324 Part IV: East Asian Civilization
The Tale of Genji, as Paul Varley writes, illustrates the value of mono no
aware—“sensitivity to things,” or “capacity to be moved by things,” a distinc-
tively Japanese aesthetic value. “The Japanese are... essentially an emotional
people... who have always assigned high value to sincerity as the ethic of the
emotions” (Varley 1984:57–64). This sensitivity is tinged with sadness because
much of what is lovely and moving is also transient, such as the perishable
beauties of nature. Genji, in exile from court at a remote seaside village in the
Suma chapter, hears the call of geese winging overhead and says in one of the
many couplets that ornament the prose: “Might they be companions of those I
long for? Their cries ring sadly through the sky of their journey.”
The great novel was frequently illustrated by Japanese artists. One popular
medium was the hand scroll, which contained both text in beautiful pure-kana
calligraphy and illustrations, which was read by unrolling across a table. Often
members of the aristocracy worked on these scrolls themselves. One of the ear-
liest and best of the Genji hand scrolls was done in 1120–1130 and survives inBut for both of them the sorrow was beyond words. He replied:
“The worst of grief for him should long have passed.
And now I must leave the world where dwells the child.”
Her face was with him the whole of the journey. In great sorrow he boarded the
boat that would take him to Suma. It was a long spring day and there was a tall wind,
and by late afternoon he had reached the strand where he was to live. He had never
before been on such a journey, however short. All the sad, exotic things along the way
were new to him. The Oe station was in ruins, with only a grove of pines to show
where it had stood.
“More remote, I fear, my place of exile
Than storied ones in lands beyond the seas.”
The surf came in and went out again. “I envy the waves,” he whispered to himself.
It was a familiar poem, but it seemed new to those who heard him, and sad as never
before. Looking back toward the city, he saw that the mountains were enshrouded in
mist. It was as though he had indeed come “three thousand leagues.” The spray from
the oars brought thoughts scarcely to be borne.
“Mountain mists cut off that ancient village.
Is the sky I see the sky that shelters it?”
This is what he wrote to Fujitsubo:
“Briny our sleeves on the Suma strand; and yours
In the fisher cots of thatch at Matsushima?”
“My eyes are dark as I think of what is gone and what is to come,
and ‘the waters rise.’”
Source: Murasaki Shikibu, The Tale of Genji, Edward G. Seidensticker, Transl. New York:
Random House, 1986.