The tale of Genji
disappeared behind a bank of clouds. But there was still great beauty
in the dawning sky. Anxious to be gone before it was quite light, he
hurried her away to the coach and put Ukon by her side.
They drove to an untenanted mansion which was not far off. While he
waited for the steward to come out Genji noticed that the gates were
crumbling away; dense shinobu-grass grew around them. So sombre an
entrance he had never seen. There was a thick mist and the dew was so
heavy that when he raised the carriage-blind his sleeve was drenched.
‘Never yet has such an adventure as this befallen me’ said Genji; ‘so
I am, as you may imagine, rather excited,’ and he made a poem in which
he said that though love’s folly had existed since the beginning of
the world, never could man have set out more rashly at the break of
day into a land unknown. ‘But to you this is no great novelty?’
She blushed and in her turn made a poem: ‘I am as the moon that walks
the sky not knowing what menace the cruel hills may hold in store;
high though she sweeps, her light may suddenly be blotted out.’
She seemed very depressed and nervous. But this he attributed to the
fact that she had probably always lived in small houses where
everything was huddled together, and he was amused at the idea that
this large mansion should overawe her. They drove in, and while a room
was being got ready they remained in the carriage which had been drawn
up alongside of the balustrade. Ukon, looking very innocent all the
while, was inwardly comparing this excursion with her mistress’s
previous adventures. She had noticed the tone of extreme deference
with which this latest lover had been received by the steward, and had
begun to draw her own conclusions.
The mist was gradually clearing away. They left the coach and went
into the room which had been prepared for them. Though so quickly
improvised, their quarters were admirably clean and well-provided, for
the steward’s son had previously been a trusted house-servant of
Genji’s and had also worked at the Great Hall. Coming now to their
room he offered to send for some of Genji’s gentlemen, ‘For’ he said
‘I cannot bear to see you going unattended.’ ‘Do nothing of the kind’
said Genji; ‘I have come here because I do not wish to be disturbed.
No one but yourself is to know that I have used this house,’ and he
exacted a promise of absolute secrecy. No regular meal had been
prepared, but the steward brought them a little rice porridge. Then
they lay down again to sleep together for the first time in this
unfamiliar and so strangely different place.
The sun was high when they woke. Genji went and opened the shutters
himself. How deserted the garden looked! Certainly here there was no
one to spy upon them. He looked out into the distance: dense
woods fast turning to jungle. And nearer the house not a flower or
bush, but only unkempt, autumn grasslands, and a pond choked with
weeds. It was a wild and desolate place. It seemed that the steward
and his men must live in some outbuilding or lodge at a distance from
the house; for here there was no sign or sound of life. ‘It is, I must
own, a strange and forsaken place to which we have come. But no ghost
or evil fairy will dare molest you while _I_ am here.’
It pained her very much that he still was masked;[10] and indeed such
a precaution was quite out of keeping with the stage at which they had
now arrived. So at last, reciting a poem in which he reminded her that
all their love down to this moment when ‘the flower opened its petals
to the evening dew’ had come from a chance vision seen casually from
the street, half-turning his face away, for a moment he let her see
him unmasked. ‘What of the “shining dew”’ he asked using the words
that she had written on the fan. ‘How little knew I of its beauty who
had but in the twilight doubted and guessed...!’; so she answered his
poem in a low and halting voice. She need not have feared, for to him,
poor as the verses were, they seemed delightful. And indeed the beauty
of his uncovered face, suddenly revealed to her in this black
wilderness of dereliction and decay, surpassed all loveliness that she
had ever dreamed of or imagined. ‘I cannot wonder that while I still
set this barrier between us, you did not choose to tell me all that I
longed to know. But now it would be very unkind of you not to tell me
your name.’ ‘I am like the fisherman’s daughter in the song’[11] she
said, ‘“I have no name or home.”’ But for all that she would not tell
him who she was, she seemed much comforted that he had let her
see him. ‘Do as you please about it’ said Genji at last; but for a
while he was out of temper. Soon they had made it up again; and so the
day passed. Presently Koremitsu came to their quarters, bringing fruit
and other viands. He would not come in, for he was frightened that
Ukon would rate him mercilessly for the part he had played in
arranging the abduction of her mistress. He had now come to the
conclusion that the Lady must possess charms which he had wholly
overlooked, or Genji would certainly never have taken all this trouble
about her, and he was touched at his own magnanimity in surrendering
to his master a prize which he might well have kept for himself. It
was an evening of marvellous stillness. Genji sat watching the sky.
The lady found the inner room where she was sitting depressingly dark
and gloomy. He raised the blinds of the front room, and came to sit
with her. They watched the light of the sunset glowing in each other’s
eyes, and in her wonder at his adorable beauty and tenderness she
forgot all her fears. At last she was shy with him no longer, and he
thought that the new-found boldness and merriment became her very
well. She lay by his side till night. He saw that she was again
wearing the plaintive expression of a frightened child; so quickly
closing the partition-door he brought in the great lamp, saying:
‘Outwardly you are no longer shy with me; but I can see that deep down
in your heart there is still some sediment of rancour and distrust. It
is not kind to use me so,’ and again he was cross with her.
What were the people at the Palace thinking? Would he have been sent
for? How far would the messengers pursue their search? He became quite
agitated. Then there was the great lady in the Sixth Ward.[12] What a
frenzy she must be in! This time, however, she really had good
cause to be jealous. These and other unpleasant considerations were
crowding into his head, when looking at the girl who lay beside him so
trustfully, unconscious of all that was going on in his mind, he was
suddenly filled with an overwhelming tenderness towards her. How
tiresome the other was, with her eternal susceptibilities, jealousies
and suspicions! For a while at any rate he would stop seeing her. As
the night wore on they began sometimes to doze. Suddenly Genji saw
standing over him the figure of a woman, tall and majestic: ‘You who
think yourself so fine, how comes it that you have brought to toy with
you here this worthless common creature, picked up at random in the
streets? I am astonished and displeased,’ and with this she made as
though to drag the lady from his side. Thinking that this was some
nightmare or hallucination, he roused himself and sat up. The lamp had
gone out. Somewhat agitated he drew his sword and laid it beside him,
calling as he did so for Ukon. She came at once, looking a good deal
scared herself. ‘Please wake the watchman in the cross-wing,’ he said,
‘and tell him to bring a candle.’ ‘All in the dark like this? How can
I?’ she answered. ‘Don’t be childish,’ said Genji laughing and clapped
his hands.[13] The sound echoed desolately through the empty house. He
could not make anyone hear; and meanwhile he noticed that his mistress
was trembling from head to foot. What should he do? He was still
undecided, when suddenly she burst out into a cold sweat. She seemed
to be losing consciousness. ‘Do not fear, Sir’ said Ukon ‘all her life
she has been subject to these nightmare fits.’ He remembered now how
tired she had seemed in the morning and how she had lain with her eyes
turned upwards as though in pain. ‘I will go myself and wake someone’
he said; ‘I am tired of clapping with only echoes to answer me.
Do not leave her!’ and drawing Ukon towards the bed he went in the
direction of the main western door. But when he opened it, he found
that the lamp in the cross-wing had also gone out. A wind had risen.
The few attendants he had brought with him were already in bed. There
was indeed only the steward’s son (the young man who had once been
Genji’s body-servant), and the one young courtier who had attended him
on all his visits. They answered when he called and sprang to their
feet. ‘Come with a candle,’ he said to the steward’s son, ‘and tell my
man to get his bow and keep on twanging the string as loud as he can.
I wonder anyone should sleep so soundly in such a deserted place. What
has happened to Koremitsu?’ ‘He waited for some time, but as you
seemed to have no need of him, he went home, saying he would be back
at day-break.’
Genji’s man had been an Imperial Bowman, and making a tremendous din
with his bow he strode towards the steward’s lodge crying ‘Fire, Fire’
at the top of his voice. The twanging of the bow reminded Genji of the
Palace. The roll-call of night courtiers must be over; the Bowman’s
roll-call must be actually going on. It was not so very late.
He groped his way back into the room. She was lying just as he had
left her, with Ukon face downwards beside her. ‘What are you doing
there’ he cried? ‘Have you gone mad with fright? You have heard no
doubt that in such lonely places as this, fox-spirits sometimes try to
cast a spell upon men. But, dear people, you need not fear. I have
come back, and will not let such creatures harm you.’ And so saying he
dragged Ukon from the bed. ‘Oh, Sir’ she said ‘I felt so queer and
frightened that I fell flat down upon my face; and what my poor lady
must be going through I dare not think.’ ‘Then try not to add to her
fright’ said Genji, and pushing her aside bent over the prostate
form. The girl was scarcely breathing. He touched her; she was quite
limp. She did not know him.
Perhaps some accursed thing, some demon had tried to snatch her spirit
away; she was so timid, so childishly helpless. The man came with the
candle. Ukon was still too frightened to move. Genji placed a screen
so as to hide the bed and called the man to him. It was of course
contrary to etiquette that he should serve Genji himself and he
hesitated in embarrassment, not venturing even to ascend the dais.
‘Come here’ said Genji impatiently; ‘use your common-sense.’
Reluctantly the man gave him the light, and as he held it towards the
bed, he saw for a moment the figure which had stood there in his dream
still hovering beside the pillow; suddenly it vanished. He had read in
old tales of such apparitions and of their power, and was in great
alarm. But for the moment he was so full of concern for the lady who
now lay motionless on the bed, that he gave no thought to that
menacing vision, and lying down beside her, began gently to move her
limbs. Already they were growing cold. Her breathing had quite
stopped. What could he do? To whom could he turn for help? He ought to
send for a priest. He tried to control himself, but he was very young,
and seeing her lying there all still and pale, he could contain
himself no longer and crying ‘Come back to me, my own darling, come
back to life. Do not look at me so strangely!’ he flung his arms about
her. But now she was quite cold. Her face was set in a dull, senseless
stare.
Suddenly Ukon, who had been so busy with her own fears, came to
herself again, and set up the most dismal weeping. He disregarded her.