The tale of Genji
Hall. Genji sent for him at once and bade him tell his story.
Koremitsu’s news was very disquieting. Once she was in her father’s
palace it would look very odd that Genji should fetch her away, even
if she came willingly. It would inevitably be rumoured abroad that he
had made off with her like a child-snatcher, a thief. Far better to
anticipate his rival and exacting a promise of silence from the people
about her, carry her off to his own palace immediately. ‘I shall go
there at daybreak,’ he said to Koremitsu; ‘Order the carriage that I
came here in, it can be used just as it is, and see to it that one or
two attendants are ready to go with me.’ Koremitsu bowed and retired.
Genji knew that whichever course he chose, there was bound to be
a scandal so soon as the thing became known. Inevitably gossips would
spread the report that, young though she was, the child by this time
knew well enough why she had been invited to live with Prince Genji in
his palace. Let them draw their own conclusions. That did not matter.
There was a much worse possibility. What if Hyōbukyō found out where
she was? His conduct in abducting another man’s child would appear in
the highest degree outrageous and discreditable. He was sorely
puzzled, but he knew that if he let this opportunity slip he would
afterwards bitterly repent it, and long before daybreak he started on
his way. Aoi was cold and sullen as ever. ‘I have just remembered
something very important which I must see about at home,’ he said; ‘I
shall not be away long,’ and he slipped out so quietly that the
servants of the house did not know that he was gone. His cloak was
brought to him from his own apartments and he drove off attended only
by Koremitsu who followed on horseback. After much knocking they
succeeded in getting the gate opened, but by a servant who was not in
the secret. Koremitsu ordered the man to pull in Genji’s carriage as
quietly as he could and himself went straight to the front door, which
he rattled, coughing as he did so that Shōnagon might know who was
there. ‘My lord is waiting,’ he said when she came to the door. ‘But
the young lady is fast asleep,’ said Shōnagon; ‘his Highness has no
business to be up and about at this time of night.’ She said this
thinking that he was returning from some nocturnal escapade and had
only called there in passing. ‘I hear,’ said Genji now coming forward,
‘that the child is to be moved to her father’s and I have something of
importance which I must say to her before she goes.’ ‘Whatever
business you have to transact with her, I am sure she will give the
matter her closest attention,’ scoffed Shōnagon. Matters of
importance indeed, with a child of ten! Genji entered the women’s
quarters. ‘You cannot go in there,’ cried Shōnagon in horror; ‘several
aged ladies are lying all undressed....’ ‘They are all fast asleep,’
said Genji. ‘See, I am only rousing the child,’ and bending over her:
‘The morning mist is rising,’ he cried, ‘it is time to wake!’ And
before Shōnagon had time to utter a sound, he had taken the child in
his arms and begun gently to rouse her. Still half-dreaming, she
thought it was the prince her father who had come to fetch her. ‘Come,’
said Genji while he put her hair to rights, ‘your father has sent me
to bring you back with me to his palace.’ For a moment she was dazed
to find that it was not her father and shrank from him in fright.
‘Never mind whether it is your father or I,’ he cried; ‘it is all the
same,’ and so saying he picked her up in his arms and carried her out
of the inner room. ‘Well!’ cried out Koremitsu and Shōnagon in
astonishment. What would he do next? ‘It seems,’ said Genji, ‘that you
were disquieted at my telling you I could not visit her here as often
as I wished and would make arrangements for her to go to a more
convenient place. I hear that you are sending her where it will be
even more difficult for me to see her. Therefore ... make ready one or
the other of you to come with me.’
Shōnagon, who now realized that he was going to make off with the
child, fell into a terrible fluster. ‘O Sir,’ she said, ‘you could not
have chosen a worse time. To-day her father is coming to fetch her,
and whatever shall I say to him? If only you would wait, I am sure it
would all come right in the end. But by acting so hastily you will do
yourself no good and leave the poor servants here in a sad pickle.’
‘If that is all,’ cried Genji, ‘let them follow as soon as they
choose,’ and to Shōnagon’s despair he had the carriage brought in. The
child stood by weeping and bewildered. There seemed no way of
preventing him from carrying out his purpose and gathering together
the child’s clothes that she had been sewing the night before, the
nurse put on her own best dress and stepped into the carriage. Genji’s
house was not far off and they arrived before daylight. They drew up
in front of the western wing and Genji alighted. Taking the child
lightly in his arms he set her on the ground. Shōnagon, to whom these
strange events seemed like a dream, hesitated as though still
uncertain whether she should enter the house or no. ‘There is no need
for you to come in if you do not want to,’ said Genji. ‘Now that the
child herself is safely here I am quite content. If you had rather go
back, you have only to say so and I will escort you.’
Reluctantly she left the carriage. The suddenness of the move was in
itself enough to have upset her; but she was also worrying about what
Prince Hyōbukyō would think when he found that his child had vanished.
And indeed what _was_ going to become of her? One way or another all her
mistresses seemed to be taken from her and it was only when she became
frightened of having wept for so long on end that she at last dried
her eyes and began to pray.
The western wing had long been uninhabited and was not completely
furnished; but Koremitsu had soon fitted up screens and curtains where
they were required. For Genji makeshift quarters were soon contrived
by letting down the side-wings of his screen-of-honour. He sent to the
other part of the house for his night things and went to sleep. The
child, who had been put to bed not far off, was still very
apprehensive and ill at ease in these new surroundings. Her lips were
trembling, but she dared not cry out loud. ‘I want to sleep with
Shōnagon,’ she said at last in a tearful, babyish voice. ‘You are
getting too big to sleep with a nurse,’ said Genji, who had heard her.
‘You must try and go to sleep nicely where you are.’ She felt
very lonely and lay weeping for a long while. The nurse was far too
much upset to think of going to bed and sat up for the rest of the
night in the servants’ quarters crying so bitterly that she was
unconscious of all that went on around her.
But when it grew light she began to look about her a little. Not only
this great palace with its marvellous pillars and carvings, but the
sand in the courtyard outside which seemed to her like a carpet of
jewels made so dazzling an impression upon her that at first she felt
somewhat overawed. However, the fact that she was now no longer in a
household of women gave her an agreeable sense of security.
It was the hour at which business brought various strangers to the
house. There were several men walking just outside her window and she
heard one of them whisper to another: ‘They say that someone new has
come to live here. Who can it be, I wonder? A lady of note, I’ll
warrant you.’
Bath water was brought from the other wing, and steamed rice for
breakfast. Genji did not rise till far on into the morning. ‘It is not
good for the child to be alone,’ he said to Shōnagon, ‘so last night
before I came to you I arranged for some little people to come and
stay here,’ and so saying he sent a servant to ‘fetch the little girls
from the eastern wing.’ He had given special orders that they were to
be as small as possible and now four of the tiniest and prettiest
creatures imaginable arrived upon the scene.
Murasaki was still asleep, lying wrapped in Genji’s own coat. It was
with difficulty that he roused her. ‘You must not be sad any more,’ he
said; ‘If I were not very fond of you, should I be looking after you
like this? Little girls ought to be very gentle and obedient in their
ways.’ And thus her education was begun.
She seemed to him, now that he could study her at leisure, even
more lovely than he had realized and they were soon engaged in an
affectionate conversation. He sent for delightful pictures and toys to
show her and set to work to amuse her in every way he could. Gradually
he persuaded her to get up and look about her. In her shabby dress
made of some dark grey material she looked so charming now that she
was laughing and playing, with all her woes forgotten, that Genji too
laughed with pleasure as he watched her. When at last he retired to
the eastern wing, she went out of doors to look at the garden. As she
picked her way among the trees and along the side of the lake, and
gazed with delight upon the frosty flower-beds that glittered gay as a
picture, while a many-coloured throng of unknown people passed
constantly in and out of the house, she began to think that this was a
very nice place indeed. Then she looked at the wonderful pictures that
were painted on all the panels and screens and quite lost her heart to
them.
For two or three days Genji did not go to the Palace, but spent all
his time amusing the little girl. Finally he drew all sorts of
pictures for her to put into her copy-book, showing them to her one by
one as he did so. She thought them the loveliest set of pictures she
had ever seen. Then he wrote part of the _Musashi-no_ poem.[12] She
was delighted by the way it was written in bold ink-strokes on a
background stained with purple. In a smaller hand was the poem:
‘Though the parent-root[13] I cannot see, yet tenderly I love its
off-shoot,[14]—the dewy plant that grows upon Musashi Moor.’ ‘Come’
said Genji while she was admiring it, ‘you must write something too.’
‘I cannot write properly yet’ she answered, looking up at him with a
witchery so wholly unconscious that Genji laughed. ‘Even if you
cannot write properly it will never do for us to let you off
altogether. Let me give you a lesson.’ With many timid glances towards
him she began to write. Even the childish manner in which she grasped
the brush gave him a thrill of delight which he was at a loss to
explain. ‘Oh, I have spoiled it’ she suddenly cried out and blushing
hid from him what she had written. But he forced her to let him see it
and found the poem: ‘I do not know what put Musashi into your head and
am very puzzled. What plant is it that you say is a relative of mine?’
It was written in a large childish hand which was indeed very
undeveloped, but was nevertheless full of promise. It showed a strong
resemblance to the late nun’s writing. He felt certain that if she
were given up-to-date copy-books she would soon write very nicely.
Next they built houses for the dolls and played so long at this game
together that Genji forgot for a while the great anxiety[15] which was
at that time preying upon his mind.
The servants who had been left behind at Murasaki’s house were
extremely embarrassed when Prince Hyōbukyō came to fetch her. Genji
had made them promise for a time at any rate to tell no one of what
had happened and Shōnagon had seemed to agree that this was best.
Accordingly he could get nothing out of them save that Shōnagon had
taken the child away with her without saying anything about where she
was going. The Prince felt completely baffled. Perhaps the grandmother
had instilled into the nurse’s mind the idea that things would not go
smoothly for the child at his palace. In that case the nurse with an