"I wandered through the Province [Hitachi, now
Ibarakiken] going into every Shinto shrine and saw
a wide field with a beautiful river running through
it.[49] There was a beautiful wood. My first thought was
of you, and to make you see it, and I asked the name of
that grove. 'The grove of Longing After One's Child' was
the answer. I thought of the one who had first named it
and was extremely sad. Alighting from my horse I stood
there for two hours.
_After leaving--_
_Like me he must have yearned_
_Sorrowful to see--_
_The forest of Longing After One's Child."_
To see that letter is a sadder thing than to have seen the forest.
[The poem sent in return presents difficulties in the way of
translation as there is a play upon words, literally it is something
like this:]
The grove of "Longing After One's Child"; left; Father-caressed[50]
Mountain; [Chichibusan] hard Eastern way--
_The grove of Longing After One's Child--_
_Hearing of it I think of the Father-caressed Mountain:_
_Towards it hard is the Eastern way_
_For a child left [here alone]._
Thus I passed days in doing nothing, and I began to think of going
to temples [making pilgrimages]. Mother was a person of extremely
antiquated mind. She said: "Oh, dreadful is the Hatsuse Temple! What
should you do if you were caught by some one at the Nara ascent?
Ishiyama too! Sekiyama Pass [near Lake Biwa] is very dreadful!
Kurama-san [the famous mountain], oh, dreadful to bring you there! You
may go there when father comes back."
As mother says so, I can go only to Kiyomidzu Temple.[51] My old habits
of romantic indulgence were not dead yet, and I could not fix my mind
on religious thoughts as I ought.
In the equinoctial week there was a great tumult [of festival], so
great a noise that I was even afraid of it, and when I lay asleep I
dreamt there was a priest within the enclosure before the altar, in
blue garments with loose brocade hood and brocade shoes. He seemed
to be the intendant of the temple: "You, being occupied with vain
thoughts, are not praying for happiness in the world to come," he said
indignantly, and went behind the curtain. I awoke startled, yet neither
told any one what I had dreamt, nor thought about it much.
My mother had two one-foot-in-diameter bronze mirrors cast and made a
priest take them for us to the Hatsuse Temple. Mother told the priest
to pass two or three days in the temple especially praying that a
dream might be vouchsafed about the future state of this woman [the
daughter]. For that period I was made to observe religious purity [i.e.
abstain from animal food.]
The priest came back to tell the following:
"I was reluctant to return without having even a dream, and after
bowing many times and performing other ceremonies I went to sleep.
There came out from behind the curtain a graceful holy lady in
beautiful garments. She, taking up the offered mirrors, asked me if
no letters were affixed to these mirrors. I answered in the most
respectful manner, 'There were no letters. I was told only to offer
these.' 'Strange!' she said. 'Letters are to be added. See what is
mirrored in one, it creates pity to look at it.' I saw her weep
bitterly and saw appear in the mirror shadows of people rolling over in
lamentation. 'To see these shadows makes one sad, but to see this makes
one happy,' and she held up the other mirror. There, the misu was fresh
green and many-coloured garments were revealed below the lower edge of
it. Plum-and cherry-blossoms were in flower. Nightingales were singing
from tree to tree."
I did not even listen to his story nor question him as to how things
seemed in his dream. Some one said, "Pray to the Heavenly Illuminating
Honoured Goddess," and my irreverent mind thought, "Where is she? Is
she a Goddess or a Buddha?"
At first I said so, but afterwards grew more discreet and asked some
one about her, who replied: "She is a goddess, and takes up her abode
at Ise.[52] The goddess is also worshipped by the Provincial Governor
of Kii. She is worshipped at the ancestor shrine in the Imperial Court."
I could not by any means get to Ise. How could I bow before the
Imperial shrine? I could never be allowed to go there. The idea flowed
through my mind to pray for the heavenly light.
A relative of mine became a nun, and entered the Sugaku Temple. In
winter I sent her a poem:
_Even tears arise for your sake_
_When I think of the mountain hamlet_
_Where snow-storms will be raging._
Reply:
_I seem to have a glimpse of you_
_Coming to me through the dark wood,_
_When close over head is Summer's growth of leaves._
1036. Father, who had gone down towards the East, came back at last. He
settled down at Nishiyama, and we all went there. We were very happy.
One moon-bright night we talked all the night through:
_Such nights as this exist!_
_As if it were for Eternity, I parted from you--_
_How sad was that Autumn!_
At this father shed tears [of happiness] abundantly, and answered me
with a poem:
_That life grows dear and is lived with rejoicing_
_Which once was borne with hate and lamentation_
My joy knew no bounds when my waiting was at an end after the supposed
parting "for Eternity," yet my father said: "It is ridiculous to lead
a worldly life when one is very old. I used to feel so when I saw old
men, but now it is my turn to be old, so I will retire from social
life." As he said it with no lingering affection for this world, I felt
quite alone.
Towards the East the field stretched far and wide and I could see
clearly from Mount Hiye[53] to Mount Inari. Towards the West, the pines
of the forest of Narabigaoka were sounding in my ear, and up to the
tableland on which our house stood the rice-fields were cultivated in
terraces, while from them came the sound of the bird-scaring clappers,
giving me a homely country sentiment.
One moonlight evening I had a message from an old acquaintance who had
had an opportunity to send to me, and this I sent back:
_None calls upon me, or remembers me in my mountain village._
_On the reeds by the thin hedge, the Autumn winds are sighing._
1037. In the Tenth month we changed our abode to the Capital. Mother
had become a nun, and although she lived in the same house, shut
herself up in a separate chamber. Father rather treated me as an
independent woman than as his child. I felt helpless to see him
shunning all society and living hidden in the shade.
A person [the Princess Yuko, daughter of the Emperor Toshiyaku] who had
heard about me through a distant relative called me [to her] saying it
would be better [to be with her] than passing idle lonely days.
My old-fashioned parents thought the court life would be very
unpleasant, and wanted me to pass my time at home, but others said:
"People nowadays go out as ladies-in-waiting at the Court, and then
fortunate opportunities [for marriage] are naturally numerous; why not
try it?" So [at the age of twenty-six] I was sent to the Court against
my will.
I went for one night the first time. I was dressed in an eight-fold
uchigi of deep and pale chrysanthemum colours, and over it I wore the
outer flowing robe of deep-red silk.
As I have said before, my mind was absorbed in romances, and I had no
important relatives from whom I could learn distinguished manners or
court customs, so except from the romances I could not know them. I
had always been in the shadow of the antiquated parents, and had been
accustomed not to go out but to see moon and flowers. So when I left
home I felt as if I were not I nor was it the real world [to which I
was going]. I started in the early morning. I had often fancied in my
countrified mind that I should hear more interesting things for my
heart's consolation than were to be found living fixed in my parents'
house.
I felt awkward in Court in everything I did, and I thought it sad, but
there was no use in complaining. I remembered with grief my nieces who
had lost their mother and had been cared for by me alone, even sleeping
at night one on either side of me.
Days were spent in musing with a vacant mind. I felt as if some one
were [always] spying upon me, and I was embarrassed.[54] After ten days
or so I got leave to go out. Father and mother were waiting for me with
a comfortable fire in a brazier.
Seeing me getting out of my palanquin, my nieces said: "When you were
with us people came to see us, but now no one's voice is heard, no
one's shadow falls before the house. We are very low-spirited; what can
you do for us who must pass days like this?" It was pitiful to see them
cry when they said it. The next morning they sat before me, saying: "As
you are here many persons are coming and going. It seems livelier."
Tears came to my eyes to think what virtue [literally, fragrance] I
could have that my little nieces made so much of me.
It would be very difficult even for a saint to dream of his prenatal
life. Yet, when I was before the altar of the Kiyomidzu Temple, in a
faintly dreamy state of mind which was neither sleeping nor waking, I
saw a man who seemed to be the head of the temple. He came out and said
to me:
"You were once a priest of this temple and you were born into a better
state by virtue of the many Buddhist images which you carved as a
Buddhist artist. The Buddha seventeen feet high which is enthroned in
the eastern side of the temple was your work. When you were in the act
of covering it with gold foil you died."
"Oh, undeservedly blessed!" I said. "I will finish it, then."
The priest replied: "As you died, another man covered it and performed
the ceremony of offerings."
I came to myself and thought: "If I serve with all my heart the Buddha
of the Kiyomidzu Temple ... by virtue of my prayers in this temple in
the previous life...."[55]
In the Finishing month I went again to the Court. A room was assigned
for my use.
I went to the Princess's apartment every night and lay down among
unknown persons, so I could not sleep at all. I was bashful and timid
and wept in secret. In the morning I retired while it was still dark
and passed the days in longing for home where my old and weak parents,
making much of me, relied upon me as if I were worthy of it. I yearned
for them and felt very lonely. Unfortunate, deplorable, and helpless
mind!--That was graven into my thought and although I had to perform my
duty faithfully I could not always wait upon the Princess. She seemed
not to guess what was in my heart, and attributing it only to shyness
favored me by summoning me often from among the other ladies. She used
to say, "Call the younger ladies!" and I was dragged out in spite of
myself.
[Illustration: THREE KICHO PUT TOGETHER The curtains of the screen, or
kicho, varied with the seasons. This is a summer one with decorations
of summer grasses and flowers]
Those who were familiar with the court life seemed to be at home there,
but I, who was not very young, yet did not wish to be counted among
the elderly, was rather neglected, and made to usher guests. However,
I did not expect too much of court life, and had no envy for those who
were more graceful than I. This, on the contrary, set me at ease, and I
from time to time presented myself before the Princess; and talked only
with congenial friends about lovely things. Even on smile-presenting,
interesting occasions I shrank from intruding and becoming too popular,
and did not go far into most things.
Sleeping one night before the Princess, I was awakened by cries and
fluttering noises from the waterfowl in the pond.
_Like us the water jowl pass all the night in floating sleep,_
_They seem to be weary_
_With shaking away the frost from their feathers._
My companions passed their leisure time in talking over romances with
the door open which separated our rooms, and they often called back one
who had gone to the Princess's apartment. She sent word once, "I will
go if I must" [intending to give herself the pleasure of coming].
_The long leaves of the reed are easily bent,_
_So I will not forcibly persuade it,_
_But leave it to the wind._
In this way [composing poems] we passed [the hours] talking idly.
Afterwards this lady separated from the Court and left us. She
remembered that night and sent me word--
_That moonless, flowerless winter night_
_It penetrates my thought and makes me dwell on it--_
_I wonder why?_
It touched my heart, for I also was thinking of that night:
_In my dreams the tears of that cold night are still frozen._
_But these I weep away secretly._
The Princess still called my stepmother by the name of
Kazusa[56]--Governor's lady. Father was displeased that that name was
still used after she had become another man's wife, and he made me
write to her about it:
_The name of Asakura in a far-off country,_
_The Court now hears it in a divine dance-song:--_
_My name also is still somewhere heard [but not honourably].[57]_
One very bright night, after the full moon, I attended the Princess to
the Imperial Palace. I remembered that the Heaven Illuminating Goddess
was enthroned within, and wanted to take an opportunity to kneel before
the altar. One moon-bright night [1042 A.D.] I went in [to the shrine]
privately, for I know Lady Hakase[58] who was taking care of this
shrine. The perpetual lights before the altar burned dimly. She [the
Lady Hakase] grew wondrously old and holy; she seems not like a mortal,
but like a divine incarnation, yet she spoke very gracefully.
The moon was very bright on the following night and the Princess's
ladies passed the time in talking and moon-gazing, opening the
doors [outer shutters] of the Fujitsubo.[59] The footsteps of the
Royal consort of Umetsubo going up to the King's apartment were so
exquisitely graceful as to excite envy. "Had the late Queen[60] been
living, she could not walk so grandly," some one said. I composed a
poem:
_She is like the Moon, who, opening the gate of Heaven,_
_goes up over the clouds._
_We, being in the same heavenly Palace, pass the night_
_in remembering the footfalls of the past._
The ladies who are charged with the duty of introducing the court
nobles seem to have been fixed upon, and nobody notices whether
simple-hearted country-women like me exist or not. On a very dark night
in the beginning of the Gods-absent month, when sweet-voiced reciters
were to read sutras throughout the night, another lady and I went out
towards the entrance door of the Audience Room to listen to it, and
after talking fell asleep, listening, leaning, ...[61] when I noticed a
gentleman had come to be received in audience by the Princess.
"It is awkward to run away to our apartment [to escape him]. We will
remain here. Let it be as it will." So said my companion and I sat
beside her listening.
He spoke gently and quietly. There was nothing about him to be
regretted. "Who is the other lady?" he asked of my friend. He said
nothing rude or amorous like other men, but talked delicately of the
sad, sweet things of the world, and many a phrase of his with a strange
power enticed me into conversation. He wondered that there should have
been in the Court one who was a stranger to him, and did not seem
inclined to go away soon.
There was no starlight, and a gentle shower fell in the darkness;
how lovely was its sound on the leaves! "The more deeply beautiful
is the night," he said; "the full moonlight would be too dazzling."
Discoursing about the beauties of Spring and Autumn he continued:
"Although every hour has its charm, pretty is the spring haze; then
the sky being tranquil and overcast, the face of the moon is not too
bright; it seems to be floating on a distant river. At such a time the
calm spring melody of the lute is exquisite.
"In Autumn, on the other hand, the moon is very bright; though there
are mists trailing over the horizon we can see things as clearly as if
they were at hand. The sound of wind, the voices of insects, all sweet
things seem to melt together. When at such a time we listen to the
autumnal music of the koto[62] we forget the Spring--we think that is
best--
"But the winter sky frozen all over magnificently cold! The snow
covering the earth and its light mingling with the moonshine! Then the
notes of the hitchiriki[63] vibrate on the air and we forget Spring and
Autumn." And he asked us, "Which captivates your fancy? On which stays
your mind?"
My companion answered in favour of Autumn and I, not being willing to
imitate her, said:
_Pale green night and flowers all melting into one_
_in the soft haze--_
_Everywhere the moon, glimmering in the Spring night._
So I replied. And he, after repeating my poem to himself over and over,
said: "Then you give up Autumn? After this, as long as I live, such a
spring night shall be for me a memento of your personality." The person
who favoured Autumn said, "Others seem to give their hearts to Spring,
and I shall be alone gazing at the autumn moon."
He was deeply interested, and being uncertain in thought said: "Even
the poets of the Tang Empire[64] could not decide which to praise
most, Spring or Autumn. Your decisions make me think that there must
be some personal reasons when our inclination is touched or charmed.
Our souls are imbued with the colours of the sky, moon, or flowers of
that moment. I desire much to know how you came to know the charms
of Spring and Autumn. The moon of a winter night is given as an
instance of dreariness, and as it is very cold I had never seen it
intentionally. When I went down to Ise to be present as the messenger
of the King at the ceremony[65] of installing the virgin in charge of
the shrine, I wanted to come back in the early dawn, so went to take
leave of the Princess [whose installation had just taken place] in a
moon-bright night after many days' snow, half shrinking to think of my
journey.
"Her residence was an other-worldly place awful even to the
imagination, but she called me into an adequate apartment. There were
persons [in that room] who had come down in the reign of the Emperor
Enyu.[66] Their aspect was very holy, ancient, and mystical. They told
of the things of long ago with tears. They brought out a well-tuned
four-stringed lute. The music did not seem to be anything happening in
this world; I regretted that day should even dawn, and was touched so
deeply that I had almost forgotten about returning to the Capital. Ever
since then the snowy nights of winter recall that scene, and I without
fail gaze at the moon even though hugging the fire. You will surely
understand me, and hereafter every dark night with gentle rain will
touch my heart; I feel this has not been inferior to the snowy night at
the palace of the Ise virgin."
With these words he departed and I thought he could not have known who
I was.
In the Eighth month of the next year [1043] we went again to the
Imperial Palace, and there was in the Court an entertainment throughout
the night. I did not know that he was present at it, and I passed that
night in my own room. When I looked out [in early morning] opening
the sliding doors on the corridor I saw the morning moon very faint
and beautiful. I heard footsteps and people approached--some reciting
sutras. One of them came to the entrance, and addressed me. I replied,
and he, suddenly remembering, exclaimed, "That night of softly falling
rain I do not forget, even for a moment! I yearn for it." As chance did
not permit me many words I said:
_What intensity of memory clings to your heart?_
_That gentle shower fell on the leaves--_
_Only for a moment [our hearts touched]._
I had scarcely said so when people came up and I stole back without his
answer.
That evening, after I had gone to my room, my companion came in to tell
me that he had replied to my poem: "If there be such a tranquil night
as that of the rain, I should like in some way to make you listen to my
lute, playing all the songs I can remember."
I wanted to hear it, and waited for the fit occasion, but there was
none, ever.
In the next year one tranquil evening I heard that he had come into the
Princess's Palace, so I crept out of my chamber with my companion, but
there were many people waiting within and without the Palace, and I
turned back. He must have been of the same mind with me. He had come
because it was so still a night, and he returned because it was noisy.
_I yearn for a tranquil moment_
_To be out upon the sea of harmony,_
_In that enchanted boat._
_Oh, boatman, do you know my heart?_
So I composed that poem--and there is nothing more to tell. His
personality was very excellent and he was not an ordinary man, but time
passed, and neither called to the other.
In Winter, though the snow had not come yet, the starlit sky was
clear and cold. One whole night I talked with those who were in the
Palace....[67]
Like a good-for-nothing woman I retired from the Court life.
On the twenty-fifth of the End month [Christmas Day, 1043] I was
summoned by the Princess to the religious service of reciting Buddha's
names. I went for that night only. About forty ladies were there all
dressed in deep-red dresses and also in deep-red outer robe. I sat
behind the person who led me in--the most shadow-like person among
them--and I retired before dawn. On my way home it snowed in fluttering
flakes, and the frozen, ghostly moon was reflected in my dull-red
sleeves of glossy silk. Even that reflection seemed to be wet and
sad. I thought all the way: "The year comes to a close and the night
also--and the moon reflected in my sleeve--all passes. When one is in
Court, one may become familiar with those who serve there, and know
worldly things better, and if one is thought amiable one is received
as a lady and favours may be bestowed"--such had been my thought, but
father was now disappointed in me and kept me at home; but how could
I expect that my fortunes should become dazzling in a moment? It was
father's idle fancy, yet he felt that it had betrayed him.
_Though a thousand times, how many! I gathered parsley_[68]
_in the fields_
_Yet my wishes were by no means fulfilled._
I grumbled so far, and no farther.
I regretted deeply the idle fancies of old days, and as my parents
would not accompany me to temples [on pilgrimages] I could hardly
suppress my impatience. I wish to strengthen my spirit to bring up
my child who is still in the germ. Moreover, I wish to do my best to
pile up virtuous deeds for the life to come, so encouraging my heart I
went to the Ishiyama Temple after the twentieth day of the Frost month
[1045]. It snowed and the route was lovely. On coming in sight of the
barrier at Osaka Pass, I was reminded that it was also in Winter when I
passed it on my way up to Kioto. Then also it was a windy tempestuous
day.
_The sound of the Autumn wind at the barrier of Osaka!_
_It differs not from that heard long ago._
The temple at Seki, magnificent though it was, made me think of the old
roughly hewn Buddha. The beach at Uchide has not changed in the passing
of months and years, but my own heart feels change.
Towards evening I arrived at the temple and after a bath went up to the
main shrine. The mountain wind was dreadful. I took it for a good omen
that, falling asleep in the temple [I heard a voice], saying: "From the
inner shrine perfume has been bestowed. Tell it at once." At the words
I awoke, and passed the night in prayer.
The next day the wind raged and it snowed heavily. I comforted my
lonely heart with the friend of the Princess who came with me. We left
after three days.
On the twenty-fifth of the Tenth month of the next year [1046] the
Capital was in great excitement over the purification ceremonies before
the Great Ceremony.[69]
For my part I wanted to set out that same day for Hase [Temple] for my
own religious purification. They stopped me, saying it was a sight to
be seen only once in one reign; that even the country-people come to
see the procession, and it was madness to leave the city that very day.
"Your deeds will be spread abroad and people will gossip about you,"
said my brother angrily. "No, no, let the person have her own will";
and according to my wish he [her husband] let me start. His kindness
touched me, but on the other hand I pitied those who accompanied me
[her retinue], who with longing hearts wanted to see the ceremony.
But what have we to do with such shows? Buddha will be pleased with
those who come at a time like this. I wanted without fail to receive
the divine favour, and started before dawn. When I was crossing the
great bridge of Nijo, with pine torches flaming before me, and with my
attendants in pure white robes, all the men on; horseback, in carriage,
or on foot who encountered me on their way to the stands prepared for
sight-seers said, in surprise, "What is that?" and some even laughed or
scolded me. As I was passing before the gate of Yoshinori the Commander
of the Bodyguard and his men were standing there before the wide-open
portals. They said, laughing, "Here goes a company to the temple--there
are many days and months in the world [to do that in]!" But there
was one [standing by] who said: "What is it to fatten the eyes for a
moment? They are firmly determined. They will surely receive Buddha's
favour; we ought also to make up our minds [for the good] without
sight-seeing." Thus one man spoke seriously.
I had wanted to leave the city before broad daylight, and had started
in the middle of the night, but had to wait for belated persons till
the very thick fog became thinner. People flowed in from the country
like a river. Nobody could turn aside to make room for anybody else,
and even the ill-behaved and vulgar children, who passed beside my
carriage with some difficulty, had words of wonder and contempt for us.
I felt sorry that I had started that day, yet praying to Buddha with
all my heart, I arrived at the ferry of Uji. Even there the people
were coming up to the city in throngs, and the ferry-man, seeing
these numberless people, was filled with his own importance, and grew
proud. He, tucking up his sleeves against his face and leaning on his
pole, would not bring the boat at once. He looked around whistling
and assumed an indifferent air. We could not cross the river for a
long time, so I looked around the place, which I had felt a curiosity
to see, ever since reading Genji-monogatari which tells that the
daughter of the Princess of Uji lived here. I thought it a charming
spot. At last we managed to get across the river and went to see the
Uji mansion.[70] I was at once reminded that the Lady Ukifune [of the
romance] had been living here.
As we had started before daybreak, my people were tired out, and rested
at Hiroichi to take food. The Guard said: "Is that the famous mountain
Kurikoma? It is towards evening, be ready with your armour" [to
protect from robbers or evil spirits], I listened to these words with
a shudder, but we passed that mountain [without adventure] and the sun
was on its summit when we arrived at the lake of Nieno. They went in
several directions to seek a lodging and returned saying there was no
proper place, only an obscure hut; but as there was no other place we
took that.
In the house there were only two men, for the rest had all gone to the
Capital. Those two men did not sleep that night at all, but kept watch
around the house. My maids who were in the recess [perhaps the outer
part of the hut used as kitchen] asked, "Why do you walk about so?" and
the men answered, "Why? we have rented our house to perfect strangers.
What should we do if our kettles were stolen? Of course we cannot
sleep!" I felt both dread and laughter to hear them.
In the early morning we left there and knelt before the great East
Temple.[71] The temple at Iso-no-Kami was antique and on the verge of
ruin. That night we lodged at Yamabe Temple. Although I was tired out,
I recited sutras and went to sleep. In my dream I saw a very noble and
pure woman. At her coming the wind blew deliciously. She found me out,
and said, smiling, "For what purpose have you come?" I answered, "How
could I help coming?" [since you are here], and she said, "You would
better be in the Imperial Court, and become intimate with the Lady
Hakase." I was very much delighted and encouraged.
We crossed the river and arrived at the Hatsuse Temple at night. After
purifying, I went up to the Temple. I remained three days, and slept
expecting to start in the morning. At midnight I dreamt that a cedar
twig[72] was thrown into the room as a token bestowed by the Inari god.
I was startled, but waking found it only a dream.
We began our return journey after midnight, and as we could not find a
lodging, we again passed a night in a very small house, which seemed to
be a very curious one somehow. "Do not sleep! Something unexpected will
happen!" "Don't be frightened!" "Lie down even without breathing!" This
was said and I spent the night in loneliness and dread. I felt that I
lived a thousand years that night, and when the day dawned I saw that
we were in a robbers' den. People said that the mistress of that house
lived by a strange occupation.
We crossed the Uji River in a high wind and the ferry-boat passed very
near the fishing seine.
_Years have passed and only sounds of waters have come to my ears,_
_To-day, indeed, I may even count the ripples around the fishing net._
[This poem may seem a little obscure. It means that her own life had
been lived long in a kind of dreamland of her own creating, but was
gradually emerging into reality.]
If, as I am doing now, I continue to write down events four or five
years after they have happened, my life will seem to be that of a
pilgrim, but it is not so. I am jotting down the happenings of several
years. In the spring I went to Kurama Temple. It was a soft spring day,
with mist trailing over the mountain-side. The mountain people brought
tokoro [a kind of root] as the only food and I found it good. When I
left there flowers were already gone.
In Gods-absent month I went again, and the mountain views along the way
were more beautiful than before, the mountain-side brocaded with the
autumn colours. The stream, rushing headlong, boiled up like molten
metal and then shattered into crystals.
When I reached the monastery the maple leaves, wet with a shower, were
brilliant beyond compare.
_The pattern of the maple leaves in Autumn dyed with the rain--_
_Beautiful in the deep mountain!_
After two years or so I went again to Ishiyama. It seemed to be
raining, and I heard some one saying rain is disagreeable on a journey,
but on opening the door I found the waning moon lighting even the
depths of the ravine. What I thought rain was the stream rippling below
the roots of the trees.
_The sound of the mountain brook gives an illusion of rain drops,_
_Yet the calm of the waning moon shines over all._
The next time I went to Hase Temple, my journey was not so solitary
as before. Along the route various persons invited me to ceremonious
dinners, and we made but slow progress. The autumn woods were beautiful
at the Hahasono forest in Yamashiro. I crossed the Hase River. We
stayed there for three days. This time we were too many to lodge in
that small house on the other side of the Nara Pass, so we camped in
the field. Our men passed the night lying on mukabaki[73] spread on the
grass. They could not sleep for the dew which fell on their heads. The
moon clear and more picturesque than elsewhere.
_Even in our wandering journey,_
_The lonely moon accompanies us lighting us from the sky,_
_The waning moon I used to gaze at in the Royal City._
As I could do as I liked, I went even to distant temples for worship,
and my heart was consoled through both the pleasures and fatigues of
the way. Though it was half diversion, yet it [her prayers] gave me
hope. I had no pressing sorrow in those days and tried to bring up my
boy in the manner I thought best, and was impatient of passing time.
The man I depended upon [her husband] wished to attain to happiness
like other people, and the future looked promising. A dear friend
of mine, who used to exchange poems with me and continued to write,
through many changes of situation, although not so often as of old,
married the Governor of Echizen and went down to that Province. After
that all communication between us ceased, so I wrote her a poem finding
the means of sending it with great difficulty:
_Undying affection!_
_Can it end at last, overlaid with time_
_Even as snow covers the land in the Northern Province?_
She wrote back:
_Even a little pebble does not cease to be,_
_Though pressed under the snow of Hakusan;_
_So is my affection even though hidden._
I went down to a hollow of Nishiyama [in the western hills of Kioto].
There were flowers blooming in confusion. It was beautiful, yet lonely.
There was no sight of man. A tranquil haze enclosed us.
_Far from towns, in the heart of the mountain,_
_The cherry blooms, and wastes its blooms away_
_With none to see._
When the sorrow of the World[74] troubled my heart I made a retreat in
the Uzumasa Temple. To me there arrived a letter from one who served
the Princess. While I was answering it the temple bell was heard.
_The outer world of many sorrows_
_Is not to be forgotten even here._
_At the sound of the evening bell_
_Lonely grows my heart._
To the beautifully tranquil palace of the Princess I went one day to
talk with two congenial friends. The next day, finding life rather
tedious, I thought longingly of them and sent a poem:[75]
_Knowing the place of our meeting to be the sea of tears,_
_Where memories ripple, and affections flow back,_
_Yet we ventured into it--and my longing for you grew stronger_
_than ever._
One wrote back:
_We ventured into that sea,_
_To find the pearls of consolement,_
_No pearls, but drops of sad, sweet tears we found!_
And the other:
_Who would venture into the sea of tears_
_Seeking for the chance with zealous care,_
_Had not the flowers of lovely vision floated in it!_
That friend being of the same mind with me, we used to talk over every
joy and sorrow of the world, but she went down to the Province of
Chikuzen in Kyushu [extreme southwest of old Japan]. On a moon-bright
night I went to bed thinking of her with longing, for in the palace
we had been wont not to sleep on such a night, but to sit up gazing
into the sky. I dreamed that we were in the palace and saw each other
as we had done in reality. I awoke startled; the moon was then near
the western ridge of the mountain and I thought "I would I had not
wakened"[76] [quoting from a famous poem].
_Tell her, oh, western-going moon,_
_That dreaming of her I could sleep no more,_
_But all the night_
_My pillow was bedewed with loving tears._
In the Autumn [1056] I had occasion to go down to the Province of
Izumi.[77] From Yodo the journey was very picturesque. We passed a
night at Takahama. It was dark, and in the depths of the night I heard
the sound of an oar, and was told that a singer had come. My companions
called her boat to come alongside ours. She was lighted by a distant
fire, her sleeves were long, she shaded her face with a fan and sung.
She was charming. The next evening, when the sun was still on the
mountain-top, we passed the beach of Sumiyoshi. It was seen all in
mist, and pine branches, the surface of the sea, and the beach where
waves rolled up, combined to make a scene more beautiful than a picture.
_It is an evening of Autumn_
_--The seashore of Sumiyoshi!_
_Can words describe it?_
_What can be compared with it?_
Even after the boat was towed along, I looked back again and again,
never satiated.
In the Winter I returned to Kioto. We took our boat at Oe Bay. That
night a tempest raged with such fury that the very rocks seemed to be
shaken. The god of Thunder[78] came roaring, and the sound of dashing
waves, the tumult of the wind, the horrors of the sea, made me feel
that life was coming to an end. But they dragged the boat ashore, where
we spent the night. The rain stopped, but not the wind, and we could
not start. We passed five or six days on these wide-stretching sands.
When the wind had gone down a little, I looked out, rolling up the
curtain of my cabin. The evening tide was rising swiftly and cranes
called to each other in the bay.
People of the Province came in crowds to see us, and said that if the
boat had been outside the bay that night it would have been seen no
more. Even the thought terrified me.
_Off Ishitsu, in the wild sea_
_The boat driven before the storm_
_Fades away and is seen no more._
_The wild gusts drive the boat--_
_Into the wild sea she disappears--_
_Off Ishitsu!_
I devoted myself in various ways for the World [her husband]. Even in
serving at Court one had like-wise to devote one's self unceasingly.
What favor could one win by returning to the parents' home from time to
time?
As I advanced in age I felt it unbecoming to behave as young couples
do. While I was lamenting I grew ill, and could not go out to temples
for worship. Even this rare going out was stopped, and I had no hope of
living long, but I wanted to give my younger children a safer position
while I was alive.
I grieved and waited for the delightful thing [an appointment] for my
husband. In Autumn he got a position,[79] but not so good a one as we
had hoped, and we were much disappointed. It was not so distant as
the place from which he had returned, so he made up his mind to go,
and we hastily made preparations. He started from the house where his
daughter had recently gone to live.[80] It was after the tenth of the
Gods-absent month. I could not know what had happened after he started,
but all seemed happy on that day. He was accompanied by our boy. My
husband wore a red coat and pale purple kimono,[81] and aster-coloured
hakama [divided skirt], and carried a long sword. The boy wore blue
figured clothes and red hakama, and they mounted their horses beside
the veranda.
When they had gone out noisily I felt very, very lonely. As I had heard
the Province was not so distant I was less hopeless than I had been
before.
The people who accompanied him to see him off returned the next day
and told me that they had gone down with great show [of splendour]
and, then continuing, said they had seen human fire[82] this morning
starting [from the company] and flying towards the Capital. I tried to
suppose it to be from some one of his retinue. How could I think the
worst? I could think of nothing but how to bring up these younger ones.
He came back in the Deutzia month of the next year and passed the
Summer and Autumn at home, and on the twenty-fifth of the Long-night
month he became ill.
1058. On the fifth day of the Tenth month all became like a dream.[83]
My sorrows could be compared to nothing in this world.
Now I knew that my present state had been reflected in the mirror
offered to the Hase Temple [about twenty-five years before by her
mother] where some one was seen weeping in agony. The reflection of the
happier one had not been realized. That could never be in the future.
On the twenty-third we burnt his remains with despairing hearts, my
boy, who went down with him last Autumn, being dressed exquisitely and
much attended, followed the bier weeping in black clothes with hateful
things [mourning insignia] on them. My feeling when I saw him going
out can never be expressed. I seemed to wander in dreams and thought
that human life must soon cease here. If I had not given myself up to
idle fictions [she herself had written several] and poetry, but had
practised religious austerities night and day, I would not have seen
such a dream-world.
At Hase Temple a cedar branch was cast down to me by the Inari god
and this thing [the loss of her husband] would not have happened if I
had visited the Inari shrine on my way home. The dreams which I had
seen in these past years which bid me pray to the Heaven Illuminating
Honoured Goddess meant that I should have been in the Imperial Court
as a nurse, sheltered behind the favour of the King and Queen--so the
dream interpreter interpreted my dream, but I could not realize this.
Only the sorrowful reflection in the mirror was realized unaltered. O
pitiful and sorrowful I! Thus nothing could happen as I willed, and I
wandered in this world doing no virtuous deed for the future life.
Life seemed to survive sorrows, but I was uneasy at the thought that
things would happen against my will, even in the future life. There was
only one thing I could rely on.
_Ceaseless tears--clouded mind:_
_Bright scene--moon-shadow._
On the thirteenth of the Tenth month [1055] I dreamed one night this
dream:
There in the garden of my house at the farthest ledge stood Amitabha
Buddha! He was not seen distinctly, but as if through a cloud. I could
snatch a glimpse now and then when the cloud lifted. The lotus-flower
pedestal was three or four feet above the ground; the Buddha was about six feet high. |
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