Selections from Genji Monogatari | Page 2

religious observance for the
purpose of obtaining divine help and good success in her undertaking.
It was the evening of the fifteenth of August. Before her eyes the view
extended for miles. In the silver lake below, the pale face of the full
moon was reflected in the calm, mirror-like waters, displaying itself in
indescribable beauty. Her mind became more and more serene as she
gazed on the prospect before her, while her imagination became more

and more lively as she grew calmer and calmer. The ideas and incidents
of the story, which she was about to write, stole into her mind as if by
divine influence. The first topic which struck her most strongly was
that given in the chapters on exile. These she wrote down immediately,
in order not to allow the inspiration of the moment to be lost, on the
back of a roll of Daihannia (the Chinese translation of
Mahâprajñâpâramitâ, one of the Buddhist Sûtras), and formed
subsequently two chapters in the text, the Suma and Akashi, all the
remaining parts of the work having been added one by one. It is said
that this idea of exile came naturally to her mind, because a prince who
had been known to her from her childhood had been an exile at Kiûsiû,
a little before this period.
It is also said that the authoress afterwards copied the roll of Daihannia
with her own hand, in expiation of her having profanely used it as a
notebook, and that she dedicated it to the Temple, in which there is still
a room where she is alleged to have written down the story. A roll of
Daihannia is there also, which is asserted to be the very same one
copied by her.
How far these traditions are in accordance with fact may be a matter of
question, but thus they have come down to us, and are popularly
believed.
Many Europeans, I daresay, have noticed on our lacquer work and
other art objects, the representation of a lady seated at a writing-desk,
with a pen held in her tiny fingers, gazing at the moon reflected in a
lake. This lady is no other than our authoress.
The number of chapters in the modern text of the story is fifty-four, one
of these having the title only and nothing else. There is some reason to
believe that there might have existed a few additional chapters.
Of these fifty-four chapters, the first forty-one relate to the life and
adventures of Prince Genji; and those which come after refer
principally to one of his sons. The last ten are supposed to have been
added by another hand, generally presumed to have been that of her
daughter. This is conjectured because the style of these final chapters is

somewhat dissimilar to that of those which precede. The period of time
covered by the entire story is some sixty years, and this volume of
translation comprises the first seventeen chapters.
The aims which the authoress seems always to have kept in view are
revealed to us at some length by the mouth of her hero: "ordinary
histories," he is made to say, "are the mere records of events, and are
generally treated in a one-sided manner. They give no insight into the
true state of society. This, however, is the very sphere on which
romances principally dwell. Romances," he continues, "are indeed
fictions, but they are by no means always pure inventions; their only
peculiarities being these, that in them the writers often trace out, among
numerous real characters, the best, when they wish to represent the
good, and the oddest, when they wish to amuse."
From these remarks we can plainly see that our authoress fully
understood the true vocation of a romance writer, and has successfully
realized the conception in her writings.
The period to which her story relates is supposed to be the earlier part
of the tenth century after Christ, a time contemporary with her own life.
For some centuries before this period, our country had made a signal
progress in civilization by its own internal development, and by the
external influence of the enlightenment of China, with whom we had
had for some time considerable intercourse. No country could have
been happier than was ours at this epoch. It enjoyed perfect tranquillity,
being alike free from all fears of foreign invasion and domestic
commotions. Such a state of things, however, could not continue long
without producing some evils; and we can hardly be surprised to find
that the Imperial capital became a sort of centre of comparative luxury
and idleness. Society lost sight, to a great extent, of true morality, and
the effeminacy of the people constituted the chief feature of the age.
Men were ever ready to carry on sentimental adventures