The tale of Genji
content both with her appearance and her character. She at least gave
him her whole heart. For the present he did not intend to reveal her
identity even to the servants in his own palace. She continued to
use the somewhat outlying western wing which had now been put into
excellent order, and here Genji constantly came to see her. He gave
her all kinds of lessons, writing exercises for her to copy and
treating her in every way as though she were a little daughter who had
been brought up by foster-parents, but had now come to live with him.
He chose her servants with great care and gave orders that they should
do everything in their power to make her comfortable; but no one
except Koremitsu knew who the child was or how she came to be living
there. Nor had her father discovered what had become of her.
The little girl still sometimes thought of the past and then she would
feel for a while very lonely without her grandmother. When Genji was
there she forgot her sorrow; but in the evening he was very seldom at
home. She was sorry that he was so busy and when he hurried every
evening to some strange place or other she missed him terribly; but
she was never angry with him. Sometimes for two or three days on end
he would be at the Palace or the Great Hall and when he returned he
would find her very tearful and depressed. Then he felt just as though
he were neglecting some child of his own, whose mother had died and
left it in his keeping, and for a while he grew uneasy about his night
excursions.
The priest was puzzled when he heard that Genji had taken Murasaki to
live with him, but saw no harm in it and was delighted that she should
be so well cared for. He was gratified too when Genji begged that the
services in the dead nun’s memory should be celebrated with special
pomp and magnificence.
When he went to Fujitsubo’s palace, anxious to see for himself whether
she was keeping her health, he was met by a posse of waiting-women
(Myōbus, Chūnagons, Nakatsukasas and the like) and Fujitsubo
herself showed, to his great disappointment, no sign of appearing.
They gave a good account of her, which somewhat allayed his anxiety,
and had passed on to general gossip when it was announced that Prince
Hyōbukyō[8] had arrived. Genji at once went out to speak to him. This
time Genji thought him extremely handsome and there was a softness, a
caressing quality in his manner (Genji was watching him more closely
than he knew) which was feminine enough to make his connection with
Fujitsubo and Murasaki at once uppermost in the mind of his observer.
It was, then, as the brother of the one and the father of the other
that the new-comer at once created a feeling of intimacy, and they had
a long conversation. Hyōbukyō could not fail to notice that Genji was
suddenly treating him with an affection which he had never displayed
before. He was naturally very much gratified, not realizing that Genji
had now, in a sense, become his son-in-law. It was getting late and
Hyōbukyō was about to join his sister in another room. It was with
bitterness that Genji remembered how long ago the Emperor had brought
her to play with him. In those days he ran in and out of her room just
as he chose; now he could not address her save in precarious messages.
She was as inaccessible, as remote as one person conceivably could be
from another, and finding the situation intolerable, he said politely
to Prince Hyōbukyō: ‘I wish I saw you more often; unless there is some
special reason for seeing people, I am lazy about it. But if you ever
felt inclined to send for me, I should be delighted ...’ and he
hurried away.
Ōmyōbu, the gentlewoman who had contrived Genji’s meeting with
Fujitsubo, seeing her mistress relapse into a steady gloom and vexed
at her belated caution was all the time doing her best to bring the
lovers together again; but days and months went by and still all
her efforts were in vain; while they, poor souls, strove desperately
to put away from them this love that was a perpetual disaster.
At Genji’s palace Shōnagon, the little girl’s nurse, finding herself
in a world of unimagined luxuries and amenities, could only attribute
this good fortune to the success of the late nun’s prayers. The Lord
Buddha to whose protection the dying lady had so fervently recommended
her grand-daughter had indeed made handsome provision for her. There
were of course certain disadvantages. The haughtiness of Aoi was not
only in itself to be feared, but it seemed to have the consequence of
driving Prince Genji to seek distractions right and left, which would
be very unpleasant for the little princess so soon as she was old
enough to realize it. Yet so strong a preference did he show for the
child’s company that Shōnagon did not altogether lose heart.
It being then three months since her grandmother died Murasaki came
out of mourning at the end of the Godless Month. But it was thought
proper since she was to be brought up as an orphan that she should
still avoid patterned stuffs, and she wore a little tunic of plain
red, brown or yellow, in which she nevertheless looked very smart and
gay.
He came to have a look at her before going off to the New Year’s Day
reception at Court. ‘From to-day onwards you are a grown-up lady,’ he
said, and as he stood smiling at her he looked so charming and
friendly that she could not bear him to go, and hoping that he would
stay and play with her a little while longer she got out her toys.
There was a doll’s kitchen only three feet high but fitted out with
all the proper utensils, and a whole collection of little houses which
Genji had made for her. Now she had got them all spread out over the
floor so that it was difficult to move without treading on them.
‘Little Inu broke them yesterday,’ she explained ‘when he was
pretending to drive out the Old Year’s demons, and I am mending them.’
She was evidently in great trouble. ‘What a tiresome child he is,’
said Genji. ‘I will get them mended for you. Come, you must not cry on
New Year’s Day,’ and he went out. Many of the servants had collected
at the end of the corridor to see him starting out for the Court in
all his splendour. Murasaki too went out and watched him. When she
came back she put a grand dress on one of her dolls and did a
performance with it which she called ‘Prince Genji visiting the
Emperor.’ ‘This year,’ said Shōnagon, looking on with disapproval,
‘you must really try not to be such a baby. It is time little girls
stopped playing with dolls when they are ten years old, and now that
you have got a kind gentleman wanting to be your husband you ought to
try and show him that you can behave like a nice little grown-up lady
or he will get tired of waiting.’ She said this because she thought
that it must be painful for Genji to see the child still so intent
upon her games and be thus reminded that she was a mere baby. Her
admonishment had the effect of making Murasaki for the first time
aware that Genji was to be her husband. She knew all about husbands.
Many of the maid-servants had them, but such ugly ones! She was very
glad that hers was so much younger and handsomer. Nevertheless the
mere fact that she thought about the matter at all showed that she was
beginning to grow up a little. Her childish ways and appearance were
by no means so great a misfortune as Shōnagon supposed, for they went
a long way towards allaying the suspicions which the child’s presence
might otherwise have aroused in Genji’s somewhat puzzled household.
When he returned from Court he went straight to the Great Hall. Aoi
was as perfect as ever, and just as unfriendly. This never failed to
wound Genji. ‘If only you had changed with the New Year, had
become a little less cold and forbidding, how happy I should be!’ he
exclaimed. But she had heard that someone was living with him and had
at once made up her mind that she herself had been utterly supplanted
and put aside. Hence she was more sullen than ever; but he pretended
not to notice it and by his gaiety and gentleness at last induced
her to answer when he spoke. Was it her being four years older
than him that made her seem so unapproachable, so exasperatingly
well-regulated? But that was not fair. What fault could he possibly
find in her? She was perfect in every respect and he realized that if
she was sometimes out of humour this was solely the result of his own
irregularities. She was after all the daughter of a Minister, and of
the Minister who above all others enjoyed the greatest influence and
esteem. She was the only child of the Emperor’s sister and had been
brought up with a full sense of her own dignity and importance. The
least slight, the merest hint of disrespect came to her as a complete
surprise. To Genji all these pretensions naturally seemed somewhat
exaggerated and his failure to make allowances for them increased her
hostility.
Aoi’s father was vexed by Genji’s seeming fickleness, but so soon as
he was with him he forgot all his grievances and was always extremely
nice to him. When Genji was leaving next day his father-in-law came to
his room and helped him to dress, bringing in his own hands a belt
which was an heirloom famous far and wide. He pulled straight the back
of Genji’s robe which had become a little crumpled, and indeed short
of bringing him his shoes performed in the friendliest way every
possible small service. ‘This,’ said Genji handing back the belt, ‘is
for Imperial banquets or other great occasions of that kind.’ ‘I have
others much more valuable,’ said the Minister, ‘which I will give you
for the Imperial banquets. This one is not of much account save
that the workmanship of it is rather unusual,’ and despite Genji’s
protests he insisted upon buckling it round him. The performance of
such services was his principal interest in life. What did it matter
if Genji was rather irregular in his visits? To have so agreeable a
young man going in and out of one’s house at all was the greatest
pleasure he could imagine.
Genji did not pay many New Year’s visits. First he went to the
Emperor, then the Heir Apparent and the Ex-Emperor, and after that to
Princess Fujitsubo’s house in the Third Ward. As they saw him enter
the servants of the house noticed how much he had grown and altered in
the last year. ‘Look how he has filled out,’ they said, ‘even since
his last visit!’ Of the Princess herself he was only allowed a distant
glimpse. It gave him many forebodings. Her child had been expected in
the twelfth month and her condition was now causing some anxiety. That
it would at any rate be born some time during the first weeks of the
New Year was confidently assumed by her own people and had been stated
at Court. But the first month went by and still nothing happened. It
began to be rumoured that she was suffering from some kind of
possession or delusion. She herself grew very depressed; she felt
certain that when the event at last happened she would not survive it
and she worried so much about herself that she became seriously ill.
The delay made Genji more certain than ever of his own responsibility
and he arranged secretly for prayers on her behalf to be said in all
the great temples. He had already become firmly convinced that
whatever might happen concerning the child Fujitsubo was herself
utterly doomed when he heard that about the tenth day of the second
month she had successfully given birth to a boy. The news brought
great satisfaction both to the Emperor and the whole court.
The Emperor’s fervent prayers for her life and for that of a child
which she knew was not his, distressed and embarrassed her; whereas,
when the maliciously gloomy prognostications of Kōkiden and the rest
were brought to her notice, she was at once filled with a perverse