I were to bring her up as my daughter. You might manage it somehow, without my name being mentioned to anyone concerned. That would be a great happiness for the child, exclaimed Okon delighted. I do not much appreciate her being brought up where she is. Well, I will do so. Only let us wait for some better chance. For the present, be discreet. Yes, of course. I cannot yet take any steps toward that object. We must not unfurl our sails before the storm is completely over. The foliage of the ground, touched with autumnal tints, was beginning to fade, and the sounds of insects, mushi, were growing faint, and both Genji and Okon were absorbed by the sad charm of the scene. As they meditated, they heard doves cooing among the bamboo woods. To Genji it brought back the cries of that strange bird, which cry he had heard on that fearful night in Rokijo, and the subject recurred to his mind once more, and he said to Okon, how old was she? Nineteen. And how came you to know her? I was the daughter of her first nurse, and a great favourite of her fathers, who brought me up with her, and from that time I never left her. When I come to think of those days, I wonder how I can exist without her. The poet says truly, the deeper the love, the more bitter the parting. Oh, how gentle and retiring she was, how much I loved her. That retiring and gentle temperament, said Genji, gives far greater beauty to women than all beside, for to have no natural pliability makes women utterly worthless. The sky by this time became covered, and the wind blew chilly. Genji gazed intently on it and hummed. When we regard the clouds above, our souls are filled with fond desire. To me the smoke of my dead love seems rising from the funeral pyre. The distant sound of the bleachers' hammer reached their ears, and reminded him of the sound he had heard in the Yugao's house. He bade good night to Okon, and retired to rest, humming as he went, in the long nights of August and September. On the forty-ninth day, after the death of the Yugao, he went to the Hokkei Hall in the Hiei Mountain, and there had a service for the dead performed, with full ceremony and rich offerings. The monk-brother of Koremitsu took every pains in its performance. The composition of requiem prayers was made by Genji himself, and revised by a professor of literature, one of his intimate friends. He expressed in it the melancholy sentiment about the death of one whom he had dearly loved, and whom he had yielded to Buddha, but who she was was not stated. Among the offerings there was a dress he took it up in his hands, and sorrowfully murmured. With tears to-day, the dress she wore, I fold together. When shall I, bright Elysium's far offshore, this robe of hers again untie? And the thought that the soul of the deceased might still be wandering and unsettled to that very day, but that now the time had come when her final destiny would be decided, made him pray for her more fervently. So closed the sad event of Yugao. Now Genji was always thinking that he should wish to see his beloved in a dream. The evening after his visit to the Hokkei Hall, he beheld her in his slumbers as he wished, but at the same moment the terrible face of the woman that he had seen on that fearful evening in Rokijou again appeared before him. Thus he concluded that the same mysterious being who tenanted that dreary mansion had taken advantage of his fears and had destroyed his beloved Yugao. A few words more about the house in which she had lived. After her flight, no communication had been sent to them, even by Ukon, and they had no idea of where she had gone to. The mistress of the house was a daughter of the nurse of Yugao. She with her two sisters lived there. Ukon was a stranger to them, and they imagined that her being so was the reason of her sending no intelligence to them. True they had entertained some suspicions about the gay prince and pressed Koremitsu to confide the truth to them, but the latter, as he had done before, kept himself skillfully aloof. They then thought she might have been seduced and carried off by some gallant son of a local governor, who feared his intrigue might be discovered by Tonochujou. During these days, Kokimi, of Kinokami's house, still used to come occasionally to Genji. But for some time past, the latter had not sent any letter to Sikaeda. When she heard of his illness, she not unnaturally felt for him, and also she had experienced a sort of disappointment in not seeing his writing for some time, especially as the time of her departure for the country was approaching. She therefore sent him a letter of inquiry with a following. If long time passes slow away, without a word from absent friend, our fears no longer brook delay, but must some kindly greeting send. To this letter Genji returned a kind answer and also the following. This world to me did once appear, like Sikaeda's shell when cast away, till words addressed by one so dear have taught my hopes a brighter day. This was written with a trembling hand, but still bearing nice traits, and when it reached Sikaeda, and she saw that he had not yet forgotten past events, and the scarf he had carried away, she was partly amused and partly pleased. It was about this time that the daughter of Ionokami was engaged to a certain Kurandoshi Oshio, and he was her frequent visitor. Genji heard of this, and without any intention of rivalry, sent her the following by Kokimi. Like the green reed that grows on high by river's brink our love has been, and still my wandering thoughts will fly back to that quickly passing scene. She was a little flattered by it, and gave Kokimi a reply as follows. This lender reed that feels the wind, that faintly stirs its humble leaf, feels that too late it breathes its mind, and only wakes a useless grief. Now the departure of Ionokami was fixed for the beginning of October. Genji sent several parting presents to his wife, and in addition to these some others, consisting of beautiful combs, fans, noosa, and the scarf he had carried away, along with the following, privately, through Kokimi. I kept this pretty souvenir, in hopes of meeting you again. I send it back with many a tear, since now alas, such hope is vain. There were many other minute details, which I shall pass over as uninteresting to the reader. Genji's official messenger returned, but her reply about the scarf was sent through Kokimi. Then I behold the summer wings, Sikeda-like I cast aside, back to my heart fond memory springs, and on my eyes a rising tide. The day of the departure happened to be the commencement of the winter season. An October shower fell lightly, and the sky looked gloomy. Genji stood gazing upon it, and hummed. Sad and weary autumn hours, summer joys now passed away. Both departing, dark the hours, with their speeding, who can say? All these intrigues were safely kept in strict privacy, and to have boldly written all particulars concerning them is to me a matter of pain. So at first I intended to omit them, but had I done so, my history would have become like a fiction, and the censure I should expect would be, that I had done so intentionally, because my hero was the son of an emperor. But on the other hand, if I am accused of too much locustity, I cannot help it. End of Chapter 4 Part 2, Recording by Marisol Cui. Chapter 5, Part 1 of Genji Monogatari. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Ziff. Genji Monogatari by Morasaki Shikibu. Translated by Siyamatsu Kenshiro. Chapter 5, Part 1, Young Violet. It was the time when Genji became subject to periodical attacks of Aegyu, that many exorcisms and spells were performed to effect a cure, but all in vain, at length he was told by a friend that in a certain temple on the northern mountain, Mount Kurama, there dwelled a famous ascetic, and that when the epidemic had prevailed during the previous summer, many people had recovered through his exorcisms. If, added the friend, the disease is neglected, it becomes serious. Try, therefore, this method of procuring relief at once, and before it is too late. Genji, therefore, sent for the hermit, but he declined to come, saying that he was too old and decrepit to leave his retreat. What shall I do, exclaimed Genji? Shall I visit him privately? Eventually, taking four or five attendants, he started off early one morning for the place, which was at no great distance on the mountain. It was the last day of March, and though the height of the season for flowers in the capital was over, yet, on the mountain, the cherry trees were still in blossom. They advanced in their way further and further. The haze clung to the surface like a soft sash does round the waist, and to Genji, who had scarcely ever been out of the capital, the scenery was indescribably novel. The ascetic lived in a deep cave in the rocks, near the lofty summit. Genji did not, however, declare who he was, and the stilophist retinue was of a very private character. Yet his nobility of manners was easily recognisable. Welcome your visit, cried the hermit, saluting him. Perhaps you are the one who sent for me. The other day I have long since quitted the affairs of this world, and have almost forgotten the secret of my exorcisms. I wonder why you have come here for me. So saying, he pleasingly embraced him. He was evidently a man of great holiness. He wrote out a talismanic prescription, which he gave to Genji to drink in water, while he himself proceeded to perform some mysterious rite. During the performance of the ceremony, the sun rose high in the heavens. Genji, meantime, walked out of the cave and looked around him with his attendants. The spot where they stood was very lofty, and numerous monasteries were visible, scattered here and there in the distance beneath. There was immediately beyond the winding path in which they were walking, a picturesque and pretty building enclosed by hedges. It's well arranged balconies and the gardens around it, apparently be token of the good taste of its inhabitants. Whose house may that be? inquired Genji of his attendants. They told him it was a house in which a certain priest had been living for the last two years. Ah, I know him, said Genji. Strange indeed would it be, if he were to discover that I am here in this privacy. They noticed a nun and a few more females with her, walking in the garden, who were carrying fresh water for their offerings and were gathering flowers. Ah, there are ladies walking there, cried the attendants in tones of surprise. Surely the reverent father would not indulge in flirtations. Who can they be? And some of them even descended a little distance and peered over the enclosure where a pretty little girl was also seen amongst them. Genji now engaged in prayer until the sun sank in the heavens. His attendants, who were anxious about his disease, told him that it would be good for him to have a change from time to time. Hereupon he advanced to the back of the temple and his gaze fell on the far-off capital in the distance which was enveloped in haze as the dust was setting in, over the tops of the trees around. What a lovely landscape, exclaimed Genji. The people, to whom such scenery is familiar, are perhaps happy and contented. Nay, said the attendants, but were you to see the beautiful mountain ranges and the sea coast in our various provinces, the pictures would indeed be found lovely. Then some of them described to him Fujiyama, while others told him of other mountains, diverting his attention by the animated description of the beautiful bays and coasts of the western provinces. Thus, as they depicted them to him, they cheered and gladdened his mind. One of them went on to say, Among such sites and at no great distance there is the sea coast of Akashi in the province of Harima, which is, I think, especially beautiful. I cannot indeed point out in detail its most remarkable features, but in general the blue expanse of the sea is singularly charming. Here too the home of the former governor of the province constitutes an object of great attraction. He has assumed the tonture and resides there with his beautiful daughter. He is the descendant of a high personage and was not without hope of elevation at court, but being of an eccentric character, he was strongly averse to society. He had formerly been a chugio of the imperial guard, but having resigned that office had become governor of Harima. He was not, however, popular in that office. In this state of affairs he reflected within himself, no doubt, that his presence in the capital could not but be disagreeable. When, therefore, his term of office expired, he determined still to remain in the province. He did not, however, go to the mountainous regions of the interior, but chose the sea coast. They are in this district, several places which are well situated for quiet retirement, and it would have seemed inconsistent in him had he preferred a part of the sea coast so near the gay world. Nevertheless a retreat in the two remote interior would have been too solitary and might have met with objections on the part of his wife and child. For this reason it appears that he finally selected the place which I have already alluded to for the sake of his family. When I went down there last time I became acquainted with the history and circumstances of the family, and I found that though he may not have been well received in the capital, yet that here having been formerly governor he enjoys considerable popularity and respect. His residence, moreover, is well appointed and of sufficient magnitude, and he performs with punctuality and devoutness his religious duties, nay, almost with more earnestness than many regular priests. Here Genji interrupted. What is his daughter like? Without doubt, unsuggested companion, the beauty of her person is unrivaled and she is endowed with corresponding mental ability. Successive governors often offer their addresses to her with great sincerity, but no one has ever yet been accepted. The dominant idea of her father seems to be this. What? Talk to such a position? Well, I trust at least that my only daughter may be successful and prosperous in her life. He often told her, I heard, that if she survived him and if his fond hopes for her should not be realized it would be better for her to cast herself into the sea. Genji was much interested in this conversation and the rest of the company laughingly said, ah, she is a woman who is likely to become the queen of the Blue Main. In very truth her father must be an extraordinary being. The attendant who had given this account of the ex-governor and his daughter was the son of the present governor of the province. He was, until lately, a Kurand and this year had received the title of Jigoi. His name was Yoshikiyo and he too was a man of gay habits which gave occasion to one of his companions to observe. Ah, perhaps you also have been trying to disappoint the hopes of the aged father. Another said, well, a friend has given us a long account but we must take it with some reserve. She must be, after all, a country maiden and all that I can give credit to is this much, that her mother may be a woman of some sense who takes great care of the girl. I am only afraid that if any future governor should be seized with an ardent desire to possess her. She would not long remain unattached. What possible object could it serve if she were carried to the bottom of the sea? The natives of the deep would derive no pleasure from her charms, remarked Genji, while he himself secretly desired to behold her. Ah, thought his companions with his susceptible temperament, what wonder if the story touches him? The day was far advanced and the prince prepared to leave the mountain. The hermit, however, told him that it would be better to spend the evening in the temple and to be further prayed for. His attendants also supported the suggestion. So Genji made up his mind to stay there, saying, then I shall not return home till to-morrow. The days of this season were of long duration and he felt it rather tiresome to pass a whole evening and sedate society. So under the cover of the shades of the evening he went out of the temple and proceeded to the pretty building enclosed by hedges. All the attendants had been dispatched home except Korimitsu, who accompanied him. They peeped at this building through the hedges. In the western anti-chamber of the house was placed an image of Buddha, and here an evening service was performed. A nun, raising a curtain before Buddha, offered a garland of flowers on the altar, and placing a cue, or sutra, i.e. Buddhist Bible, on her armstool, proceeded to read it. She seemed to be rather more than forty years old. Her face was rather round and her appearance was noble. Her hair was thrown back from her forehead and was cut short behind, which suited her very well. She was, however, pale and weak. Her voice also being tremulous. She who made an attendance went in and out of the room waiting upon her, and a little girl ran into the room with them. She was about ten years old or more and wore a white silk dress which fitted her well and which was lined with yellow. Her hair was waved like a fan and her eyes were red from crying. What is the matter? Have you quarreled with the boy? exclaimed the nun, looking at her. There was some resemblance between the features of the child and the nun. So Genji thought that she possibly might be her daughter. Inuki has lost my sparrow, which I kept so carefully in the cage, replied the child. That's stupid boy, said one of the attendants. Has he again been the cause of this? Where can the bird be gone? And all this too after we had tamed it with so much care. She then left the room, possibly to look for the lost bird. The people who addressed her called her Shionagon, and she appeared to have been the little girl's nurse. To you, said the nun to the girl, the sparrow may be dearer than I may be, who am so ill, but have I not told you, often, that the caging of birds is a sin? Be a good girl, come nearer. The girl advanced and stood silent before her, her face being bathed in tears. The contour of the child-like forehead and of the small and graceful head was very pleasing. Genji, as he surveyed the scene from without, thought within himself. If she is thus fair in her girlhood, what will she be when she is grown up? One reason why Genji was so much attracted by her was that she greatly resembled a certain lady in the palace to whom he, for a long time, had been fondly attached. The nun stroked the beautiful hair of the child and murmured to herself, how splendid it looks. Would that she would always strive to keep it thus. Her extreme youth makes me anxious, however. Her mother departed this life when she only a very young girl, but she was quite sensible at the age of this one. Supposing that I were to leave her behind, I wonder what would happen to her? As she thus murmured, her countenance became saddened by her forebodings. The sight moved Genji's sympathy as he gazed. It seemed that the tender heart of the child was also touched, for she silently watched the expression of the nun's features, and then with downcast eyes bent her face towards the ground, the lustrous hair falling over her back in waves. The nun hummed in a tone sufficiently audible to Genji. The dews that wet the tender grass at the sun's birth too quickly pass. No error can hope to see it rise in full perfection to the skies. Shionagon, who now joined them, and heard their birth to stitch, consoled the nun with the following. The dews will not so quickly pass, nor shall depart before they see the full perfection of the grass they loved so well in infancy. At this juncture a priest entered and said, Do you know that this very day Prince Genji visited the Hermit in order to be exorcised by him? I must forthwith go and see him. Genji, observing this movement, quickly returned to the monastery, thinking as he went, what a lovely girl he had seen. I can guess from this, thought he, why those gay fellows, referring to his attendants, so often make their expeditions in search of good fortune. What a charming little girl have I seen today. Who can she be? Would that I could see her, morning and evening in the palace, where I can no longer see the fair loved one whom she resembled. He now returned to the monastery, and retired to his quarters. Soon after a disciple of the priest came and delivered a message from him through Koremitsu, saying, My master has just heard of the Prince's visit to the mountain, and would have waited on him at once, but thought it better to postpone calling. Nevertheless, he will be much pleased to offer a humble welcome, and feels disappointed that he has not yet had an opportunity of doing so. Genji said in reply, I have been afflicted with constant attacks of aegyo for the last few weeks, and therefore, by the advice of my friends, I came to this mountain to be exorcised. If, however, the spells of the holy man are of no avail to me, his reputation might suffer in consequence. For that reason I wish to keep my visit as private as possible. Nevertheless I will come now to your master. Thereupon the priest himself soon made his appearance, and after briefly relating the circumstances which had occasioned his retirement to this locality, he offered to escort Genji to his house, saying, My dwelling is but a rustic cottage, but still I should like you to see, at least, the pretty mountain's dreamlet which waters my garden. Genji accepted the offer, thinking as he went, I wonder what the priest has said at home about myself to those to whom I have not yet been introduced, but it will be pleasant to see them once more. The night was moonless, the fountain was lit up by torches, and many lamps also were lighted in the garden. Genji was taken to an airy room in the southern front of the building, where incense which was burning threw its sweet odours around. The priest related to him many interesting anecdotes, and also spoke eloquently of man's future destiny. Genji, as he heard him, felt some qualms of conscience, for he remembered that his own conduct was far from being irreportable. The thought troubled him that he would never be free from the sting of these recollections through his life, and that there was a world to come, too. Oh, could I but live in a retreat like this priest? As he thus thought of a retreat, he was involuntarily taken by a fancy, that how happy would he be if accompanied to such a retreat by such a girl as he had seen in the evening, and with this fancy her lovely face rose up before him. Suddenly he said to the priest, I had once a dream which made me anxious to know who was living in this house, and here today that dream has again come back to my memory. The priest laughed and said, A strange dream, even were you to obtain your wish it might not gratify you. The late Lord Azechi Dynagon died long ago, and perhaps you know nothing about him. Well, his widow is my sister, and since her husband's death, her health has not been satisfactory. So lately she has been living here in retirement. Ah, yes, said Genji, venturing upon a guess, and I heard that she bore a daughter to Dynagon. Yes, she had a daughter, but she died about ten years ago. After her father's death, the sole care of her fell upon her widowed mother alone. I know not how it came to pass, but she became secretly intimate with Prince Hiobikkyo. But the Prince's wife was very jealous and severe, so she had much to suffer and put up with. I saw personally the truth that care kills more than labour. Ah, then thought Genji, the little one is her daughter, and no wonder that she resembles the one in the palace, because Prince Hiobikkyo was the brother of the Princess Vistaria. How would it be if I had free control over her, and had her brought up and educated according to my own notions? So thinking, he proceeded to say how sad it was that she died. Did she leave any offspring? She gave birth to a child at her death, which was also a girl, and about this girl the grandmother is always feeling very anxious. Then, Genji, let it not appear strange to you if I say this, but I should be very happy to become the guardian of this girl. Will you speak to her grandmother about it? It is true that there is one to whom my lot is linked, but I care about little for her, and indeed usually lead a solitary life. Your offer is very kind, replied the priest. But she is extremely young. However, every woman grows up under the protecting care of someone, and so I cannot say much about her. Only it shall be mentioned to my sister. The priest said this with a grave and even a stern expression on his countenance, which caused Genji to drop the subject. He then asked the prince to excuse him, for it was the hour for vespers, and as he quitted the room to attend the service, said he would return as soon as it was finished. Genji was alone. A slight shower fell over the surrounding country, and the mountain breezes blew cool. The waters of the torrent were swollen, and the roar of them might be heard from afar. Broken and indistinct, one might hear the melancholy sound of the sleepy intonation of prayers. Even those people who have no sorrow of their own often feel melancholy from the circumstances in which they are placed. So Genji, whose mind was occupied in thought, could not slumber here. The priest said he was going to vespers, but in reality it was later than the proper time for them. Genji perceived that the inmates had not yet retired to rest in the inner apartments of the house. They were very quiet, yet the sound of the telling of beats, which accidentally struck the lectern, was heard from time to time. The room was not far from his own. He pulled the screen slightly aside, and standing near the door, he struck his fan on his hand to summon someone. What can be the matter, said an attendant, and as she came near to the prince's room she added, perhaps my ear was deceived, and she began to retire. What I will guide you, fear not the darkness, I am here, said Genji. Sir replied the servant timidly. Pray do not think me presumptuous, said Genji, but may I beg you to transmit this poetical effusion to your mistress for me. Since first that tender grass I viewed, my heart no soft repose air-fields, but gathering mist, my sleeve bedews, and pity to my bosom steels. Surely you should know, sir, that there is no one here to whom such things can be presented. Believe me, I have my own reasons for this, said Genji. Let me beseech you to take it. So the attendant went back, and presented it to the nun. I do not see the real intent of the infusion, thought the nun. Perhaps he thinks that she is already a woman, but she continued wonderingly, how could he have known about the young grass? And she then remained silent for a while. At last, thinking it would be unbecoming to take no notice of it, she gave orally the following reply to the attendant to be given to Genji. To say your sleeve is wet with dew. Tiss but one night alone for you. But there is a mountain, moss grows nigh, whose leaves from dew are never dry. When Genji heard this, he said, I am not accustomed to receive an answer such as this through the mouth of a third person. Although I thank the lady for even that much, I should feel more obliged to her if she would grant me an interview, and allow me to explain to her my sincere wishes. This at length obliged the nun to have an interview with the prince. He then told her that he called Buddha to witness that, though his conduct may have seemed bold, it was dictated by pure and conscientious motives. All the circumstances of your family history are known to me. And he, look upon me, I pray, as a substitute for your once-loved daughter. I too, when a mere infant, was deprived by death of my best friend, my mother, and the years and months which then rolled by were fraught with trouble to me. In that same position your little one is now, allow us then to become friends. We could sympathize with each other, to us to reveal these wishes to you that I came here and risked the chance of offending you in doing so. Believe me, I am well disposed at your offer, said the nun. But you may have been incorrectly informed. It is true that there is a little girl dependent upon myself. But she is but a child. Her society could not afford you any pleasure. And forgive me, therefore, if I decline your request. Let let there be no reserve in the expression of your ideas, interrupted Genji. But before they could talk further, the return of the priest put an end to the subject, and Genji retired to his quarters, after thanking the nun for his kind reception. The night passed away, and dawn appeared. The sky was again hazy, and here and there melodious birds were singing among the mountain shrubs and flowers that blossomed around. The deer, too, which were to be seen here, added to the beauty of the picture. Gazing around at these, Genji once more proceeded to the temple. The hermit, though too informed to walk, again contrived to offer up his prayers on Genji's behalf. And he also read from the Dharani, footnote, an Indian theological writing, and a footnote, the tremulous accents of the old man poured forth from his nearly toothless mouth, imparted a greater reverence to his prayers. Chapter 5 Part 2 of Genji Monogatui This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Genji Monogatui by Murasaki Shikubu Translated by Suyama Tsukenshyo Chapter 5 Part 2 Young Violet Genji's attendants now arrived from the capital, and congratulated him on the improvement in his health. A messenger was dispatched from the Imperial Palace for the same purpose. The priests now collected wild and rare fruits, not to be met within the distant town, and with all respect presented them to Genji, saying, The term of my vow has not yet expired, and I am therefore sorry to say that I am unable to descend the mountain with you on your departure. He then offered to him the parting cup of sake. This mountain with its waters fill me with admiration, said Genji, and I regret that the anxiety of my father the Emperor obliges me to quit the charming scene, but before the season is passed I will revisit it, and The city's folk from me shall hear how mountain cherries blossom fair, and ere the spring has passed away, I'll bid them view the prospect gay. To this the priest replied, Your noble presence seems to me like the rare flowers of Udon Tree, nor does the mountain cherry white attract my gaze while you're in sight. Genji smiled slightly and said, That is a very great compliment, but the Udon Tree does not blossom so easily. The Hermit also raised the cup to his lips and said, Opening my lonely Hermit's door enclosed around by mountain pine, a blossom never seen before, my eyes behold, that seems divine. And he presented to him his toko, a small ecclesiastical wand. On seeing this the priest also made him the following presence. A rosary of Kongochi, a kind of precious stone, which the sage prince Shotok obtained from Korea, enclosed in the original case in which it had been sent from that country, some medicine of rare virtue in a small emerald jar, and several other objects with a spray of wisteria and a branch of cherry blossoms. Genji too, on the other hand, made presence, which he had ordered from the capital to the Hermit and his disciples who had taken part in the religious ceremonies and also to the poor mountaineers. He also sent the following to the nun by the priest's page. In yesterday's uncertain light a flower I saw so young and bright, but like a morning mist, now pain impels me yet to see again. A reply from the nun was speedily brought to him which ran thus. To say you feel, perhaps, tis true, a pang to leave these mountain bowers, for sweet the blossoms, sweet the view, to strangers' eyes of mountain flowers. While this was being presented to him in his carriage, a few more people came, as if accidentally, to wait upon him on his journey. Among them was Tono Chichio and his brother Ben, who said, We are always pleased to follow you, it was unkind of you to leave us behind. Just as the party were on the point of starting, some of them observed that it was a pity to leave so lovely a spot without resting a while among the flowers. This was immediately agreed to, and they took their seats on a moss-grown rock, a short distance from which a little streamlet descended in a murmuring cascade. Today there began to drink sake, and Tono Chichio, taking his flute, evoked from it a rich and melodious strain, while Ben, tapping his fan in concert, sang, The Temple of Toyora. While the prince, as he leaned against the rock, presented a picturesque appearance, though he was pale and thin. Among the attendants was one who blew on a long flute called Hitchiriki, and another on a shiok flute. The priest brought a koto and begged Genji to perform upon it, saying, If we are to have music at all, let us have a harmonious concert. Genji said that he was no master of music, but nevertheless he played with fair ability, a pleasing air. Then they all rose up and departed. After they had quitted the mountain, Genji first of all went to the palace, where he immediately had an interview with the emperor, who considered his son to be still weak in health, and who asked him several questions with regard to the efficacy of the prayers of the reverent hermit. Genji gave him all particulars of his visit to the mountain. Ah! said the emperor, he may some day be entitled to become a dean in brackets Azali. His virtue and holiness have not yet been duly appreciated by the government and the nation. Sardaijin, the father-in-law of the prince, here entered and entreated Genji to accompany him to his mansion and spend a few days. Genji did not feel very anxious to accept this invitation, but was persuaded to do so. Sardaijin conveyed him in his own carriage and gave up to him the seat of honour. They arrived, but as usual his bride did not appear, and only presented herself at last at the earnest request of her father. She was one of those model princesses whom one may see in a picture, very formal and very sedate, and it was very difficult to draw her into conversation. She was very uninteresting to Genji. He thought that it would only lead to a very unpleasant state of affairs as years grew on if they were to be as cool and reserved to each other as they had been hitherto. Turning to her he said, with some reproachfulness in his accents, Surely you should sometimes show me a little of the ordinary affection of people in our position. She made no reply, but glancing coolly upon him, murmured with modest yet dignified tone. When you cease to care for me, what can I then do for thee? Your words are few, but they have a sting in them. You say I cease to care for you, but you do me wrong in saying so. May the time come when you will no longer pain me thus, said Genji. And he made every effort to conciliate her. But she was not easily appeased. He was unsuccessful in his effort, and presently they retired to their apartment, where he soon relapsed into sleepy indifference. His thoughts began to wander back into other regions, and hopes of the future growth and charms of the young mountain violet again occupied his mind. Oh, how difficult it is to secure a prize, thought he. How can I do so? Her father, Prince Heal Gheel, is a man of rank, and affable, but he is not of pre-possessing appearance. Why does his daughter resemble so much in her personal attractions, the lovely one in the chamber of Wisteria? Is it that the mother of her father and of Wisteria is the same person? How charming is the resemblance between them! How can I make her mine? Some days afterwards he sent a letter to the mountain home, and also a communication, perhaps with some hint in it, to the priest. In his letter to the nun he said that her indifference made it desirable to refrain from urging his wishes. But nevertheless that he should be deeply gratified if she would think more favourably of the idea which was now so deeply rooted in his mind. With the letter he enclosed a small folded slip of paper on which was written. The mountain flower I left behind I strive but vainly to forget. Those lovely traits still rise to mind and fill my heart with sad regret. This ludicrous effusion caused the nun to be partly amused and partly vexed. She wrote an answer as follows. When you came into our neighbourhood your visit was very pleasing to us, and your special message does us honour. I am, however, at a loss how to express myself with regard to the little one, as yet she cannot even manage the naniwads. Enclosed in the note were the following lines in which she hinted as to her doubts of the steadfastness of Genji's character. Your heart admires the lonely flower that dwells within our mountain bower, not long alas that flower may last, torn by the mountain's angry blast. The tenor of the priest's answer was much the same, and it caused Genji some vexation. About this time the lady with stearia, in consequence of an attack of illness, had retired from the palace to her private residence, and Genji, while sympathising with the anxiety of the emperor about her, longed greatly for an opportunity of seeing her, ill though she was. Hence at this time he went nowhere, but kept himself in his mansion at Nidio, and became thoughtful and preoccupied. At length he endeavoured to Kajol Omiobu, with stearia's attendant into arranging an opportunity for him to see her. One with stearia's part there were strong doubts as to the propriety of complying with his request. But at last the earnestness of the prince overcame her scruples, and Omiobu managed eventually to bring about a meeting between them. Genji gave vent to his feelings to the princess as follows. Though now we meet and not again we ere may meet, I seem as though to die I were full-fane, lost in this blissful dream. Then the princess replied to him, full of sadness, we might dream on but fear the name the envious world to us may give, forgetful of the darkened fame that lives when we no longer live. But some time after this meeting had taken place Genji found himself too timid to peer at his father's palace, and remained in his mansion. The princess too experienced a strong feeling of remorse. She had moreover a cause of anxiety special in its nature, and peculiar to herself as a woman, for which she alone felt some uneasiness of conscience. Three months of the summer had passed away, and her secret began to betray itself externally. The emperor was naturally anxious about the health of his favourite, and kind inquiries were sent from time to time to her. But the kinder he was to her the more conscious stricken she felt. Genji at this time was often visited by strange dreams. When he consulted a diviner about them, he was told that something remarkable and extraordinary might happen to him and it behooved him to be cautious and prudent. She is a pretty source of embarrassment, thought Genji. He cautioned the diviner to be discreet about it, especially because he said the dreams were not his own but another person's. When at last he heard authentically about the condition of the princess, he was extremely anxious to communicate with her. But she now, peremptorily, objected to any kind of correspondence between them, and old Mio Buu too refused any longer to assist him. In July Wisteria returned to the palace. There she was received by the emperor with great rejoicing, and he thought that her condition did but add to her de-attractiveness. It was now autumn, the season when agreeable receptions were often held by the emperor in the court, and it was awkward when Genji and the princess happened to face each other on these occasions, as neither of them could be free from their tender recollections. During these autumn evenings the thoughts of Genji were often directed to the granddaughter of the nun, especially because she resembled the princess so much. His desire to possess her was considerably increased, and the recollection of the first evening when he heard the nun intoning to herself the verses about the tender grass, recurred to his mind. What thought he if I plucked this tender grass? Would it then be, would it then grow up, as fair as now? When will be mine this lovely flower of tender grace and purple hue, like the Wisteria of the Bower, its charms are lovely to my view? The emperor's visit to the palace Suzakin was now announced to take place in October. And dancers and musicians were selected from among the young nobles who were accomplished in these arts, and royal princes and officers of state were fully engaged in preparation for the fate. After the royal festivities, a separate account of which will be given hereafter, he sent again a letter to the mountain. The answer, however, came only from the priest, who said that his sister had died on the twentieth day of the last month, and added that though death is inevitable to all of us, still he painfully felt her loss. Indy pondered first on the precariousness of human life, and then thought how that little one who had depended on her must be afflicted, and gradually the memory of his own childhood, during which he too had lost his mother, came back to his mind. When the time of full mourning was over, Shionagon, together with the young girl, returned to their house in the capital. There one evening Genji paid them a visit. The house was rather a gloomy one, and was tenanted by fewer inmates than usual. How timid the little girl must feel thought Genji as he was shown in. Shionagon now told him with tearful eyes every circumstance which had taken place since she had seen him. She also said that the girl might be handed over to her father, who told her that she must do so, but his present wife was said to be very austere. The girl is not young enough to be without ideas and wishes of her own, but yet not old enough to form them sensibly. So were she to be taken to her father's house and be placed with several other children, much misery would be the result. Her grandmother suffered much on this account. Your kindness is great, continued she, and we ought not, perhaps, to think too anxiously about the future. Still she is young, too young, and we cannot think of it without pity. Why do you recur to that so often, said Genji? It is her very youthfulness which moves my sympathy. I am anxious to talk to her. Say, can the wave that rolls to land return to ocean's heaving breast, nor greet the weed upon the strand with one wild kiss, all softly pressed? How sweet it would be! That is very beautifully put, sirs, said Shionagon, but half trembling at the coming tide that rolls about the sea-beat sand, say, can the tender weed untried be trusted to its boisterous hand? Meanwhile the girl who was with her companions in her apartment, and who was told that a gentleman in court-dress had arrived, and that perhaps it was the prince her father, came running in, saying, Shionagon, where is the gentleman in court-dress? Has the prince my father arrived? Not the prince your father uttered Genji, but I am here, and I too am your friend. Come here! The girl glancing with shy timidity at Genji, for whom she already had some liking, and thinking that perhaps there was impropriety in what she had spoken, went over to her nurse, and said, Oh, I am very sleepy and wish to lie down. See how childish she still is, remarked Shionagon. Why are you so timid, little one? Come here and sleep on my knees, said Genji. Go, my child, as you are asked, observe Shionagon, and she pushed her towards Genji. Half unconsciously she took her place by his side. He pushed aside a small shawl which covered her hair, and played with her long tresses, and then he took her small hand in his. Now my hand cried she, and drawing it back she ran into a neighbouring room. Genji followed her and tried to coax her out of her shyness, telling her that he was one of her best friends, and that she was not to be so timid. By this time darkness had succeeded to the beautiful evening, and hail began to fall. Close the casement, it is too fearful. I will watch over you this evening, said Genji, as he led the girl away to the great surprise of Shionagon and others who wondered at his ease in doing this. By and by she became sleepy, and Genji, as skillfully as any nurse could, removed all her outer clothing, and placed her on the couch to sleep, telling her as he sat beside her, Some day you must come with me to some beautiful palace, and there you shall have as many pictures and play things as you like. Many other similar remarks he added to arrest her attention, and to please her. Her fears gradually subsided, and as she kept looking on the handsome face of Genji, and taking notice of his kindness, she did not fall asleep for some time. When the night was advanced and the hail storm had passed away, Genji at last took his departure. The temperature now suddenly changed, and the hail was lying white upon the grass. Can it be, thought he, that I am leaving this place as a lover? At that moment he remembered that the house of a maiden with whom he had had an acquaintance was on his road home. When he came near to it he ordered one of his attendants to knock at the door. No one, however, came forth. Hereupon Genji turned to another who had a remarkably good voice, and ordered him to sing the following lines. Though wandering in the morning grey this gate is one I cannot pass, a tender memory bids me stay, to see once more a pretty lass. This was repeated twice, when presently a man came to the door and sang in reply as follows. If you cannot pass the gate, welcome all to stop and wait, naught prevents you, do not fear, for the gate stands always here." And then went in slamming the door in their faces, and appearing no more. Genji therefore disappointed, proceeded on his way home. On the morrow he took up his pen to write a letter to Violet, but finding that he had nothing in particular to say, he laid it aside, and instead of a letter several beautiful pictures were sent for her. From this time Coromitz was sent there very often, partly to do them service and partly to watch over their movements, at last the time when the girl's father was to take her home approached within a night. And Shionagon was busily occupied in sewing a dress for the girl, and was thus consequently unable to take much notice of Coromitz when he arrived. Noting these preparatory arrangements Coromitz at once hastened to inform Genji about them. He happened to be this evening at the mansion of Sadaijin, but Lady Aoi was not, as was often the case with him, and he was amusing himself there with thumping a wagon, as he sang Ahetachi Song. Master presented himself before him, and gave him the latest information of what was going on. Genji when had listened to Coromitz thought, this will never do, I must not lose her in this way, but the difficulty is indeed perplexing, if on the one hand she goes to her father it will not become me to ask him for her. If on the other hand I carry her off, people may say that I stole her. However, upon consideration this latter plan, if I can manage to shut people's mouths beforehand, it will be much better than that I should demand her from her father. So, turning to Coromitz, he said, I must go there, see that the carriage is ready at whatever hour I may appoint, let two or three attendants be in readiness. Coromitz having received these orders retired. Long before dawn broke Genji prepared to leave the mansion. Lady Ae-E as usual was a little out of temper, but Genji told her that he had some particular arrangements to make at his mansion at Nijor, but that he would soon return to her. He soon started, Coromitz alone following him on horseback. From their arrival Coromitz proceeded to a small private entrance and announced himself. Sheonagon recognized his voice and came out, and upon this he informed her that the Prince had come. She presuming that he did so only because he happened to pass them by, said, what, at this late hour? As she spoke Genji came up and said, I hear that the little one is to go to the Prince her father, and I wish to say a few words to her before she goes. She is asleep, really I am afraid that she cannot talk with you at this hour. Besides, what is the use? replied Sheonagon with a smile. Genji however pressed his way into the house saying, Perhaps the girl is not awake yet, but I will wake her. And as the people could not prevent his doing so he proceeded to the room where she was unconsciously sleeping on a couch. He shook her gently. She started up thinking it was her father who had come. Genji pushed the hair back from her face as he said to her, I am come from your father, but this she knew to be false and was alarmed. Don't be frightened, said Genji, there is nothing in me to alarm you. In spite of Sheonagon's request not to disturb her, he lifted her from the couch, abruptly saying that he could not allow her to go elsewhere, and that he had made up his mind that he himself would be her guardian. He also said that she should go with him, and that some of them should go with her. Sheonagon was thunderstruck. We are expecting her father to-morrow, and what are we to say to him? She added, surely you can find some better opportunity to manage matters than this. All right, you can come afterward. We will go first, retorted Genji, as he ordered his carriage to drive up. Sheonagon was perplexed, and Violet also cried thinking how strange all this was. At last Sheonagon saw it was no use to resist, and so having hurriedly changed her own dress for a better one, and taking with her the pretty dress of Violet, which she had been making in the evening, got into the carriage where Genji had already placed the little one. It was no great distance to knee-jaw, and they arrived there before dawn. The carriage was driven up to the western wing of the mansion. To Sheonagon the whole affair seemed like a dream. What am I to do, she said to Genji, who teasingly answered, what you choose? You may go, if you like, so long as this darling is here, I am content. Genji lifted the girl out and carried her into the house. That part of the mansion in which they now were had not been inhabited, and the furniture was scanty and inappropriate. So, calling Koromitsa, the Prince ordered him to see that proper furniture was brought. The beds were therefore taken from the eastern wing, where he himself lived. Day broke, and Sheonagon surveyed with admiration all the magnificence with which she was surrounded. Both the exterior of the building and its internal arrangements left nothing to be desired. According to the casement she saw the graveled walks flashing brightly in the sun. Ah, thought she! Where am I amidst all this splendour? This is too grand for me. Bathwater for their ablutions and rice-soup were now brought into the apartment, and Genji afterward made his appearance. What, no attendance? No one to play with the girl? I will send some, and he then ordered some young persons from the eastern wing of the mansion. Four accordingly came. Violet was still fast asleep in her night-dress, and now Genji gently shook and woke her. Do not be frightened any more, he said quietly to her. A good girl would not be so, but would know that it is best to be obedient. She became more and more pleasing to him, and he tried to please her by presenting to her a variety of pretty pictures and play things, and by consulting her wishes in whatever she desired. She was still wearing the dress of mourning, of somber colour and of soft material, and it was only now at last that she began to smile a little, and this filled Genji with delight. He now had to return to the eastern wing, and Violet, for the first time, went to the casement and looked out on the scenery around. The trees covered with foliage, a small lake, and the plantations round about expanded before her as in a picture. Here and there young people were going in and out. Ah, what a pretty place she exclaimed, charmed as she gazed around. Then turning again into the apartment she saw beautiful pictures painted on the screens and walls, which could not but please her. Genji did not go to the palace for two or three days, but spent his time in trying to train Violet. She must soon take lessons in writing, he thought, and he wrote several writing copies for her. Among these was one in plain characters on Violet coloured paper, with the title Musashino, in brackets the field of Musashi is known for its violets. She took it up and in handwriting plain and clear those small she found the following. Though still about the Violet Bee a still unopened blossom here, its tenderness has charms for me, recalling one no longer near. Come, you must write one now, said Genji. I cannot write well enough, said Violet, looking up at him with an extremely charming look. Never mind with a good or bad, said he, but still write something. To refuse is unkind. When there is any difficulty I will help you through with it. Thereupon she turned aside shyly and wrote something, handling the pen gracefully with her tiny fingers. I have done it badly, she cried out, and tried to conceal what she had written, but Genji insisted on seeing it and found the following. I wonder what the floweret's name from which that bud its charm may claim. This was, of course, written in a childish hand, but the writing was large and plain, giving promise of future excellence. How like her grandmothers it is, thought Genji, were she to take lessons from a good professor she might become a master of the art. He ordered for her a beautiful doll's house, and played with her different innocent and amusing games. In the meantime the prince her father had duly arrived at the old home of Violet and asked for her. The servants were embarrassed but as they had been requested by Genji not to tell, and as Shionegong had also enjoined them to keep silence, they simply told him that the nurse had taken her and absconded. The prince was greatly amazed, but he remembered that the girl's grandmother never consented to send his daughter to his house, and knowing Shionegong to be a shrewd and intelligent woman, he concluded that she had found out the reasons which influenced her and that so out of respect to her, and out of dislike to tell him the reason of it, she had carried the girl off in order that she might be kept away from him. He therefore merely told the servants to inform him at once if they heard anything about them, and he returned home. A story again brings us back to Nijor. The girl gradually became reconciled to her new home, as she was most kindly treated by Genji. True during those evenings when Genji was absent, she thought of her dead grandmother, but the image of her father never presented itself to her as she had seldom seen him. And now, naturally enough, Genji, whom she had learned to look upon as a second father, was the only one for whom she cared. She was the first to greet him when he came home, and she came forward to be fondled and caressed by him without shame or diffidence. Girls at her age are usually shy and underestrained, but with her it was quite different. And again if a girl has somewhat of jealousy in her disposition, and looks upon every little trifle in a serious light, a man will have to be cautious in his dealings with her, and she herself too will often have to undergo vexation. Thus many disagreeable and unexpected incidents might often result. In the case of Violet, however, things were very different, and she was ever amiable and invariably pleasant.