The Tale of Genji quotes

From the first they brought no good news, and soon after midnight announced that this time on arriving at the house they had heard a noise of wailing and lamentation, and learned from those within that the lady had just breathed her last.

The Emperor lay motionless as though he had not understood.

Though his father was so fond of his company, it was thought better after this event that the Prince should go away from the Palace.

In years past it was at times of joy and triumph that you came to this house, and now this is the news you bring!

Foolish are they indeed who trust to fortune!

From the time she was born until his death, her father, who knew his own mind, would have it that she must go to Court and charged me again and again not to disappoint his wishes if he were to die.

He looked at the presents she had brought back and ‘Would that like the wizard you had brought a kingfisher-hairpin as token of your visit to the place where her spirit dwells’ he cried, and recited the poem:

Oh for a master of magic who might go and seek her, and by a message teach me where her spirit dwells.

For the picture of Kuei-fei, skilful though the painter might be, was but the work of a brush, and had no living fragrance.

As for his serious studies, he soon learnt to send the sounds of zithern and flute flying gaily to the clouds.

But if I were to tell you of all his accomplishments, you would think that he was soon going to become a bore.

At this time some Koreans came to Court and among them a fortune-teller.

Thus the boy began to penetrate the Royal Curtain.

The roughest soldier, the bitterest foeman could not have looked on such a child without a smile, and Kōkiden did not send him away.

She had two daughters who were indeed not such fine children as the little prince.

or the “As you will” and do not, regardless of times and circumstances, demand an interest and sympathy that they have not leisure to give.

‘Sometimes indeed a woman should even pretend to know less than she knows, or say only a part of what she would like to say....’

All this while Genji, though he had sometimes joined in the conversation, had in his heart of hearts been thinking of one person only, and the more he thought the less could he find a single trace of those shortcomings and excesses which, so his …

The moon had not set, and though with dwindled light still shone crisp and clear in the dawn. It was a daybreak of marvellous beauty.

But in the passionless visage of the sky men read only their own comfort or despair; and Genji, as with many backward glances he went upon his way, paid little heed to the beauty of the dawn.

He would send her a message? No, even that was utterly impossible. And so, in great unhappiness he returned to his wife’s house.

GENJI was still sleepless.

‘No one has ever disliked me before’ he whispered to the boy.

‘It is more than I can bear. I am sick of myself and of the world, and do not want to go on living any more.’ This sounded so tragic that the boy began to weep.

She opened her eyes. She was naturally somewhat startled, but did not seem to be at all seriously put out. She was a thoughtless creature in whose life no very strong emotion had ever played a part.

Hers was the flippancy that goes with inexperience, and even this sudden visitation did not seem very much to perturb her.

He meant at first to explain that it was not to see her that he had come. But to do so would have been to give away the secret which Utsusemi so jealously guarded from the world.

For a moment he pitied those who lived in such a place, but then he remembered the song ‘

Seek not in the wide world to find a home; but where you chance to rest, call that your house

’; and again, ‘Monarchs may keep their palaces of jade, for in a leafy cottage two can sleep.’

For a moment he pitied those who lived in such a place, but then he remembered the song ‘Seek not in the wide world to find a home; but where you chance to rest, call that your house’; and again, ‘

Monarchs may keep their palaces of jade, for in a leafy cottage two can sleep.

’

For they say that those who died with longings unfulfilled are burdened with an evil Karma in their life to come.’

People such as old nurses regard even the most blackguardly and ill-favoured foster-children as prodigies of beauty and virtue.

Small wonder then if Genji’s nurse, who had played so great a part in his early life, always regarded her office as immensely honourable and important, and tears of pride came into her eyes while he spoke to her.

At this moment a very elegant page wearing the most bewitching baggy trousers came among the flowers brushing the dew as he walked, and began to pick a bunch of the convolvuli. Genji longed to paint the scene.

No one could see him without pleasure. He was like the flowering tree under whose shade even the rude mountain peasant delights to rest.

And so great was the fascination he exercised that those who knew him longed to offer him whatever was dearest to them. One who had a favourite daughter would ask for nothing better than to make her Genji’s handmaiden.

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?

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.

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.

A complete description of people’s costumes is apt to be tedious, but as in stories the first thing that is said about the characters is invariably what they wore, I shall once in a way attempt such a description.

Over a terribly faded bodice of imperial purple she wore a gown of which the purple had turned definitely black with age.

Her mantle was of sable-skins heavily perfumed with scent. Such a garment as this mantle was considered very smart several generations ago, but it struck him as the most extraordinary costume for a comparatively young girl.

In the gentle spring sunshine the trees were already shimmering with a haze of new-grown buds.

Among them it was the plum-trees that gave the surest promise, for already their blossoms were uncurling, like lips parted in a faint smile.

Earliest of them all was a red plum that grew beside the covered steps. It was in full colour. ‘Though fair the tree on which it blooms, this red flower fills me with a strange misgiving,’16 sang Genji with a deep sigh.

A succession of violent emotions—terror, shame, pride and love—passed through Genji’s breast while these words were being spoken, and were reflected in his rapidly changing colour.

He was almost in tears. The child looked so exquisitely beautiful as it lay crowing to itself and smiling that, hideous as the situation was, Genji could not help feeling glad it was thought to be like him.

Fujitsubo meanwhile was in a state of embarrassment and agitation so painful that a cold sweat broke out upon her while she sat by. For Genji this jarring of opposite emotions was too much to be borne and he went home.

The Commander of this Bodyguard is not generally allotted a Palace-Officer as his special attendant, but as the occasion was of such importance the Imperial Treasurer6 rode at Genji’s side.

It seemed to those who saw so many public honours showered upon him that no flower of fortune could resist the favouring gale which blew towards his side.

There were among the crowd women of quite good birth who had dressed in walking-skirts and come a long way on foot.

She must face her fate. She had lost Genji for ever. If she were to keep any control at all over her own thoughts she must first of all find some way of putting him wholly out of mind.

She kept on reminding herself not to think of him, so that this very resolve led her in the end to think of him but the more.

The Virgin of Ise should by rights have entered upon her duties before the end of the year, but difficulties of various kinds arose and it was not till the autumn of the next year that she could at last be received.

but he had always rejected the idea as hideous and unthinkable, believing it to be the malicious invention of some unprincipled scandalmonger, and had even denied that such ‘possession’ ever took place. Now he had seen one with his own eyes.

Ghastly, unbelievable as they were, such things did happen in real life.

Controlling himself at last he said in a low voice: ‘I am not sure who is speaking to me. Do not leave me in doubt....’ Her answer proved only too conclusively that he had guessed aright.

Now it was evident to him that she had never ceased to hold an important place in his affections, and this made him deplore more bitterly than ever the tragedy of her early death.

Whatever he did and wherever he went he felt that a light was gone out of his life and he was very despondent.

Among the withered undergrowth in the garden Genji found to his delight a few gentians still blossoming and after Chūjō was gone he plucked some and bade the wet-nurse Saisō give them to the child’s grandmother, together with the verse:

This was all, and it was written hastily, but to Genji, who for so long had received no news from her, it gave as much pleasure as the longest and most ingenious epistle.

It is in general the unexplored that attracts us, and Genji tended to fall most deeply in love with those who gave him least encouragement.

The ideal condition for the continuance of his affection was that the beloved, much occupied elsewhere, should grant him no more than an occasional favour.

… seemed as shy of him as on the night when he first stole her from her home, her beauty fascinated him and he knew that his love for her in past days had been but a particle compared with what he had felt since yesterday.

How strange a thing is the heart of man!

For now it would have seemed to him a calamity if even for a single night he had been taken from Murasaki’s side; and only a little while ago....

Genji indeed still retained a certain partiality towards her; but though it grieved him to hear that he had made her unhappy he had not at present any spare affection to offer her.

Life, he had come to the conclusion, was not long enough for diversions and experiments; henceforward he would concentrate.

He had moreover received a terrible warning of the dangers which might accrue from such jealousies and resentments as his former way of life had involved. He thought with great tenderness and concern of Lady Rokujō’s distress;