The tale of Genji
desire to disappoint their hopes and make them look ridiculous in the
eyes of those to whom they had confided their forebodings. By a great
effort of will she threw off the despair which had been weighing down
upon her and began little by little to recover her usual vigour.
The Emperor was impatient to see Fujitsubo’s child and so too (though
he was forced to conceal his interest in the matter) was Genji
himself. Accordingly he went to her palace when there were not many
people about and sent in a note offering as the Emperor was in such a
state of impatience to see the child and etiquette forbade him to do
so for several weeks, to look at the child himself and report upon its
appearance to the Emperor. She replied that she would rather he saw it
on a day when it was less peevish; but in reality her refusal had
nothing to do with the state of the child’s temper; she could not bear
the idea of his seeing it at all. Already it bore an astonishing
resemblance to him; of that she was convinced. Always there lurked in
her heart the torturing demon of fear. Soon others would see the child
and instantly know with absolute certainty the secret of her swift
transgression. What charity towards such a crime as this would a world
have that gossips if a single hair is awry? Such thoughts continually
tormented her and she again became weary of her life.
From time to time he saw Ōmyōbu, but though he still implored her to
arrange a meeting none of his many arguments availed him. He also
pestered her with so many questions about the child that she exclaimed
at last: ‘Why do you go on plaguing me like this? You will be
seeing him for yourself soon, when he is shown at Court.’ But though
she spoke impatiently she knew quite well what he was suffering and
felt for him deeply. The matter was not one which he could discuss
except with Fujitsubo herself, and it was impossible to see her. Would
he indeed ever again see her alone or communicate with her save
through notes and messengers? And half-weeping with despair he recited
the verse: ‘What guilty intercourse must ours have been in some life
long ago, that now so cruel a barrier should be set between us?’
Ōmyōbu seeing that it cost her mistress a great struggle to do without
him was at pains not to dismiss him too unkindly and answered with the
verse: ‘Should you see the child my lady would be in torment; and
because you have not seen it you are full of lamentations. Truly have
children been called a black darkness that leads the parents’ heart
astray!’ And coming closer she whispered to him ‘Poor souls, it is a
hard fate that has overtaken you both.’ Thus many times and again he
returned to his house desperate. Fujitsubo meanwhile, fearing lest
Genji’s continual visits should attract notice, began to suspect that
Ōmyōbu was secretly encouraging him and no longer felt the same
affection for her. She did not want this to be noticed and tried to
treat her just as usual; but her irritation was bound sometimes to
betray itself and Ōmyōbu, feeling that her mistress was estranged from
her and at a loss to find any reason for it, was very miserable.
It was not till its fourth month that the child was brought to the
Palace. It was large for its age and had already begun to take a great
interest in what went on around it. Its extraordinary resemblance to
Genji was not remarked upon by the Emperor who had an idea that
handsome children were all very much alike at that age. He became
intensely devoted to the child and lavished every kind of care and
attention upon it. For Genji himself he had always had so great a
partiality that, had it not been for popular opposition, he would
certainly have installed him as Heir Apparent. That he had not been
able to do so constantly distressed him. To have produced so
magnificent a son and be obliged to watch him growing up a mere
nobleman had always been galling to him. Now in his old age a son had
been born to him who promised to be equally handsome and had not the
tiresome disadvantage of a plebeian mother, and upon this flawless
pearl he expended his whole affection. The mother saw little chance of
this rapture continuing and was all this while in a state of agonized
apprehension.
One day, when as he had been wont to do before, Genji was making music
for her at the Emperor’s command, His Majesty took the child in his
arms saying to Genji: ‘I have had many children, but you were the only
other one that I ever behaved about in this fashion. It may be my
fancy, but it seems to me this child is exactly like what you were at
the same age. However, I suppose all babies are very much alike while
they are as small as this,’ and he looked at the fine child with
admiration. A succession of violent emotions—terror, shame, pride and
love—passed through Genji’s breast while these words were being
spoken, and were reflected in his rapidly changing colour. He was
almost in tears. The child looked so exquisitely beautiful as it lay
crowing to itself and smiling that, hideous as the situation was,
Genji could not help feeling glad it was thought to be like him.
Fujitsubo meanwhile was in a state of embarrassment and agitation so
painful that a cold sweat broke out upon her while she sat by. For
Genji this jarring of opposite emotions was too much to be borne and
he went home. Here he lay tossing on his bed and, unable to
distract himself, he determined after a while to go to the Great Hall.
As he passed by the flower-beds in front of his house he noticed that
a faint tinge of green was already filming the bushes and under them
the _tokonatsu_[9] were already in bloom. He plucked one and sent it
to Ōmyōbu with a long letter and an acrostic poem in which he said
that he was touched by the likeness of this flower to the child, but
also hinted that he was perturbed by the child’s likeness to himself.
‘In this flower,’ he continued despondently, ‘I had hoped to see your
beauty enshrined. But now I know that being mine yet not mine it can
bring me no comfort to look upon it.’ After waiting a little while
till a favourable moment should arise Ōmyōbu showed her mistress the
letter, saying with a sigh ‘I fear that your answer will be but dust
to the petals of this thirsting flower.’ But Fujitsubo, in whose heart
also the new spring was awakening a host of tender thoughts, wrote in
answer the poem: ‘Though it alone be the cause that these poor sleeves
are wet with dew, yet goes my heart still with it, this child-flower
of Yamato Land.’ This was all and it was roughly scribbled in a faint
hand, but it was a comfort to Ōmyōbu to have even such a message as
this to bring back. Genji knew quite well that it could lead to
nothing. How many times had she sent him such messages before! Yet as
he lay dejectedly gazing at the note, the mere sight of her
handwriting soon stirred in him a frenzy of unreasoning excitement and
delight. For a while he lay restlessly tossing on his bed. At last
unable to remain any longer inactive he sprang up and went, as he had
so often done before, to the western wing to seek distraction from the
agitated thoughts which pursued him. He came towards the women’s
apartments with his hair loose upon his shoulders, wearing a queer
dressing-gown and, in order to amuse Murasaki, playing a tune on
his flute as he walked. He peeped in at the door. She looked as she
lay there for all the world like the fresh dewy flower that he had so
recently plucked. She was growing a little bit spoilt and having heard
some while ago that he had returned from Court she was rather cross
with him for not coming to see her at once. She did not run to meet
him as she usually did, but lay with her head turned away. He called
to her from the far side of the room to get up and come to him, but
she did not stir. Suddenly he heard that she was murmuring to herself
the lines ‘Like a sea-flower that the waters have covered when a great
tide mounts the shore.’ They were from an old poem[10] that he had
taught her, in which a lady complains that she is neglected by her
lover. She looked bewitching as she lay with her face half-sullenly,
half-coquettishly buried in her sleeve. ‘How naughty,’ he cried.
‘Really you are becoming too witty. But if you saw me more often
perhaps you would grow tired of me.’ Then he sent for his zithern and
asked her to play to him. But it was a big Chinese instrument[11] with
thirteen strings; the five slender strings in the middle embarrassed
her and she could not get the full sound out of them. Taking it from
her he shifted the bridge, and tuning it to a lower pitch played a few
chords upon it and bade her try again. Her sullen mood was over. She
began to play very prettily; sometimes, when there was a gap too long
for one small hand to stretch, helping herself out so adroitly with
the other hand that Genji was completely captivated and taking up his
flute taught her a number of new tunes. She was very quick and grasped
the most complicated rhythms at a single hearing. She had indeed in
music as in all else just those talents with which it most delighted
him that she should be endowed. When he played the Hosoroguseri (which
in spite of its absurd name is an excellent tune) she accompanied
him though with a childish touch, yet in perfect time.
The great lamp was brought in and they began looking at pictures
together. But Genji was going out that night. Already his attendants
were assembled in the courtyard outside. One of them was saying that a
storm was coming on. He ought not to wait any longer. Again Murasaki
was unhappy. She was not looking at the pictures, but sat with her
head on her hands staring despondently at the floor. Stroking the
lovely hair that had fallen forward across her lap Genji asked her if
she missed him when he was away. She nodded. ‘I am just the same,’ he
said. ‘If I miss seeing you for a single day I am terribly unhappy.
But you are only a little girl and I know that whatever I do you will
not think harsh thoughts about me; while the lady that I go to see is
very jealous and angry so that it would break her heart if I were to
stay with you too long. But I do not at all like being there and that
is why I just go for a little while like this. When you are grown up
of course I shall never go away at all. I only go now because if I did
not she would be so terribly angry with me that I might very likely
die[12] and then there would be no one to love you and take care of
you at all.’ He had told her all he could, but still she was offended
and would not answer a word. At last he took her on his knee and here
to his great embarrassment she fell asleep. ‘It is too late to go out
now,’ he said after a while, turning to the gentlewomen who were in
attendance. They rose and went to fetch his supper. He roused the
child. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I did not go out after all.’ She was happy
once more and they went to supper together. She liked the queer,
irregular meal, but when it was over she began again to watch him
uneasily. ‘If you are really not going out,’ she said, ‘why do
you not go to sleep at once?’ Leaving her at such a moment to go back
to his room he felt all the reluctance of one who is setting out upon
a long and perilous journey.
It constantly happened that at the last minute he thus decided to stay
with her. It was natural that some report of his new pre-occupation
should leak out into the world and be passed on to the Great Hall.
‘Who can it be?’ said one of Aoi’s ladies. ‘It is really the most
inexplicable business. How can he have suddenly become entirely
wrapped up in someone whom we had never heard the existence of before?
It cannot in any case be a person of much breeding or self-respect. It
is probably some girl employed at the Palace whom he has taken to live