The Diary of Lady Murasaki (6 page)

At the end of this main record, about seven tenths through the work, we have a second transition to a more concentrated analysis of Murasaki’s own immediate circle. The last dateable event is on Kankō 6 (1009).1.3, and then we shift imperceptibly into a discussion of her fellow ladies-in-waiting, from the point of view first of their looks and then of their characters. This is followed by criticism of the dullness of Shōshi’s entourage in general, the timidity of the Empress, and the spinelessness of present-day courtiers, all of which is set in train by the chance sight of a letter in which she and her colleagues are set to ridicule. Then we have tart descriptions of Izumi Shikibu, Akazome Emon and Sei Shōnagon, which lead in turn to further self-analysis. The whole of this section is marked by a strong awareness of a specific addressee through the ubiquitous presence of the auxiliary verb
haberi
, and it ends with what seems to be the finishing touches to a private letter.

At this point we are faced with a complete break. There follow three separate vignettes which have proved strongly resistant to dating. The first is an illustration of Murasaki’s wit and learning; the others are poetic dialogues more in the style of the
utamonogatari
tradition, where context and poem follow each other in intricate procession. The last tenth of the work sees a return to the record style, but it deals with only a few events in the first month of Kankō 7 (1010). There is therefore a large gap between the early record and this last description, a gap in which, among other things, a second prince, Atsunaga, has been born. Then the account simply breaks off, not exactly in mid sentence but not at any clearly defined point either.

As may be expected, such a strange arrangement has given rise to numerous theories as to the genesis of the work, many of which are mutually contradictory but equally possible. The first thing to be
examined, however, is the evidence from other sources that the diary we have today may well be incomplete.

EVIDENCE OF EXTRA FRAGMENTS

(a) The ‘Nikkiuta’ appendix

Murasaki’s collection of short poems exists in a number of different manuscripts, which scholars have analysed into two main groups, known as the ‘Old Recensions’ and the ‘Teika Recensions’. Appended to three extant copies of the ‘Old Recensions’ group is a set of seventeen poems collected under the subtitle ‘Nikkiuta’ or ‘Poems from the diary’. It is thought that these poems were probably collected by the scholar Fujiwara no Teika (1162–1241) on finding that the ‘Old Recensions’ texts in his possession omitted many of the poems to be found in the diary. The problem here, however, is that the first five poems in this appendix do not in fact appear in the diary as we have it today. Their content and prefaces are such that they can be dated with fair certainty to Kankō 5 (1008).5.5–6, which strongly suggests that the person who compiled the appendix had in his or her possession a diary that was larger than the one we have today. Note that if this is the case, this passage would predate the present beginning sections, which must refer to autumn 1008.

(b) The
Eiga monogatari
(‘A Tale of Flowering Fortunes’)

It is well known that Murasaki’s diary was used extensively as a source by the compiler of the
Eiga monogatari
, to the extent that whole passages were sometimes simply lifted piecemeal.
⁶
This borrowing is usually held to start with the very beginning of the diary – autumn at the Tsuchimikado mansion – but some of the prefaces to the five poems mentioned above also bear a striking resemblance to that part of the
Eiga monogatari
that immediately precedes the description of autumn
and which deals with the readings of the
Lotus Sūtra
that started on Kankō 5.5.5.
⁷

(c) Reconstruction

A comparison of these texts reveals the following fragment:

At the Tsuchimikado mansion the fifth scroll of the thirty readings of the Lotus Sūtra was read out on the fifth of the fifth month. It was the Devadatta chapter, which gave me to imagine that the Buddha had picked fruit not so much for Devadatta as for His Excellency himself today.

Ah marvellous!

Today is the fifth of the fifth they say;

Eminently fitting for the fifth scroll of the Law.

They must have taken special pains to prepare the offering branches. [The
Eiga monogatari
has a full description of the ceremonies on this occasion, but there is no other text with which comparisons can be made. Similarities resume with the following:]

That evening Her Majesty was again present at the Hall of Dedication, where she must have spoken with her sister Kenshi. Right below us the lake looked even clearer than during the day, lit as it was by a combination of flares and ceremonial torches, and I could smell the fresh scent of sweet flags. Although I had much on my mind, I fought back my tears, thinking as I did so of how interesting it all ought to have seemed.

In the waters of the lake that reflect the brightness of the flares

Dwells the light of the Law that will be clear for ever.

Although I was evasively composing poems about the ceremony, Lady Dainagon sitting opposite me looked most distressed, belying both her age and her good looks.

The flares that light the clear lake to the depths

Are so dazzling, they put my own sad self to shame.

The ladies-in-waiting returned to their rooms at dawn, walking down the corridors, over the bridge, along the veranda of the west wing and through the main building. As they passed in front of Her Excellency’s apartments, where suūtras were being recited, many of them must have been awe-struck by the sheer magnificence of the mansion; even those women who when on private pilgrimages usually try to convince themselves, if not others, of their own worth by surrounding themselves with attendants and who insist on having the way cleared for them with such an air of self-importance.

Day was just dawning as I went out on to the bridge and leaned on the balustrade, watching the water flow from beneath the rooms in the back corridor. The sky was no less beautiful than when filled with spring haze or autumn mist. I knocked at the corner shutters of Lady Koshōshō’s room. She opened both halves, top and bottom, and came out on to the veranda. As we both sat there looking out over the garden, I composed:

Now I see my face floating there

My sad tears mingle with the stream

To make a waterfall of complaint.

To which she replied:

One alone fighting back the tears;

In the face of the water

Whose is the other face sadly floating there?

Together we spent the night gazing out, finally going inside only when dawn arrived. Wrapping up a long root, she gave it to me with the following:

Sweet flags afloat

In the sad and muddy waters of this mundane world –

What of this root and what of my tearful voice today?

My reply was:

What it is I cannot fathom.

Today too this sleeve of mine

Can neither hold this root or stem my tears.

The above fragment constitutes very strong evidence that the compiler of the
Eiga monogatari
had more than the present diary at her disposal. The reason why more of it does not actually appear in the
Eiga monogatari
is that the compiler made a conscious attempt to cut out all the more personal aspects of Murasaki’s account, and much of this fragment consists of precisely that. It would also seem highly likely that the compiler of the ‘Nikkiuta’ appendix, probably Teika himself, had this larger diary in his possession. Extra evidence for this is supplied by a passage in Teika’s diary, the
Meigetsuki
, for Tenpuku 1 (1233).3.20. This entry records that a picture scroll consisting of paintings and poems illustrating the twelve months of the year (
tsukinami-e
), originally a gift to Teika’s daughter from Princess Shikishi, is now to be given to the reigning Empress. The poem for the fifth month was recorded as ‘Diary of Murasaki Shikibu: a dawn scene’. As no such poem appears in the diary that we have today, this must be one of the poems above, probably ‘Now I see my face floating there’.

DATE OF COMPOSITION

What if we accept the above hypothesis that the diary as we have it is incomplete? As the extra fragments identified above predate the present beginning of the diary, it follows that the beginning must be considered lost. The only reason that a large number of scholars continue to argue against this idea is the fact that the present beginning constitutes such a superb introductory passage, so fitting indeed that it is hard to believe that anything could have preceded it. In this case, the only way we can explain away the existence of the Kankō 5.5.5 passage is to posit either an
Ur
-diary, out of which the present one was presumably extracted and rewritten, or to posit another separate diary. But this is all entirely supposition, based on a certain ‘feeling’ about the inviolability of the beginning as we have it now. One sympathizes, but as yet no one has come up with a satisfactory argument for denying the theory that the beginning of the diary has been lost. It may, of course, be that much more has in fact been lost, but there is no way of knowing.

What of Section B? In contrast to Section A, which is usually known as the ‘record’ part, Section B has traditionally been given the name ‘letter’ part (
shōsokubumi
). Why this is so should be clear
from the last passages of this section, where it is obvious that there is a specific addressee in mind. Obvious, that is, unless you consider that this may actually be a narrative technique, a fictional letter. There is also the ubiquitous presence of the polite auxiliary verb
haberi
, which has the effect of stressing the existence of a receiver. Indeed for some time Section B was considered to be a real intruder, a letter that had been interpolated into the diary by mistake. This is an attractive idea at first sight but cannot be accepted as a feasible explanation, for one main reason: the smoothness with which A runs into B. The transition from record to personal comment takes place gradually over a number of paragraphs. If we insist on seeing B as an interpolation, then we are driven to the somewhat unsatisfactory conclusion that a second hand deliberately rewrote the beginning of the letter so that the join would be invisible.

While the smoothness of the join is undeniable, there still remain a number of elements that suggest that Sections A and B are by no means an organic unit. In the first place, the contrast in content and style is striking, and the presence of the occasional personal comment and passage of self-analysis in Section A does nothing to dispel such an impression. In the second place, there is a marked imbalance in the frequency of the auxiliary verb
haberi
. In Section B
haberi
appears 136 times, acting in its normal role as an auxiliary expressing politeness to the person being addressed, quite in character for a letter being written to someone specific. It also appears, however, in Section A, where one would not normally expect it to be present at all. Admittedly, it only occurs here twenty-five times and then subject to special constraints, but its very presence is an anomaly and demands an explanation.
Haberi
does not, it will be noted, appear in the extra fragment nor in Section C. The fact that it reappears six times in Section D, which is also ‘record’, suggests that A and D may have something in common. An analysis of its usage in Section A shows that it probably marks passages that were added later: these are highlighted in the translation by the addition of a phrase such as ‘I remember that…’ This raises the possibility that A was to some extent rewritten to fit B. But when did this occur? And why was the revision felt to be necessary?

It is useful to remind ourselves of when the various sections were
written. Section A covers events from autumn Kankō 5 (1008) to Kankō 6 (1009).1.3. There are also some internal clues. Fujiwara no Kintō is described as a Major Counsellor (p. 19) and Fujiwara no Yukinari is given the title Middle Counsellor (p. 37). Both of these men were appointed to these positions (elect) in Kankō 6 (1009).3.4, so this must have been written, or rewritten, after that date. We know too that Prince Nakatsukasa died in Kankō 6 (1009).7.28, and as Murasaki talks about him as if he were still alive, it is reasonable to assume that Section A was written in the late spring or early summer of 1009.

Section B contains no dateable material as such, of course, but Fujiwara no Tadanobu is called Major Counsellor, which places it again as post-Kankō 6 (1009).3.4, and Akazome Emon’s husband is called the Governor of Tanba, which places it even later, post-Kankō 7 (1010).3.30. Unless this itself is a later amendment, B must have been written after this date, which means that a considerable distance separates the writing of A and B, evidence which tends to conflict with the smoothness with which they are joined.

Section C cannot be dated with any certainty, but it is thought these vignettes may refer to events in Kankō 6 (1009).9.11.

Section D deals with events from Kankō 7 (1010).1.1 to 1.15. One can assume that they were written soon after the events themselves, although the use of haberi also suggests some degree of rewriting.

Based on the above, the following picture emerges: