"The King and Queen were greatly surprised when they found the Princess
was lost, and began to search for her. Some one said that a King's
guard from the Province of Musashi, carrying something of exquisite
fragrance[14] on his back, had been seen fleeing towards the East.
So they sought for that guard, and he was not to be found. They
said, 'Doubtless this man went back home.' The Royal Government sent
messengers to pursue them, but when they got to the Seta Bridge they
found it broken, and they could not go farther. In the Third month,
however, the messengers arrived at Musashi Province and sought for the
man. The Princess gave audience to the messengers and said:
"'I, for some reason, yearned for this man's home and bade him carry
me here; so he has carried me. If this man were punished and killed,
what should I do? This is a very good place to live in. It must have
been settled before I was born that I should leave my trace [i.e.
descendants] in this Province--go back and tell the King so.' So the
messenger could not refuse her, and went back to tell the King about it.
"The King said: 'It is hopeless. Though I punish the man I cannot bring
back the Princess; nor is it meet to bring them back to the Royal City.
As long as that man of Takeshiba lives I cannot give Musashi Province
to him, but I will entrust it to the Princess.'
"In this way it happened that a palace was built there in the same
style as the Royal Palace and the Princess was placed there. When
she died they made it into a temple called Takeshiba-dera.[15] The
descendants of the Princess received the family name of Musashi. After
that the guards of the watch-fire were women."[16]
We went through a waste of reeds of various kinds, forcing our way
through the tall grass. There is the river Asuda along the border of
Musashi and Sagami, _where at the ferry Arihara Narihira had composed
his famous poem._[17] In the book of his poetical works the river is
called the river Sumida.
We crossed it in a boat, and it is the Province of Sagami. The mountain
range called Nishitomi is like folding screens with good pictures. On
the left hand we saw a very beautiful beach with long-drawn curves
of white waves. There was a place there called Morokoshi-ga-Hara[18]
[Chinese Field] where sands are wonderfully white. Two or three days
we journeyed along that shore. A man said:, "In Summer pale and deep
Japanese pinks bloom there and make the field like brocade. As it is
Autumn now we cannot see them." But I saw some pinks scattered about
blooming pitiably. They said: "It is funny that Japanese pinks are
blooming in the Chinese field."
There is a mountain called Ashigara [Hakone] which extends for ten
and more miles and is covered with thick woods even to its base. We
could have only an occasional glimpse of the sky. We lodged in a hut
at the foot of the mountain. It was a dark moonless night. I felt
myself swallowed up and lost in the darkness, when three singers came
from somewhere. One was about fifty years old, the second twenty, and
the third about fourteen or fifteen. We set them down in front of our
lodging and a karakasa [large paper umbrella] was spread for them. My
servant lighted a fire so that we saw them. They said that they were
the descendants of a famous singer called Kobata. They had very long
hair which hung over their foreheads; their faces were white and clean,
and they seemed rather like maids serving in noblemen's families. They
had clear, sweet voices, and their beautiful singing seemed to reach
the heavens. All were charmed, and taking great interest made them
come nearer. Some one said, "The singers of the Western Provinces are
inferior to them," and at this the singers closed their song with the
words, "if we are compared with those of Naniwa" [Osaka].[19] They were
pretty and neatly dressed, with voices of rare beauty, and they were
wandering away into this fearful mountain. Even tears came to those
eyes which followed them as far as they could be seen; and my childish
heart was unwilling to leave this rude shelter frequented by these
singers.
Next morning we crossed over the mountain.[20] Words cannot express my
fear[21] in the midst of it. Clouds rolled beneath our feet. Halfway
over there was an open space with a few trees. Here we saw a few leaves
of aoi[22] [_Asarum caulescens_]. People praised it and thought strange
that in this mountain, so far from the human world, was growing such a
sacred plant. We met with three rivers in the mountain and crossed them
with difficulty. That day we stopped at Sekiyama. Now we are in Suruga
Province. We passed a place called Iwatsubo [rock-urn] by the barrier
of Yokobashiri. There was an indescribably large square rock through a
hole in which very cold water came rushing out.
Mount Fuji is in this Province. In the Province where I was brought up
[from which she begins this journey] I saw that mountain far towards
the West. It towers up painted with deep blue, and covered with eternal
snow. It seems that it wears a dress of deep violet and a white veil
over its shoulders. From the little level place of the top smoke was
going up. In the evening we even saw burning fires there.[23] The Fuji
River comes tumbling down from that mountain. A man of the Province
came up to us and told us a story.
"Once I went on an errand. It was a very hot day, and I was resting on
the bank of the stream when I saw something yellow come floating down.
It came to the bank of the river and stuck there. I picked it up and
found it to be a scrap of yellow paper with words elegantly written on
it in cinnabar. Wondering much I read it. On the paper was a prophecy
of the Governors [of provinces] to be appointed next year. As to this
Province there were written the names of two Governors. I wondered
more and more, and drying the paper, kept it. When the day of the
announcement came, this paper held no mistake, and the man who became
the Governor of this Province died after three months, and the other
succeeded him."
There are such things. I think that the gods assemble there on that
mountain to settle the affairs of each new year.
At Kiyomigaseki, where we saw the sea on the left, there were many
houses for the keepers of the barriers. Some of the palisades went even
into the sea.
At Tagonoura waves were high. From there we went along by boat. We went
with ease over Numajiri and came to the river Oi. Such a torrent I have
never seen. Water, white as if thickened with rice flour, ran fast.
I became ill, and now it is the Province of Totomi. I had almost lost
consciousness when I crossed the mountain pass of Sayo-no-Nakayama [the
middle mountain of the little night]. I was quite exhausted, so when
we came to the bank of the Tenryu River, we had a temporary dwelling
built, and passed several days there, and I got better. As the winter
was already advanced, the wind from the river blew hard and it became
intolerable. After crossing the river we went towards the bridge at
Hamana.
When we had gone down towards the East [four years before when her
father had been appointed Governor] there had been a log bridge, but
this time we could not find even a trace of it, so we had to cross in
a boat. The bridge had been laid across an inland bay. The waves of
the outer sea were very high, and we could see them through the thick
pine-trees which grew scattered over the sandy point which stretched
between us and the sea. They seemed to strike across the ends of the
pine branches and shone like jewels. It was an interesting sight.
We went forward and crossed over Inohana--an unspeakably weary ascent
it was--and then came to Takashi shore of the Province of Mikawa. We
passed a place called "Eight-Bridges," but it was only a name, no
bridge and no pretty sight.
In the mountain of Futamura we made our camp under a big persimmon
tree. The fruit fell down during the night over our camps and people
picked it up.
We passed Mount Miyaji, where we saw red leaves still, although it was
the first day of the Tenth month.
_Furious mountain winds in their passing_
_must spare this spot_
_For red maple leaves are clinging_
_even yet to the branch._
There was a fort of "If-I-can" between Mikawa and Owari. It is amusing
to think how difficult the crossing was, indeed. We passed the Narumi
[sounding-sea] shore in the Province of Owari. The evening tides were
coming in, and we thought if they came higher we could not cross. So in
a panic we ran as fast as we could.
At the border of Mino we crossed a ferry called Kuromata, and arrived
at Nogami. There singers came again and they sang all night. Lovingly
we thought of the singers of Ashigara.
Snow came, and in the storm we passed the barrier at Fuha, and over
the Mount Atsumi, having no heart to look at beautiful sights. In the
Province of Omi we stayed four or five days in a house at Okinaga. At
the foot of Mitsusaka Mountain light rain fell night and day mixed
with hail. It was so melancholy that we left there and passed by
Inugami, Kanzaki, and Yasu without receiving any impressions. The lake
stretched far and wide, and we caught occasional glimpses of Nadeshima
and Chikubushima [islands]. It was a very pretty sight. We had great
difficulty at the bridge of Seta, for it had fallen in. We stopped at
Awazu, and arrived at the Royal City after dark on the second day of
the Finishing month.
When we were near the barrier I saw the face of a roughly hewn
Buddha sixteen feet high which towered over a rude fence. Serene and
indifferent to its surroundings it stood unregarded in this deserted
place; but I, passing by, received a message from it. Among so many
provinces [through which I have passed] the barriers at Kiyomigata and
Osaka were far better than the others.
It was dark when I arrived at the residence on the west of the Princess
of Sanjo's mansion.[24] Our garden was very wide and wild with great,
fearful trees not inferior to those mountains I had come from. I could
not feel at home, or keep a settled mind. Even then I teased mother
into giving me books of stories, after which I had been yearning for so
many years. Mother sent a messenger with a letter to Emon-no-Myogu, one
of our relatives who served the Princess of Sanjo. She took interest in
my strange passion and willingly sent me some excellent manuscripts in
the lid of a writing-box,[25] saying that these copies had been given
her by the Princess. My joy knew no bounds and I read them day and
night; I soon began to wish for more, but as I was an utter stranger to
the Royal City, who would get them for me?
My stepmother [meaning one of her father's wives] had once been a
lady-in-waiting at the court, and she seemed to have been disappointed
in something. She had been regretting the World [her marriage], and now
she was to leave our home. She beckoned her own child, who was five
years old, and said, "The time will never come when I shall forget you,
dear heart"; and pointing to a huge plum-tree which grew close to the
eaves, said, "When it is in flower I shall come back"; and she went
away. I felt love and pity for her, and while I was secretly weeping,
the year, too, went away.
[Illustration: "IT WAS ALL IN FLOWER AND YET NO TIDINGS FROM HER"]
"When the plum-tree blooms I shall come back"--I pondered over these
words and wondered whether it would be so. I waited and waited with my
eye hung to the tree. It was all in flower[26] and yet no tidings from
her. I became very anxious [and at last] broke a branch and sent it to
her [of course with a poem]:
_You gave me words of hope, are they not long delayed?_
_The plum-tree is remembered by the Spring,_
_Though it seemed dead with frost._
She wrote back affectionate words with a poem:
_Wait on, never forsake your hope,_
_For when the plum-tree is in flower_
_Even the unpromised, the unexpected, will come to you._
During the spring [of 1022] the world was disquieted.[27] My nurse, who
had filled my heart with pity on that moonlight night at the ford of
Matsuzato, died on the moon-birthday of the Ever-growing month [first
day of March], I lamented hopelessly without any way to set my mind at
ease, and even forgot my passion for romances.
I passed day after day weeping bitterly, and when I first looked out of
doors[28] [again] I saw the evening sun on cherry-blossoms all falling
in confusion [this would mean four weeks later].
_Flowers are falling, yet I may see them again_
_when Spring returns._
_But, oh, my longing for the dear person_
_who has departed from us forever!_
I also heard that the daughter of the First Adviser[29] to the King was
lost [dead]. I could sympathize deeply with the sorrow of her lord, the
Lieutenant-General, for I still felt my own sorrow.
When I had first arrived at the Capital I had been given a book of the
handwriting of this noble lady for my copy-book. In it were written
several poems, among them the following:
_When you see the smoke floating up the valley of_
_Toribe Hill,_[30]
_Then you will understand me, who seemed as shadow-like_
_even while living._
I looked at these poems which were written in such a beautiful
handwriting, and I shed more tears. I sat brooding until mother
troubled herself to console me. She searched for romances and gave them
to me, and I became consoled unconsciously. I read a few volumes of
Genji-monogatari and longed for the rest, but as I was still a stranger
here I had no way of finding them. I was all impatience and yearning,
and in my mind was always praying that I might read all the books of
Genji-monogatari from the very first one.
While my parents were shutting themselves up in Udzu-Masa[31] Temple,
I asked them for nothing except this romance, wishing to read it as
soon as I could get it, but all in vain. I was inconsolable. One day I
visited my aunt, who had recently come up from the country. She showed
a tender interest in me and lovingly said I had grown up beautifully.
On my return she said: "What shall I give you? You will not be
interested in serious things: I will give you what you like best." And
she gave me more than fifty volumes of Genji-monogatari put in a case,
as well as Ise-monogatari, Yojimi, Serikawa, Shirara, and Asa-udzu.[32]
How happy I was when I came home carrying these books in a bag! Until
then I had only read a volume here and there, and was dissatisfied
because I could not understand the story.
Now I could be absorbed in these stories, taking them out one by one,
shutting myself in behind the kicho.[33] To be a Queen were nothing
compared to this!
All day and all night, as late as I could keep my eyes open, I did
nothing but look at the books, setting a lamp[34] close beside me.
Soon I learnt by heart all the names in the books, and I thought that a
great thing.
Once I dreamt of a holy priest in yellow Buddhist scarf who came to me
and said, "Learn the fifth book of the Hokekkyo[35] at once."
I did not tell any one about this, nor had I any mind to learn it,
but continued to bathe in the romances. Although I was still ugly and
undeveloped [I thought to myself] the time would come when I should be
beautiful beyond compare, with long, long hair. I should be like the
Lady Yugao [in the romance] loved by the Shining Prince Genji, or like
the Lady Ukifune, the wife of the General of Uji [a famous beauty]. I
indulged in such fancies--shallow-minded I was, indeed!
Could such a man as the Shining Prince be living in this world? How
could General Kaoru [literal translation, "Fragrance"] find such a
beauty as Lady Ukifune to conceal in his secret villa at Uji? Oh! I was
like a crazy girl.
While I had lived in the country, I had gone to the temple from time to
time, but even then I could never pray like others, with a pure heart.
In those days people learned to recite sutras and practise austerities
of religious observance after the age of seventeen or eighteen, but I
could scarcely even think of such matters. The only thing that I could
think of was the Shining Prince who would some day come to me, as
noble and beautiful as in the romance. If he came only once a year I,
being hidden in a mountain villa like Lady Ukifune, would be content.
I could live as _heart-dwindlingly_ as that lady, looking at flowers,
or moonlit snowy landscape, occasionally receiving long-expected lovely
letters from my Lord! I cherished such fancies and imagined that they
might be realized.
[Illustration: KICHO: FRONT AND BACK VIEWS]
On the moon-birth of the Rice-Sprout month I saw the white petals
of the Tachibana tree [a kind of orange] near the house covering the
ground.
_Scarce had my mind received with wonder;_
_The thought of newly fallen snow--_
_Seeing the ground lie white--_
_When the scent of Tachibana flowers_
_Arose from fallen blossoms._
In our garden trees grew as thick as in the dark forest of Ashigara,
and in the Gods-absent month[36] its red leaves were more beautiful
than those of the surrounding mountains. A visitor said, "On my way
thither I passed a place where red leaves were beautiful"; and I
improvised:
_No sight can be more autumnal_
_than that of my garden_
_Tenanted by an autumnal person_
_weary of the world!_
I still dwelt in the romances from morning to night, and as long as I
was awake.
I had another dream: a man said that he was to make a brook in the
garden of the Hexagon Tower to entertain the Empress of the First
Rank of Honour. I asked the reason, and the man said, "Pray to the
Heaven-illuminating honoured Goddess." I did not tell any one about
this dream or even think of it again. How shallow I was!
In the Spring I enjoyed the Princess's garden. Cherry-blossoms waited
for!--cherry-blossoms lamented over! In Spring I love the flowers
whether in her garden or in mine.
On the moon-hidden day of the Ever-growing month [March 30, 1023], I
started for a certain person's house to avoid the evil influence of the
earth god.[37] There I saw delightful cherry-blossoms still on the tree
and the day after my return I sent this poem:
_Alone, without tiring, I gazed at the cherry-blossoms of your garden._
_The Spring was closing--they were about to fall--_
Always when the flowers came and went, I could think of nothing but
those days when my nurse died, and sadness descended upon me, which
grew deeper when I studied the handwriting of the Honoured Daughter of
the First Adviser.
Once in the Rice-Sprout month, when I was up late reading a romance, I
heard a cat mewing with a long-drawn-out cry. I turned, wondering, and
saw a very lovely cat. "Whence does it come?" I asked. "Sh," said my
sister, "do not tell anybody. It is a darling cat and we will keep it."
The cat was very sociable and lay beside us. Some one might be looking
for her [we thought], so we kept her secretly. She kept herself aloof
from the vulgar servants, always sitting quietly before us. She turned
her face away from unclean food, never eating it. She was tenderly
cared for and caressed by us.
Once sister was ill, and the family was rather upset. The cat was
kept in a room facing the north [i.e. a servant's room], and never
was called. She cried loudly and scoldingly, yet I thought it better
to keep her away and did so. Sister, suddenly awakening, said to me,
"Where is the cat kept? Bring her here." I asked why, and sister said:
"In my dream the cat came to my side and said, 'I am the altered
form of the late Honoured Daughter of the First Adviser to the King.
There was a slight cause [for this]. Your sister has been thinking of
me affectionately, so I am here for a while, but now I am among the
servants. O how dreary I am!' So saying she wept bitterly. She appeared
to be a noble and beautiful person and then I awoke to hear the cat
crying! How pitiful!"
The story moved me deeply and after this I never sent the cat away to
the north-facing room, but waited on her lovingly. Once, when I was
sitting alone, she came and sat before me, and, stroking her head, I
addressed her: "You are the first daughter of the Noble Adviser? I wish
to let your father know of it." The cat watched my face and mewed,
_lengthening her voice._
It may be my fancy, but as I was watching her she seemed no common cat.
She seemed to understand my words, and I pity her.
I had heard that a certain person possessed the Chogonka[38] [Song of
the Long Regret] retold from the original of the Chinese poet Li T'ai
Po. I longed to borrow it, but was too shy to say so.
On the seventh day of the Seventh month I found a happy means to send
my word [the suggestion of my wish]:
_This is the night when in the ancient Past,_
_The Herder Star embarked to meet the Weaving One;_
_In its sweet remembrance the wave rises high in the River_
_of Heaven.[39]_
_Even so swells my heart to see the famous book._
The answer was:
_The star gods meet on the shore of the Heavenly River,_
_Like theirs full of ecstasy is my heart_
_And grave things of daily life are forgotten_
_On the night your message comes to me._
On the thirteenth day of that month the moon shone very brightly.
Darkness was chased away even from every corner of the heavens. It was
about midnight and all were asleep.
We were sitting on the veranda. My sister, who was gazing at the sky
thoughtfully, said, "If I flew away now, leaving no trace behind, what
would you think of it?" She saw that her words shocked me, and she
turned the conversation [lightly] to other things, and we laughed.
Then I heard a carriage with a runner before it stop near the house.
The man in the carriage called out, "Ogi-no-ha! Ogi-no-ha!" [Reed-leaf,
a woman's name or pet name] twice, but no woman made reply. The man
cried in vain until he was tired of it, and played his flute [a
reed-pipe] more and more searchingly in a very beautiful rippling
melody, and [at last] drove away.
_Flute music in the night,_
_"Autumn Wind"[40] sighing,_
_Why does the reed-leaf make no reply?_
Thus I challenged my sister, and she took it up:
_Alas! light of heart_
_Who could so soon give over playing!_
_The wind did not wait_
_For the response of the reed-leaf._
We sat together looking up into the firmament, and went to bed after
daybreak.
At midnight of the Deutzia month [April, 1024] a fire broke out, and
the cat which had been waited on as a daughter of the First Adviser was
burned to death. She had been used to come mewing whenever I called
her by the name of that lady, as if she had understood me. My father
said that he would tell the matter to the First Adviser, for it is a
strange and heartfelt story. I was very, very sorry for her.
Our new temporary shelter was far narrower than the other. I was sad,
for we had a very small garden and no trees. I thought with regret of
the old spacious garden which was wild as a deep wood, and in time
of flowers and red leaves the sight of it was never inferior to the
surrounding mountains.
In the garden of the opposite house white and red plum-blossoms grew
in confusion and their perfume came on the wind and filled me with
thoughts of our old home.
_When from the neighbouring garden the perfume-laden air_
_Saturates my soul with memories,_
_Rises the thought of the beloved plum-tree_
_Blooming under the eaves of the house which is gone._
On the moon-birth of the Rice-Sprout month my sister died after giving
birth to a child. From childhood, even a stranger's death had touched
my heart deeply. This time I lamented, filled with speechless pity and
sorrow.
While mother and the others were with the dead, I lay with the
memory-awakening children one on either side of me. The moonlight found
its way through the cracks of the roof [perhaps of their temporary
dwelling] and illumined the face of the baby. The sight gave my heart
so deep a pang that I covered its face with my sleeve, and drew the
other child closer to my side, mothering the unfortunate.
[Illustration: A NOBLEMAN'S HOUSE AND GROUNDS IN THE AZUMAYA STYLE]
After some days one of my relatives sent me a romance entitled "The
Prince Yearning after the Buried," with the following note: "The late
lady had asked me to find her this romance. At that time I thought it
impossible, but now to add to my sorrow, some one has just sent it to
me."
I answered:
_What reason can there be that she_
_Strangely should seek a romance of the buried?_
_Buried now is the seeker_
_Deep under the mosses._
My sister's nurse said that since she had lost her, she had no reason
to stay and went back to her own home weeping.
_Thus death or parting separates us each from the other,_
_Why must we part? Oh, world too sad for me!_
"For remembrance of her I wanted to write about her," began a letter
from her nurse--but it stopped short with the words, "Ink seems to have
frozen up, I cannot write any more."[41]
_How shall I gather memories of my sister?_
_The stream of letters is congealed._
_No comfort may be found in icicles._
So I wrote, and the answer was:
_Like the comfortless plover of the beach_
_In the sand printing characters soon to be washed away,_
_Unable to leave a more enduring trace in this fleeting world._
That nurse went to see the grave and returned sobbing, saying:
_I seek her in the field, but she is not there,_
_Nor is she in the smoke of the cremation._
_Where is her last dwelling-place?_
_How can I find it?_
The lady who had been my stepmother heard of this [and wrote]:
_When we wander in search of her,_
_Ignorant of her last dwelling-place,_
_Standing before the thought_
_Tears must be our guide._
The person who had sent "The Prince Yearning after the Buried" wrote:
_How she must have wandered seeking the unfindable_
_In the unfamiliar fields of bamboo grasses,_
_Vainly weeping!_
Reading these poems my brother, who had followed the funeral that
night, composed a poem:
_Before my vision_
_The fire and smoke of burning_
_Arose and died again._
_To bamboo fields there is no more returning,_
_Why seek there in vain?_
It snowed for many days, and I thought of the nun who lived on Mount
Yoshino, to whom I wrote:
_Snow has fallen_
_And you cannot have_
_Even the unusual sight of men_
_Along the precipitous path of the Peak of Yoshino._
On the Sociable month of the next year father was looking forward with
happy expectation to the night when he might expect an appointment as
Governor of a Province. He was disappointed, and a person who might
have shared our joy wrote to me, saying:
"I anxiously waited for the dawn with uncertain hope."
_The temple bell roused me from dreams_
_And waiting for the starlit dawn_
_The night, alas! was long as are_
_One hundred autumn nights._
I wrote back:
_Long was the night._
_The bell called from dreams in vain,_
_For it did not toll our realized hopes._
Towards the moon-hidden days [last days] of the Rice-Sprout month
I went for a certain reason to a temple at Higashiyama.[42] On the
way the nursery beds for rice-plants were filled with water, and the
fields were green all over with the young growing rice. It was a
smile-presenting sight. It gave a feeling of loneliness to see the
dark shadow of the mountain close before me. In the lovely evenings
water-rails chattered in the fields.
_The water-rails cackle as if they were knocking at the gate,_
_But who would be deceived into opening the door, saying,_
_Our friend has come along the mountain path in the dark night?_
As the place was near the Reizan Temple I went there to worship.
Arriving so far I was fatigued, and drank from a stone-lined well
beside the mountain temple, scooping the water into the hollow of my
hand. My friend said, "I could never have enough of this water." "Is
it the first time," I asked, "that you have tasted the satisfying
sweetness of a mountain well drunk from the hollow of your hand?" She
said, "It is sweeter than to drink from a shallow spring, which becomes
muddy even from the drops which fall from the hand which has scooped it
up."[43] We came home from the temple in the full brightness of evening
sunshine, and had a clear view of Kioto below us.
My friend, who had said that a spring becomes muddy even with drops
falling into it, had to go back to the Capital.
I was sorry to part with her and sent word the next morning:
_When the evening sun descends behind the mountain peak,_
_Will you forget that it is I who gaze with longing_
_Towards the place where you are?_
The holy voices of the priests reciting sutras in their morning service
could be heard from my house and I opened the door. It was dim early
dawn; mist veiled the green forest, which was thicker and darker than
in the time of flowers or red leaves. The sky seemed clouded this
lovely morning. Cuckoos were singing on the near-by trees.
_O for a friend--that we might see and listen together!_
_O the beautiful dawn in the mountain village!--_
_The repeated sound of cuckoos near and far away._
On that moon-hidden day cuckoos sung clamorously on trees towards the
glen. "In the Royal City poets may be awaiting you, cuckoos, yet you
sing here carelessly from morning till night!"
One who sat near me said: "Do you think that there is one person, at
least, in the Capital who is listening to cuckoos, and thinking of us
at this moment?"--and then:
_Many in the Royal City like to gaze on the calm moon._
_But is there one who thinks of the deep mountain_
_Or is reminded of us hidden here?_
I replied:
_In the dead of night, moon-gazing,_
_The thought of the deep mountain affrighted,_
_Yet longings for the mountain village_
_At all other moments filled my heart._
Once, towards dawn, I heard footsteps which seemed to be those of many
persons coming down the mountain. I wondered and looked out. It was a
herd of deer which came close to our dwelling. They cried out. It was
not pleasant to hear them near by.
_It is sweet to hear the love-call of a deer to its mate,_
_In Autumn nights, upon the distant hills._
I heard that an acquaintance had come near my residence and gone back
without calling on me. So I wrote:
_Even this wandering wind among the pines of the mountain--_
_I've heard that it departs with murmuring sound._
[That is, you are not like it. You do not speak when going away.]
In the Leaf-Falling month [September] I saw the moon more than twenty
days old. It was towards dawn; the mountain-side was gloomy and the
sound of the waterfall was all [I heard]. I wish that lovers [of
nature] may see the after-dawn-waning moon in a mountain village at the
close of an autumn night.
I went back to Kioto when the rice-fields, which had been filled with
water when I came, were dried up, the rice being harvested. The young
plants in their bed of water--the plants harvested--the fields dried
up--so long I remained away from home.
'T was the moon-hidden of the Gods-absent month when I went there again
for temporary residence. The thick grown leaves which had cast a dark
shade were all fallen. The sight was heartfelt over all. The sweet,
murmuring rivulet was buried under fallen leaves and I could see only
the course of it.
_Even water could not live on--_
_So lonesome is the mountain_
_Of the leaf-scattering stormy wind._
[At about this time the author of this diary seems to have had some
family troubles. Her father received no appointment from the King--they
were probably poor, and her gentle, poetic nature did not incline
her to seek useful friends at court; therefore many of the best
years of her youth were spent in obscurity--a great contrast to the
"Shining-Prince" dreams of her childhood.]
I went back to Kioto saying that I should come again the next Spring,
could I live so long, and begged the nun to send word when the
flowering-time had come.
It was past the nineteenth of the Ever-growing month of the next year
[1026], but there were no tidings from her, so I wrote:
_No word about the blooming cherry-blossoms,_
_Has not the Spring come for you yet?_
_Or does the perfume of flowers not reach you?_
I made a journey, and passed many a moonlit night in a house beside a
bamboo wood. Wind rustled its leaves and my sleep was disturbed.
_Night after night the bamboo leaves sigh,_
_My dreams are broken and a vague, indefinite sadness fills my
heart._
In Autumn [1026] I went to live elsewhere and sent a poem:
_I am like dew on the grass--_
_And pitiable wherever I may be--_
_But especially am I oppressed with sadness_
_In a field with a thin growth of reeds._
After that time I was somehow restless and forgot about the romances.
My mind became more sober and I passed many years without doing
any remarkable thing. I neglected religious services and temple
observances. Those fantastic ideas [of the romances] can they be
realized in this world? If father could win some good position I
also might enter into a much nobler life. Such unreliable hopes then
occupied my daily thoughts.
At last[44] father was appointed Governor of a Province very far in the
East.
[Here the diary skips six years. The following is reminiscent.]
He [father] said: "I was always thinking that if I could win a
position as Governor in the neighbourhood of the Capital I could take
care of you to my heart's desire. I would wish to bring you down to
see beautiful scenery of sea and mountain. Moreover, I wished that
you could live attended beyond [the possibilities] of our [present]
position. Our Karma relation from our former world must have been bad.
Now I have to go to so distant a country after waiting so long! When
I brought you, who were a little child, to the Eastern Province [at
his former appointment], even a slight illness caused me much trouble
of mind in thinking that should I die, you would wander helpless in
that far country. There were many fears in a stranger's country, and
I should have lived with an easier mind had I been alone. As I was
then accompanied by all my family, I could not say or do what I wanted
to say or do, and I was ashamed of it. Now you are grown up [she was
twenty-five years old] and I am not sure that I can live long.
It is not so unusual a fate to be helpless in the Capital, but the
saddest thing of all would be to wander in the Eastern Province like
any country-woman.[45] There are no relatives in the Capital upon whom
we could rely to foster you, yet I cannot refuse the appointment which
has been made after such long waiting. So you must remain here, and I
must depart for Eternity.--Oh, in what way may I provide a way for you
to live in the Capital decently!"
Night and day he lamented, saying these things, and I forgot all about
flowers or maple leaves, grieving sadly, but there was no help for it.
He went down[46] on the thirteenth of the Seventh month, 1032.
For several days before that I could not remain still in my own room,
for I thought it difficult to see him again.
On that day [the 13th] after restless hours, when the [time for]
parting came, I had lifted the blind and my eye met his, from which
tears dropped down. Soon he had passed by.[47] My eyes were dim with
tears and soon I concealed myself in bed [tears were bad manners]. A
man who had gone to see him off returned with a poem written on a bit
of pocket paper.
A message from her father:
_If I could do as I wish_
_I could acknowledge more profoundly_
_The sorrow of departing in Autumn._
[The last line has, of course, reference to his age and the probability
of never returning.]
I could not read the poem to the end.
In the happier time I had often tried to compose halting poems
[literally, of broken loins], but at present I had no word to say.
_--never began to think in this world even for_
_a moment from you to part. Alas!_
No person came to my side and I was very lonely and forlorn musing and
guessing where he would be at every moment. As I knew the road he was
taking [the same which is described in this journal], I thought of
him the more longingly and with greater heart-shrinking. Morning and
evening I looked towards the sky-line of the eastern mountains.
In the Leaf-Falling month I went to the temple at Udzumaza [Korinji] to
pass many days.
We came upon two men's palanquins in the road from Ichijo, which had
stopped there. They must have been waiting for some one to catch up
with them. When I passed by they sent an attendant with the message:
"Flower-seeing go?--we suppose."
I thought it would be awkward not to reply to such a slight matter, and
answered:
_Thousand kinds[48]--_
_To be like them in the fields of Autumn._
I stayed in the temple for seven days, but could think of nothing but
the road to the East.
I prayed to the Buddha, saying: "There is no way to change the present,
but grant that we may meet again peacefully after this parting"--and I
thought the Buddha would pity and grant my prayer.
It was midwinter. It rained all day. In the night a cloud-turning wind
blew terribly and the sky cleared. The moon became exquisitely bright,
and it was sad to see the tall reeds near the house broken and blown
down by the wind.
_Dead stalks of reeds must be reminded of good Autumn days._
_In midwinter depths the tempest lays them low,_
_Confused and broken._
["Their fate is like my own," is intangibly expressed in this poem.]
A messenger arrived from the East.
Father's letter: |
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