The tale of Genji
Something had occurred to him. There was a story of how a certain
minister was waylaid by a demon as he passed through the Southern
Hall. The man, Genji remembered, had been prostrate with fear; but in
the end he revived and escaped. No, she could not really be dead,
and turning to Ukon he said firmly: ‘Come now, we cannot have you
making such a hideous noise in the middle of the night.’ But he
himself was stunned with grief, and though he gave Ukon distracted
orders scarce knew what he was doing. Presently he sent for the
steward’s son and said to him: ‘Someone here has had a fright and is
in a very bad way. I want you to go to Koremitsu’s house and tell him
to come as quickly as he can. If his brother the priest is there too,
take him aside and tell him quietly that I should like to see him at
once. But do not speak loud enough for the nun their mother to hear;
for I would not have her know of this excursion.’ But though he
managed to say the words, his brain was all the while in a hideous
turmoil. For added to the ghastly thought that he himself had caused
her death there was the dread and horror with which the whole place
now inspired him.
It was past midnight. A violent storm began to rise, sighing dismally
as it swept the pine-trees that clustered round the house. And all the
while some strange bird—an owl, he supposed—kept screeching hoarsely.
Utter desolation on all sides. No human voice; no friendly sound. Why,
why had he chosen this hideous place?
Ukon had fainted and was lying by her mistress’s side. Was she too
going to die of fright? No, no. He must not give way to such thoughts.
He was now the only person left who was capable of action. Was there
nothing he could do? The candle was burning badly. He lit it again.
Over by the screen in the corner of the main room something was
moving. There it was again, but in another corner now. There was a
sound of footsteps treading cautiously. It still went on. Now they
were coming up behind him....
If only Koremitsu would return! But Koremitsu was a rover and a long
time was wasted in looking for him. Would it never be day? It seemed
to him that this night was lasting a thousand years. But now,
somewhere a long way off, a cock crowed.
Why had fate seen fit to treat him thus? He felt that it must be as a
punishment for all the strange and forbidden amours into which in
these last years he had despite himself been drawn, that now this
unheard of horror had befallen him. And such things, though one may
keep them secret for a time, always come out in the end. He minded
most that the Emperor would be certain to discover sooner or later
about this and all his other affairs. Then there was the general
scandal. Everyone would know. The very gutter boys would make merry
over him. Never, never must he do such things again, or his reputation
would utterly collapse....
At last Koremitsu arrived. He prided himself on being always ready to
carry out his master’s wishes immediately at whatever hour of the
night or day, and he thought it very provoking of Genji to have sent
for him just on the one occasion when he was not to hand. And now that
he had come his master did not seem able to give him any orders, but
stood speechless in front of him.
Ukon, hearing Koremitsu’s voice, suddenly came to herself and
remembering what had happened, burst into tears. And now Genji, who
while he alone was there had supported and encouraged the weeping
maid-servant, relieved at last by Koremitsu could contain himself no
longer, and suddenly realizing again the terrible thing that had
befallen him he burst into uncontrollable weeping. ‘Something horrible
has happened here,’ he managed to say at last, ‘too dreadful to
explain. I have heard that when such things as this suddenly befall,
certain scriptures should be read. I would have this done, and prayers
said. That is why I asked you to bring your brother....’
‘He went up to the mountain yesterday’ said Koremitsu. ‘But I see
that there has been terrible work here afoot. Was it in some sudden
fit of madness that you did this thing?’ Genji shook his head. So
moved was Koremitsu at the sight of his master weeping, that he too
began to sob. Had he been an older man, versed in the ways of the
world, he might have been of some use in such a crisis, but both of
them were young and both were equally perplexed. At last Koremitsu
said: ‘One thing at least is clear. The steward’s son must not know.
For though he himself can be depended upon, he is the sort of person
who is sure to tell all his relatives, and they might meddle
disastrously in the affair. We had best get clear of this house as
quietly as we can.’ ‘Perhaps’ said Genji; ‘but it would be hard to
find a less frequented place than this.’ ‘At any rate’ Koremitsu
continued, ‘we cannot take her to her own house; for there her
gentlewomen, who loved her dearly, would raise such a weeping and
wailing as would soon bring a pack of neighbours swarming around, and
all would quickly be known. If only I knew of some mountain-temple—for
there such things are customary[14] and pass almost unnoticed.’ He
paused and reflected. ‘There is a lady I once knew who has become a
nun and now lives on the Higashi Yama. She was my father’s wet-nurse
and is now very old and bent. She does not of course live alone; but
no outside people come there.’ A faint light was already showing in
the sky when Koremitsu brought the carriage in. Thinking that Genji
would not wish to move the body himself, he wrapt it in a rush-mat and
carried it towards the carriage. How small she was to hold! Her face
was calm and beautiful. He felt no repulsion. He could find no way to
secure her hair, and when he began to carry her it overflowed and
hung towards the ground. Genji saw, and his eyes darkened. A hideous
anguish possessed him.
He tried to follow the body, but Koremitsu dissuaded him, saying ‘You
must ride back to your palace as quickly as you can; you have just
time to get there before the stir begins,’ and putting Ukon into the
carriage, he gave Genji his horse. Then pulling up his silk trousers
to the knee, he accompanied the carriage on foot. It was a very
singular procession; but Koremitsu, seeing his master’s terrible
distress, forgot for the moment his own dignity and walked stolidly
on. Genji, hardly conscious of what went on around him arrived at last
in ghostly pallor at his house. ‘Where do you come from, my Lord?’
‘How ill you look.’ ... Questions assailed him, but he hurried to his
room and lay behind his curtain. He tried to calm himself, but hideous
thoughts tormented him. Why had he not insisted upon going with her?
What if after all she were not dead and waking up should find that he
had thus abandoned her? While these wild thoughts chased through his
brain a terrible sensation of choking began to torment him. His head
ached, his body seemed to be on fire. Indeed he felt so strange that
he thought he too was about to die suddenly and inexplicably as she
had done. The sun was now high, but he did not get up. His gentlemen,
with murmurs of astonishment, tried every means to rouse him. He sent
away the dainties they brought, and lay hour after hour plunged in the
darkest thoughts. A messenger arrived from the Emperor: ‘His Majesty
has been uneasy since yesterday when his envoys sought everywhere for
your Highness in vain.’
The young lords too came from the Great Hall. He would see none of
them but Tō no Chūjō, and even him he made stand outside his curtain
while he spoke to him: ‘My foster-mother has been very ill since the
fifth month. She shaved her head and performed other penances, in
consequence of which (or so it seems) she recovered a little and
got up, but is very much enfeebled. She sent word that she desired to
see me once more before she died, and as I was very fond of her when I
was a child, I could not refuse. While I was there a servant in the
house fell ill and died quite suddenly. Out of consideration for me
they removed the body at nightfall. But as soon as I was told of what
had happened I remembered that the Fast of the Ninth Month was at hand
and for this reason I have not thought it right to present myself to
the Emperor my father. Moreover, since early morning I have had a
cough and very bad headache, so you will forgive me for treating you
in this way.’
‘I will give the Emperor your message. But I must tell you that last
night when you were out he sent messengers to look for you and seemed,
if I may venture to say so, to be in a very ill humour.’ Tō no Chūjō
turned to go, but pausing a moment came back to Genji’s couch and said
quietly: ‘What really happened to you last night? What you told me
just now cannot possibly be true.’ ‘You need not go into details,’
answered Genji impatiently. ‘Simply tell him that unintentionally I
became exposed to a pollution, and apologize to him for me as best you
can.’ He spoke sharply, but in his heart there was only an unspeakable
sadness; and he was very tired.
All day he lay hidden from sight. Once he sent for Tō no Chūjō’s
brother Kurōdo no Ben and gave him a formal message for the Emperor.
The same excuse would serve for the Great Hall, and he sent a similar
message there and to other houses where he might be expected.
At dusk Koremitsu came. The story of Genji’s pollution had turned all
visitors from the door, and Koremitsu found his palace utterly
deserted. ‘What happened?’ said Genji, summoning him, ‘you are sure
that she is dead?’ and holding his sleeve before his face he wept.
‘All is over; of that there is no doubt,’ said Koremitsu, also in
tears; ‘and since it is not possible for them to keep the body long, I
have arranged with a very respectable aged priest who is my friend
that the ceremony shall take place to-morrow, since to-morrow chances
to be a good calendar day.’ ‘And what of her gentlewoman?’ asked
Genji. ‘I fear she will not live,’ said Koremitsu. ‘She cries out that
she must follow her mistress and this morning, had I not held her, she
would have cast herself from a high rock. She threatened to tell the
servants at my lady’s house, but I prevailed upon her to think the
matter over quietly before she did this.’ ‘Poor thing,’ said Genji,
‘small wonder that she should be thus distracted. I too am feeling
strangely disordered and do not know what will become of me.’ ‘Torment
yourself no more,’ said Koremitsu. ‘All things happen as they must.
Here is one who will handle this matter very prudently for you, and
none shall be the wiser.’ ‘Happen as they must. You are right’ said
Genji ‘and so I try to persuade myself. But in the pursuit of one’s
own wanton pleasures to have done harm and to have caused someone’s
death—that is a hideous crime; a terrible load of sin to bear with me
through the world. Do not tell even your sister; much less your mother
the nun, for I am ashamed that she should even know I have ever done
that kind of thing.’[15] ‘Do not fear’ answered Koremitsu. ‘Even to
the priests, who must to a certain extent be let into the secret, I
have told a long made-up tale’ and Genji felt a little easier in his
mind.
The waiting-women of his palace were sorely puzzled; ‘First he says he
has been defiled and cannot go to Court, and now he sits whispering
and sighing.’ What could it all mean? ‘Again I beg you’ said Genji at
last ‘to see that everything is done as it should be.’ He was thinking
all the time of the elaborate Court funerals which he had
witnessed (he had, indeed, seen no others) and imagined Koremitsu
directing a complicated succession of rituals. ‘I will do what I can;
it will be no such great matter,’ he answered and turned to go.
Suddenly Genji could bear no longer the thought that he should never
see her again. ‘You will think it very foolish of me,’ he said, ‘but I