The tale of Genji
thinking of him since she found out that he had so recklessly
falsified all the assurances of good behaviour that she had made
on his account? And then the princess herself.... He could imagine
what a pathetic figure she must be, dumbly buried in her own
despondent thoughts and questionings. ‘Please make it clear to her’ he
said, ‘that I have been extremely busy; that is really the sole reason
that I have not visited her.’ But he added with a sigh ‘I hope soon to
have a chance of teaching her not to be quite so stiff and shy.’ He
smiled as he said it, and because he was so young and charming Myōbu
somehow felt that despite her indignation she must smile too. At his
age it was inevitable that he should cause a certain amount of
suffering. Suddenly it seemed to her perfectly right that he should do
as he felt inclined without thinking much about the consequences. When
the busy festival time was over he did indeed pay several visits to
the Hitachi Palace, but then followed his adoption of little Murasaki
whose ways so entranced him that he became very irregular even in his
visits to the Sixth Ward;[7] still less had he any inclination, though
he felt as sorry for the princess as ever, to visit that desolate
palace. For a long while he had no desire to probe the secret of her
bashfulness, to drive her into the light of day. But at last the idea
occurred to him that he had perhaps all the while been mistaken. It
was only a vague impression gathered in a room so dark that one could
hardly see one’s hand in front of one’s face. If only he could
persuade her to let him see her properly? But she seemed frightened to
submit herself to the ordeal of daylight. Accordingly one night when
he knew that he should catch her household quite at its ease he crept
in unobserved and peeped through a gap in the door of the women’s
apartments. The princess herself was not visible. There was a very
dilapidated screen-of-honour at the end of the room, but it looked as
if it had not been moved from where it stood for years and years.
Four or five elderly gentlewomen were in the room. They were preparing
their mistress’s supper in Chinese vessels which looked like the
famous ‘royal blue’ ware,[8] but they were much damaged and the food
which had been provided seemed quite unworthy of these precious
dishes. The old ladies soon retired, presumably to have their own
supper. In a closet opening out of the main road he could see a very
chilly-looking lady in an incredibly smoke-stained white dress and
dirty apron tied at the waist. Despite this shabbiness, her hair was
done over a comb in the manner of Court servants in ancient days when
they waited at their master’s table, though it hung down untidily. He
had sometimes seen figures such as this haunting the housekeeper’s
rooms in the Palace, but he had no idea that they could still actually
be seen waiting upon a living person! ‘O dear, O dear,’ cried the lady
in the apron, ‘what a cold winter we are having! It was not worth
living so long only to meet times like these,’ and she shed a tear.
‘If only things had but gone on as they were in the old Prince’s
time!’ she moaned. ‘What a change! No discipline, no authority. To
think that I should have lived to see such days!’ and she quivered
with horror like one who ‘were he a bird would take wing and fly
away.’[9] She went on to pour out such a pitiful tale of things gone
awry that Genji could bear it no longer, and pretending that he had
just arrived tapped at the partition-door. With many exclamations of
surprise the old lady brought a candle and let him in. Unfortunately
Jijū had been chosen with other young persons to wait upon the Vestal
Virgin and was not at home. Her absence made the house seem more
rustic and old-fashioned than ever, and its oddity struck him even
more forcibly than before.
The melancholy snow was now falling faster and faster. Dark
clouds hung in the sky, the wind blew fierce and wild. The big lamp
had burnt out and it seemed to be no one’s business to light it. He
remembered the terrible night upon which Yūgao had been bewitched. The
house indeed was almost as dilapidated. But it was not quite so large
and was (to Genji’s comfort) at least to some small degree inhabited.
Nevertheless it was a depressing place to spend the night at in such
weather as this. Yet the snow-storm had a beauty and fascination of
its own and it was tiresome that the lady whom he had come to visit
was far too stiff and awkward to join him in appreciating its
wildness. The dawn was just breaking and lifting one of the shutters
with his own hand, he looked out at the snow-covered flower-beds.
Beyond them stretched great fields of snow untrodden by any foot. The
sight was very strange and lovely, and moved by the thought that he
must soon leave it: ‘Come and look how beautiful it is out of doors,’
he cried to the princess who was in an inner room. ‘It is unkind of
you always to treat me as though I were a stranger.’ Although it was
still dark the light of the snow enabled the ancient gentlewomen who
had now returned to the room to see the freshness and beauty of
Genji’s face. Gazing at him with undisguised wonder and delight, they
cried out to their mistress: ‘Yes, madam, indeed you must come. You
are not behaving as you should. A young lady should be all kindness
and pretty ways.’ Thus admonished, the princess who when told what to
do could never think of any reasons for not doing it, giving her
costume a touch here and there reluctantly crept into the front room.
Genji pretended to be still looking out of the window, but presently
he managed to glance back into the room. His first impression was that
her manner, had it been a little less diffident, would have been
extremely pleasing. What an absurd mistake he had made. She was
certainly very tall as was shown by the length of her back when
she took her seat; he could hardly believe that such a back could
belong to a woman. A moment afterwards he suddenly became aware of her
main defect. It was her nose. He could not help looking at it. It
reminded him of the trunk of Samantabhadra’s[10] steed! Not only was
it amazingly prominent, but (strangest of all) the tip which drooped
downwards a little was tinged with pink, contrasting in the oddest
manner with the rest of her complexion which was of a whiteness that
would have put snow to shame. Her forehead was unusually high, so that
altogether (though this was partly concealed by the forward tilt of
her head) her face must be hugely long. She was very thin, her bones
showing in the most painful manner, particularly her shoulder-bones
which jutted out pitiably above her dress. He was sorry now that he
had exacted from her this distressing exhibition, but so extraordinary
a spectacle did she provide that he could not help continuing to gaze
upon her. In one point at least she yielded nothing to the greatest
beauties of the Capital. Her hair was magnificent; she was wearing it
loose and it hung a foot or more below the skirt of her gown. A
complete description of people’s costumes is apt to be tedious, but as
in stories the first thing that is said about the characters is
invariably _what they wore_, I shall once in a way attempt such a
description. Over a terribly faded bodice of imperial purple she wore
a gown of which the purple had turned definitely black with age. Her
mantle was of sable-skins heavily perfumed with scent. Such a garment
as this mantle was considered very smart several generations ago, but
it struck him as the most extraordinary costume for a comparatively
young girl. However as a matter of fact she looked as though without
this monstrous wrapping she would perish with cold and he could
not help feeling sorry for her. As usual she seemed quite devoid of
conversation and her silence ended by depriving Genji also of the
power of speech. He felt however that he must try again to conquer her
religious muteness and began making a string of casual remarks.
Overcome with embarrassment she hid her face with her sleeve. This
attitude, together with her costume, reminded him so forcibly of queer
pompous old officials whom he had sometimes seen walking at funeral
pace in state processions, hugging their emblems of office to their
breasts, that he could not help laughing. This he felt to be very
rude. Really he was very sorry for her and longing to put a quick end
to her embarrassment he rose to go. ‘Till I began to look after you
there was no one in whom you could possibly have confided. But
henceforward I think you must make up your mind to be frank with me
and tell me all your secrets. Your stern aloofness is very painful to
me,’ and he recited the verse: ‘Already the icicle that hangs from the
eaves is melting in the rays of the morning sun. How comes it that
these drippings to new ice should turn?’ At this she tittered
slightly. Finding her inability to express herself quite unendurable
he left the house. Even in the dim light of early morning he noticed
that the courtyard gate at which his carriage awaited him was shaky on
its posts and much askew; daylight, he was sure, would have revealed
many other signs of dilapidation and neglect. In all the desolate
landscape which stretched monotonously before him under the bleak
light of dawn only the thick mantle of snow which covered the
pine-trees gave a note of comfort and almost of warmth.
Surely it was such a place as this, sombre as a little village in the
hills, that his friends had thought of on that rainy night when they
had spoken of the gate ‘deep buried in green thickets.’ If only there
were really hidden behind _these_ walls some such exquisite
creature as they had imagined. How patiently, how tenderly he would
court her! He longed for some experience which would bring him respite
from the anguish with which a certain hopeless and illicit passion was
at that time tormenting him. Alas, no one could have been less likely
to bring him the longed-for distraction than the owner of this
romantic mansion. Yet the very fact that she had nothing to recommend
her made it impossible for him to give her up, for it was certain that
no one else would ever take the trouble to visit her. But why, why had
it fallen to him of all people to become her intimate? Had the spirit
of the departed Prince Hitachi, unhappy at the girl’s friendless
plight, chosen him out and led him to her?
At the side of the road he noticed a little orange-tree almost buried
in snow. He ordered one of his attendants to uncover it. As though
jealous of the attention that the man was paying to its neighbour a
pine-tree near by shook its heavily laden branches, pouring great
billows of snow over his sleeve. Delighted with the scene Genji
suddenly longed for some companion with whom he might share this
pleasure; not necessarily someone who loved such things as he did, but
one who at least responded to them in an ordinary way.
The gate through which his carriage had to pass in order to leave
the grounds was still locked. When at last the man who kept the key
had been discovered he turned out to be immensely old and feeble.
With him was a big, awkward girl who seemed to be his daughter or
grand-daughter. Her dress looked very grimy in contrast with the new
snow amid which she was standing. She seemed to be suffering very much
from the cold, for she was hugging a little brazier of some kind with
a stick or two of charcoal burning none too brightly in it. The old
man had not the strength to push back the door, and the girl was
dragging at it as well. Taking pity on them one of Genji’s
servants went to their assistance and quickly opened it. Genji
remembered the poem in which Po Chü-i describes the sufferings of
villagers in wintry weather and he murmured the lines ‘The little