Among the Moonflowers

In the pale moonlight, in a forgotten garden, wild moonflowers—yūgao—bloom wistfully, gazing into the distance of long-passed centuries. Their whiteness gleams against the darkness, delicate yet seemingly hiding some terrible secret—just like the beautiful woman in Yoshitoshi’s painting “Genji and Yugao.” Long, loose hair cascades over her shoulders like silky threads of the night, and pale, almost translucent lips seem to whisper dreams. In her gaze lies pain, as if she has known all the sufferings of the human soul—and all the secrets of death. This is Yūgao, 夕顔—"evening face," the moonflower and the woman whose story opens the gates to a world of courtly intrigues, forbidden passions, and vengeful spirits from beyond the grave—emerging from the world’s first novel, Genji Monogatari, authored by Murasaki Shikibu in 1010.

It is a tale of love that blossomed in the shadow of ruins and a spirit that destroyed that love. Hikaru Genji, the prince—a favorite of life itself—turned his gaze toward a mysterious woman hidden behind the veil of an abandoned house. Their love was like a moonflower in the night—beautiful, ephemeral, yet born in the knowledge of its imminent downfall and end. In moments of tenderness, as two souls intertwined under the cover of darkness, desire and jealousy clashed, summoning a dark presence from the shadows—a presence that silently devoured their love. Yūgao died suddenly, and her death drove poor Genji to the brink of despair and madness, leaving him with questions that only the pale and eternally indifferent moon could answer.

In its dim glow, Yūgao—the flower and the woman—becomes a symbol of fleeting beauty and inevitable decline. Like the moonflower that blooms only after dusk, her story is woven from the threads of nocturnal mysteries—passion, desire, and jealousy. In the world of Genji Monogatari, that which is beautiful is often marked by the curse of transience, while that which is eternal remains silent and indifferent, like the reflection of the moon on a still water surface. This thousand-year-old Japanese prose teaches us to accept the darkness in our lives. Let us delve into the whispers exchanged between Genji and Yugao…

Who Was Murasaki Shikibu and What Is The Tale of Genji?

Murasaki Shikibu (978–1014~1031?), a lady at the imperial court during the Heian period, is etched into the history of literature as the author of what is considered the world’s first modern novel—Genji Monogatari (The Tale of Genji). Born into an aristocratic family, she received an exceptional education that enabled her to master classical Chinese—a skill rare among women of her time. Her work is not only a literary milestone but also an intimate portrait of life at the Heian court. (If you want to learn more about her life and work, we discuss it further here: The Author of the World's First Novel: Meet the Strong and Stubborn Murasaki Shikibu (Heian, 973)).

The Tale of Genji, consisting of 54 chapters (in its English version, over 1,200 pages), narrates the life of Hikaru Genji, the “Shining Prince,” and his romantic entanglements. The novel, full of court intrigues, forbidden passions, and psychological depth, also serves as a rich record of Heian-era culture and daily life. It is an extraordinary work in terms of style, emotional depth, and its vivid depiction of aristocratic life in Japan at the time.

The popularity of The Tale of Genji as an artistic inspiration is immense. The novel has inspired hundreds of works of art, including around 1,000 ukiyo-e prints that capture both the most dramatic and the most subtle moments from the book. Moreover, the novel has been adapted into various performing arts, such as nō theater, kabuki, and even contemporary mediums, including anime.

"Genji and Yugao"
源氏と夕顔

(Genji to Yūgao)

- Tsukioka Yoshitoshi (月岡芳年)
“One Hundred Aspects of the Moon” (月百姿)

Yoshitoshi's painting “Genji and Yugao” is one of the exquisite examples of ukiyo-e, combining technical mastery, profound symbolism, and a dramatic atmosphere. Renowned for his ability to capture complex emotions and a transcendental aesthetic, Yoshitoshi created in this work a deeply subtle portrait of tragic love and death.

The figure of Yūgao is depicted in a moment when her ethereal nature crosses the boundary between life and death. Her silhouette is otherworldly and intangible. Delicate, almost translucent lines outlining her body emphasize her ephemeral nature, while the pale tone of her skin contrasts with the dramatically darker, more vibrant background. Yoshitoshi employed a refined interplay of light shades of blue and white, making her face, illuminated by the pale moonlight, exude melancholy and mystery.

Yūgao’s hair, long and unkempt, flows over her shoulders like black waves of a stormy sea. This hairstyle, characteristic of Heian-period women, appears slightly disheveled in Yoshitoshi’s interpretation, further highlighting her spiritual, incorporeal presence. Yūgao’s eyes, painted in cool, bluish hues, seem vacant, expressing something between pain, resignation, and mystery. Her bluish lips, exuding the chill of death, add to her beauty while enveloping her in an aura of darkness.

At the heart of the painting lies Yūgao’s figure, but it is the surrounding details that complete the composition. The moonflowers (Japanese: yūgao), winding around her figure, are depicted with extraordinary precision. Their long stems and delicate petals seem almost alive on the paper. These flowers symbolize both beauty and transience, their whiteness nearly merging with Yūgao’s pale complexion. Meanwhile, the curling stems appear to ensnare her, as if holding her in their grip, emphasizing her state of entrapment between life and death.

The background of the painting is dark blue (or light blue, depending on the print version), contrasting with the brightness of the figure and flowers. Yoshitoshi used this background to focus the viewer’s attention on the central elements of the composition, while also enhancing the sense of surrounding emptiness and the inevitability of annihilation. In the upper part of the painting, the moon—like in other works from this series (see: Adachi or Daimotsu)—watches the entire scene with cold indifference.

Yoshitoshi employed typical ukiyo-e techniques, such as flat color planes and precise contours, but infused his style with subtle gradients, adding depth and three-dimensionality to the painting. The use of cool, muted tones—from soft blues to deep navy—underscores the atmosphere of melancholy and dread. At the same time, the intricate depiction of flowers and textiles reflects inspiration from traditional decorative patterns, which held significant cultural value in Japan.

The painting also reflects the influence of Heian aesthetics, reinterpreted by Yoshitoshi in his characteristic, highly dramatic style. The combination of ornamentation with psychological depth makes this piece resonate with viewers both visually and emotionally.

The painting “Genji and Yugao” is not merely a depiction of a beautiful woman or a decorative scene from a classic text. Every detail tells a fragment of a larger story. To fully understand this painting, we must delve into the story of the fateful meeting between Genji and Yūgao, which brought love, death, and the shadow of eternal sorrow. Let us return to Murasaki Shikibu and her Genji Monogatari, specifically Chapter IV, titled “Yūgao,” which immerses us in a world of subtle emotions, mysteries, and tragic love.

"Genji Monogatari, Chapter IV: Yūgao"
源氏物語 第四帖: 夕顔

(Genji Monogatari, Dai Yon Jō: Yūgao)

- Murasaki Shikibu (紫式部)
The Tale of Genji (源氏物語)

The First Encounter Between Genji and Yūgao

On a warm, languid evening, as the moonlight draped the courtly paths in its pale silver glow, Hikaru Genji, the "Shining Prince," set out to visit his former nanny, a woman who had once been like a second mother to him. She had shielded him in his childhood from the cold intrigues of courtly life and the capricious nature of existence at the imperial court with her care and affection. Now, in the twilight of her life, the nanny was ill, and Genji felt the weight of this visit. It was a journey filled with sorrow and melancholy—the sight of her weakening body and fading life reminded him of the transience of all he held dear. But fate, as if toying with Genji’s heart, decided to offer him something more on this journey—an experience so intense and painful that it would remain with him for the rest of his life.

After meeting with his nanny, Genji decided to wander around the area near her modest residence, taking advantage of the warm, tranquil evening. Silence enveloped him like a soft shroud, and the air carried the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers. Narrow paths, overgrown with wild vegetation, led toward an old fence enclosing a forgotten, abandoned estate. The silvery moonlight flooded the scene, painting it with hues of a dream. It was then that something caught his attention—on the other side of the fence, amidst wild weeds, moonflowers (yūgao) were in full bloom. Their delicate white petals seemed almost supernatural, glowing in the moonlight as if woven from pure light. Moved by their fragility and beauty, Genji could not resist—he asked his servant to pluck one flower, unaware that this innocent gesture would mark the beginning of a tragedy.

At that moment, a woman emerged from the estate—subtle as a shadow, dressed in a simple yet tasteful kimono. Her voice, soft as a whisper of the wind, addressed the servant with a few words, handing him a fan on which to place the plucked flower. When the servant, carrying the fan adorned with the flower, approached Genji, the mysterious woman had already disappeared—retreating into the darkness of the estate. The fan was decorated with a carefully composed waka poem, in keeping with the refined customs of Heian-era Japanese aristocracy. When Genji read it, the words, despite their simplicity, pierced his heart like an arrow. From that moment, a desire was born within Genji to discover the identity of this enigmatic woman.

The Encounter

Genji could not forget her. Her image—delicate and ephemeral like the yūgao flower—kept returning to his thoughts like an insistent dream. The servants he sent to uncover her identity learned little. The woman was a mystery, as if she had come from another world, and her modest surroundings seemed incongruent with the refinement and elegance of her manners.

Fascinated, Genji decided to act cautiously. In accordance with tradition, he composed a waka poem for the lady of the house, which he sent through her maid. The following evening, he managed to engage the maid in conversation when she brought him a response to his poetic offering. Although her words were brief, they revealed that her mistress valued poetry and beauty, which only deepened his fascination. Genji asked the maid to deliver a message, subtly expressing his interest in her mistress—phrased, of course, in a highly veiled manner befitting courtly etiquette.

A few days later, to his delight, Yūgao responded—first delicately, through her poems, and later, as trust grew between them, she met with him in person. Genji began to visit her secretly more and more often, and with each conversation, each glance, her smile lit up his soul. Yūgao, though shy, felt something stir within her in his presence—an emotion she had never known before, a mixture of fascination and fear. She hesitated to reveal her past, though her secrets cast a shadow over their blossoming relationship.

The Meeting in the Secluded House

As their affection deepened, Genji, wary of the prying eyes of the court, suggested a meeting in a secluded estate—a hidden place where they could be together, far from the bustle and judgment of others. Yūgao agreed, though a strange unease smoldered in her heart, as if something ominous lurked in the darkness that surrounded them.

In the remote house, the atmosphere was both intimate and fraught with tension. Moonlight streamed through the empty frames of the windows, illuminating their faces and revealing the emotions they struggled to contain. That night, their love fully blossomed—Genji’s tenderness brought Yūgao a moment of solace and happiness. But the night held its own secrets, and the silence concealed something more than the soothing rustle of the wind.

Revenge

As Genji and Yūgao drifted into sweet slumber after their first night together, something in the air changed. The gentle night breeze ceased to stir the curtains, and the silence grew heavy, reminiscent of an approaching storm. The air became dense, pierced by an invisible, icy chill.

From the darkness emerged a malevolent presence—a spirit whose anger and sorrow were almost tangible. It was the manifestation of the extreme emotions of Rokujo no Miyasudokoro (六条御息所), a former lover of Genji. Rokujo, a woman of great pride and sophistication, was not only marked by her aristocratic grace but also by an unbridled jealousy and bitterness toward Genji. Once, she had basked in the attention of the "Shining Prince," but Genji, captivated by new loves, had relegated her to the background. Humiliated and abandoned, Rokujo could not bear the thought of another woman taking her place beside Genji.

Though still alive in courtly circles, her suppressed jealousy was so intense that it took on the semi-physical, semi-ethereal form of a vengeful spirit. According to the beliefs of the time, extreme jealousy and anger could manifest as an ikiryō (生霊)—a spirit born of emotions so powerful they detached from the body to carry out their master’s will. The ikiryō of Rokujo, born of her anguish, materialized in the house where Genji sought refuge with his beloved.

A cold draft swept through the room, and Yūgao, who had moments earlier nestled in Genji’s arms, began to shiver as though touched by icy fingers. The air grew thick, and from the darkness emerged a vague, sinister silhouette. The ikiryō, though incorporeal, radiated an intense energy that drained Yūgao, as if her life force were being sapped. Genji, confused and terrified, tried to revive her, but he was powerless against the supernatural force. At dawn, as the first rays of sunlight pierced the darkness, Yūgao passed away quietly, leaving Genji in despair and guilt that would haunt him for years to come.

Genji’s Despair

The death of Yūgao was a blow that shattered Genji’s soul. He could not comprehend what had happened nor find solace in his thoughts. For days, he lay ill. At her funeral, Genji gazed into the flames of the pyre consuming his beloved’s body, feeling as if a part of his own soul was rising with the smoke.

This love, though brief, changed Genji forever. In the shadow of grief from losing his beloved, he saw the pain of life and the beauty of fleeting moments entwined. Yūgao became, for him, a symbol of life destined to fade—like a flower that blooms for a fleeting moment, only to disappear, leaving behind an echo of ephemeral beauty. This theme would become a central axis of Japanese culture for a millennium, eventually receiving the name mono no aware during the Edo period.

After Yūgao’s death, Genji not only sank into despair but also began to view his life and relationships differently. He realized that what is fragile and unattainable often carries the deepest truths about human existence and, precisely because of its impermanence, is the most valuable.

Yūgao embodies the concept of mono no aware (even though the term did not exist at the time)—her life and death remind us that the most beautiful moments are, by nature, fleeting. This story shows that in pursuing the fulfillment of our desires, we often face forces we cannot understand or overcome—such as the ghosts of the past or fate, which inevitably leads to loss.

Looking at the whiteness of the yūgao flowers, Genji saw more than the memory of his beloved—he saw himself, striving to grasp the elusive essence of life. This love, though painful, taught him humility in the face of fate and helped him understand that every shadow—even the darkest—exists because of the light. Yūgao, though gone, left an eternal mark on his heart—a warning and, at the same time, a hymn to the fleeting beauty that makes life truly human.

What Can We Learn From Murasaki Shikibu’s Story of Genji and Yūgao?

Mono no aware, a central element of Japanese aesthetics, reminds us that life is fleeting and that beauty lies in its impermanence. This is not merely a literary or artistic idea but a philosophy that can be applied to every moment of our existence. Often, we chase after something distant—a better life, greater achievements, an unattainable ideal—and forget that true life unfolds in the small, unassuming moments that are easy to overlook. Instead of appreciating the warmth of the morning sun on our face, the relief of a gentle breeze on a hot day, or the soothing sound of rain outside the window, we lose ourselves in the race toward a future that, when it arrives, will pass just as unnoticed—unless we learn to live more mindfully.

The story of Genji and Yūgao also reminds us that everything we value—our loved ones, our health, even the life we may sometimes take for granted—can vanish in an instant. Life is full of losses, both small and ultimate. Yet, these experiences, though painful, shape us as humans. Loss, while bringing sorrow, allows us to see the worth of what we have now. It is deeply sorrowful that we sometimes must lose someone close to fully appreciate how important that relationship was to us. Our world is impermanent. Everything you now have, you will one day lose—that is the message of mono no aware. Cherish it while it lasts.

Life consists of moments—each, no matter how small, forms the grand mosaic of our existence. When we learn to find beauty in everyday details, our lives take on a deeper meaning. The present moment is the only time we truly exist. It is the taste of tea on a quiet morning, the scent of a freshly opened book, the touch of a loved one’s hand. If we do not pause to appreciate these moments, life will slip past us—unnoticed, unappreciated, unfulfilled. Genji, gazing at the yūgao flower, did not only remember his beloved—he also saw a reminder that every moment is a precious gift to be celebrated before it fades.

We live in times where it is easy to lose ourselves in haste and clamor, but the story of Genji and Yūgao offers us a timeless lesson: everything precious will pass—whether or not we manage to appreciate it. The world will not wait for us.

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"Strong Japanese Women"

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    未開    ソビエライ

 An enthusiast of Asian culture with a deep appreciation for the diverse philosophies of the world. By education, a psychologist and philologist specializing in Korean studies. At heart, a programmer (primarily for Android) and a passionate technology enthusiast, as well as a practitioner of Zen and mono no aware. In moments of tranquility, adheres to a disciplined lifestyle, firmly believing that perseverance, continuous personal growth, and dedication to one's passions are the wisest paths in life. Author of the book "Strong Women of Japan" (>>see more)

Personal motto:

"The most powerful force in the universe is compound interest." - Albert Einstein (probably)

  Mike Soray

   (aka Michał Sobieraj)

未開    ソビエライ

 An enthusiast of Asian culture with a deep appreciation for the diverse philosophies of the world. By education, a psychologist and philologist specializing in Korean studies. At heart, a programmer (primarily for Android) and a passionate technology enthusiast, as well as a practitioner of Zen and mono no aware. In moments of tranquility, adheres to a disciplined lifestyle, firmly believing that perseverance, continuous personal growth, and dedication to one's passions are the wisest paths in life. Author of the book "Strong Women of Japan" (>>see more)

Personal motto:

"The most powerful force in the universe is compound interest." - Albert Einstein (probably)

Mike Soray

(aka Michał Sobieraj)

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