The Tale of Genji

by Murasaki Shikibu

DURING THE first decade of the eleventh century Murasaki Shikibu, a woman born into the middle ranks of the aristocracy in the Heian period (794–1185 CE), began writing a fictional narrative that was recognized by her contemporaries as distinctive and remarkable even as it was being composed.

Written in the vernacular of court society, Murasaki Shikibu’s vivid depiction of the world inhabited by her fictional hero, the Radiant Prince Genji, drew directly upon the realities of the lives of the aristocracy, providing the men and women who first read her tale with the shock of the familiar.

the most considered justification I can offer (especially to myself) is a paradoxical one: I have undertaken this work precisely because there can be no such thing as a definitive translation.

The characters’ names are problematic in many cases, since they may vary from chapter to chapter (this is especially true of the male characters, whose appellations change as they rise through the ranks of the bureaucracy). Since my overriding concerns are clarity and accessibility, I have used traditional names for some of the characters but not all of them, since some of the traditional names are more justified than others.

IN WHOSE reign was it that a woman of rather undistinguished lineage captured the heart of the Emperor and enjoyed his favor above all the other imperial wives and concubines? Certain consorts, whose high noble status gave them a sense of vain entitlement, despised and reviled her as an unworthy upstart from the very moment she began her service.

She handed the letter over to the grandmother, who replied, “Though I am blinded by the darkness of grief, the gracious light of the Emperor allows me to read his words.”

THE RADIANT Prince—a splendid, if somewhat bombastic, title. In fact, his failings were so numerous that such a lofty sobriquet was perhaps misleading.

Genji was dressed in an intentionally casual manner in an informal robe, minus trousers, over soft white under robes. He had neglected to tie up the cords of his outer robes, and as he half-reclined amidst his books and papers in the dim shadows cast by the lamp, he cut such an attractive figure that the other men felt a desire to see him as a woman. He was so beautiful that pairing him with the very finest of the ladies at the court would fail to do him justice.

Genji had the boy lie down beside him. It is said that because Genji’s splendid, youthful appearance delighted the boy, he found the lad far more lovable than his frigid sister.

A pleasant-looking green vine was creeping luxuriantly up a horizontal trellis, which resembled a board fence. White flowers were blooming on the vine, looking extremely self-satisfied and apparently without a care in the world. Genji murmured another line of verse: “I shall ask that lady so far away, what do you call these flowers?”

It may have been true that she was still attached to her playthings, but her newfound awareness of her relationship with Genji signaled that she was now a year older. The people who served at Genji’s mansion had found her childish behavior, which could be quite pronounced at times, awkward and inappropriate, and yet they had no idea that she was in fact a wife in name only, for Genji had not had sex with her even though they slept together.

The lady of the evening of the misty moon, the one Genji thought of as his Oborozukiyo, was lost in a sad reverie as she recalled their meeting, which seemed now like a fleeting dream.

Is it because these wild geese, the first of autumn Were with the loved ones I miss in the capital That their cries echo mournfully across the skies

Though not companions of mine from the past These geese crying out still stir memories One after another of my old life

Am I to consider these geese as companions On my exile when they willingly chose to leave Familiar homes for distant realms beyond the clouds

Even wild geese who leave familiar homes To migrate through distant skies find comfort So long as they are with their companions

SEVERAL DAYS passed, but the rain and wind did not let up, and the thunder did not abate. These endless hardships made Genji increasingly lonely and miserable, and under such circumstances, facing a dark past and bleak future, he could no longer put on a brave front.

As the storm raged on and on, Genji began to wonder if this might not be the end of the world ... but then, the following morning, the wind picked up with even greater intensity, the tide surged, and waves broke violently on the shore, looking as if they might sweep away even the rocky crags and hills.

even the most insignificant of the rocks placed there looked like something out of a painting. Here and there, the top branches of the trees, enfolded in spring mist, overspread the landscape like a brocade cloth, and the onlookers could faintly make out the garden of Murasaki’s residence in the distance, the drooping branches of its willows now deepening in color and an indescribable, almost radiant fragrance wafting toward them.

When they played the saibara “Glorious Day,” even the lowest of the manservants, who knew nothing at all about matters of taste and beauty, stood jostling together in the spaces among the horses and carriages near the main gate, smiling in appreciation as they listened, and thinking how good it was to be alive to hear this.

The colors of the sky at that time of year, the tonal quality of the instruments, and the echoing music played in the spring mode worked to convince everyone that there was indeed a distinction between the seasons, and that spring was superior.

She felt a grudging admiration, conceding that she had lost the contest between spring and autumn.

Most people, when they debate the relative merits of spring and autumn, have from ancient times shown a preference for the autumn. Those who had been so attracted to the renowned spring garden at Murasaki’s residence now seemed to waver as the leaves changed color2 and began to favor the autumn again—a fickleness that mirrored the mutable nature of this world.

“Tonight is the Third Night, so I must go ... it’s the one night you must forgive me for leaving you. I would hate myself if, after tonight, I should ever let anything disrupt our relationship again. Still, I have to be careful and not let Suzaku hear that anything is amiss.” Torn by conflicting emotions, he seemed to be in genuine pain.

Murasaki gave a wan smile. “If your own heart is indecisive, then how should I be expected to understand how to resolve your dilemma? I wonder which way you will go in the end?” Because it was no use speaking to her, Genji felt ashamed, and he stretched out facedown, his chin cupped in his hands.

He could not bring himself to go right away, but Murasaki pressed him to leave: “Your hesitation will give others the wrong impression, and I’ll be the one who looks pathetic.” He set off in his soft, handsome robes, leaving an indescribably alluring scent behind. As she watched him go, her heart was restless.

Swirled by the wind, the light spring snow That drifts through the sky is fleeting Soon it must melt and disappear

My lingering attachments to the world Have now become fetters that hobble me Along the mountain path I would follow

“Here we go again ... the old argument about which is better, spring or autumn,” Genji remarked. “We who live in a late, degenerate age are not likely to answer a question that people have been unable to resolve since antiquity.

In a world where everything seems to be in a state of decline, one would have to be strange and eccentric indeed to go off on one’s own and pursue one’s dream, leaving parents and children behind to go wandering through Korea and China like Toshikage.

The skies during the fourth month made one feel better somehow, and the green that filled the tops of the trees in all directions had an appealing freshness. But in that residence, which was still in mourning, everything was subdued and lonely, and it was difficult for them to get through the day.

I’ve heard that the spirit of a person who dies while still caught up in the throes of resentment or painful longing ends up lost, wandering in the darkness of a long night. If that’s true, then I don’t want to have any attachments to this world.

However, considering the nature of the occasion, I am reluctant to set down even the few poems I usually pass along—and, in any case, I lack the ability to record the works in Chinese.

“We know that no one can ever escape those flames that you speak of, and yet during our lives, which are as fleeting as the morning dew, we find it hard to let go of the attachments that cause such suffering. True ... there is the example of Mokuren,8 one of the Buddha’s closest disciples, who saved his mother from the torments of Hell immediately after her death.

More important, women are born inherently sinful, and wandering in darkness in the life after death is the kind of fearful karmic retribution brought about by such sinful behavior as this.

Husbands and wives who argue about being taken for granted are common enough. What isn’t so common is a man of high status like myself who doesn’t pursue clandestine affairs, but stays faithful to a single woman ... just like a male hawk11 with his fearsome mate. People must be having a good laugh at my expense.

Although no one can expect to remain for very long in this world, the thought that she would soon leave the other ladies behind, going forth all alone to an unknown destination, brought home to Murasaki the poignant sorrow of the evanescence of life.

That autumn in the distant past Even now feels present to me As fresh dew falls on these damp sleeves

I cannot tell the difference between the dew That settled long ago and the dew that falls now For every autumn evening brings sad thoughts

The one who always lavished praise Upon these blossoms here is gone Why should spring care to visit me

I long to melt like snow, to disappear From this world of sadness ... but snow still falls And I still live on against my wishes

BY THE end of the twelfth century, certain copies of the text of Genji monogatari contained a chapter that was entirely blank except for its title, Kumogakure, which means “Hidden by the Clouds.” The evocative image of radiance obscured suggests the death of Genji, but there is no depiction or description of the event itself. Niou miya, the chapter that follows, picks up the story eight years after Genji has passed away and focuses on his descendants,

While I was gazing at the cherry blossoms Spring was passing me by ... from this day forward Must I wander lost in a thicket of grief

“I feel the radiance that you bring each time you visit us always dispels the gloom of the mountain shade a little.”

Against a backdrop of skies covered with mist as far as the eye could see, one could take in the cherry blossoms—some already scattering, others just coming into bloom—or the reflection of the willow trees lined along the riverbank—some raising their branches up,

others bending softly downward.4 Niou, who had never experienced the unusual elegance of such vistas, found it hard to leave these rare wonders behind.

on this particular occasion he found it impossible

Calling at this abode, aglow with fragrant Mountain cherries in bloom, I adorn my cap With a spray of blossoms from those very trees

Had I done that, I might have found in my visits here some consolation for my unrequited love.

There’s a certain bishop ... his name slips my mind right now ... but I must summon him to perform healing services for you during the night.”