The tale of Genji
whose identity Prince Genji was now seeking to establish into the
depths of despair; for in the fourth month she was to become the Heir
Apparent’s wife. Turmoil filled her brain. Why had not Genji visited
her again? He must surely know whose daughter she was. But how
should he know which daughter? Besides, her sister Kōkiden’s house was
not a place where, save under very strange circumstances, he was
likely to feel at all at his ease. And so she waited in great
impatience and distress; but of Genji there was no news.
About the twentieth day of the third month her father, the Minister of
the Right, held an archery meeting at which most of the young noblemen
and princes were present. It was followed by a wistaria feast. The
cherry blossom was for the most part over, but two trees, which the
Minister seemed somehow to have persuaded to flower later than all the
rest, were still an enchanting sight. He had had his house rebuilt
only a short time ago when celebrating the initiation of his
grand-daughters, the children of Kōkiden. It was now a magnificent
building and not a thing in it but was of the very latest fashion. He
had invited Genji when he had met him at the Palace only a few days
before and was extremely annoyed when he did not appear. Feeling that
the party would be a failure if Genji did not come, he sent his son
Shii no Shōshō to fetch him, with the poem: ‘Were my flowers as those
of other gardens never should I have ventured to summon you.’ Genji
was in attendance upon the Emperor and at once showed him the message.
‘He seems very pleased with himself and his flowers,’ said his Majesty
with a smile; adding ‘as he has sent for you like this, I think you
had better go. After all your half-sisters are being brought up at his
house, and you ought not to treat him quite as a stranger.’ He went to
his apartments and dressed. It was very late indeed when at last he
made his appearance at the party. He was dressed in a cloak of thin
Chinese fabric, white outside but lined with yellow. His robe was of a
deep wine-red colour with a very long train. The dignity and grace
with which he carried this fancifully regal[3] attire in a
company where all were dressed in plain official robes were indeed
remarkable, and in the end his presence perhaps contributed more to
the success of the party than did the fragrance of the Minister’s
boasted flowers. His entry was followed by some very agreeable music.
It was already fairly late when Genji, on the plea that the wine had
given him a head-ache, left his seat and went for a walk. He knew that
his two step-sisters, the daughters of Kōkiden, were in the inner
apartments of the palace. He went to the eastern portico and rested
there. It was on this side of the house that the wistaria grew. The
wooden blinds were raised and a number of ladies were leaning out of
the window to enjoy the blossoms. They had hung bright-coloured robes
and shawls over the window-sill just as is done at the time of the New
Year dancing and other gala days and were behaving with a freedom of
allure which contrasted very oddly with the sober decorum of
Fujitsubo’s household. ‘I am feeling rather overpowered by all the
noise and bustle of the flower-party’ Genji explained. ‘I am very
sorry to disturb my sisters, but I can think of nowhere else to seek
refuge ...’ and advancing towards the main door of the women’s
apartments he pushed back the curtain with his shoulder. ‘Refuge
indeed!’ cried one of the ladies laughing at him. ‘You ought to know
by now that it is only poor relations who come to seek refuge with the
more successful members of their family. What pray have you come to
bother us for?’ ‘Impertinent creatures!’ he thought but nevertheless
there was something in their manner which convinced him they were
persons of some consequence in the house and not, as he at first
supposed, mere waiting-women. A scent of costly perfumes pervaded
the room; silken skirts rustled in the darkness. There could be little
doubt that these were Kōkiden’s sisters and their friends. Deeply
absorbed, as indeed was the whole of this family, in the fashionable
gaieties of the moment, they had flouted decorum and posted themselves
at the window that they might see what little they could of the
banquet which was proceeding outside. Little thinking that his plan
could succeed, yet led on by delightful recollections of his previous
encounter he advanced towards them chanting in a careless undertone
the song:
At Ishikawa, Ishikawa
A man from Koma[4] took my belt away....
But for ‘belt’ he substituted ‘fan’ and by this means he sought to
discover which of the ladies was his friend. ‘Why, you have got it
wrong! I never heard of _that_ Korean’ one of them cried. Certainly it
was not she. But there was another who though she remained silent
seemed to him to be sighing softly to herself. He stole towards the
curtain-of-state behind which she was sitting and taking her hand in
his at a venture he whispered the poem: ‘If on this day of shooting my
arrow went astray, ’twas that in dim morning twilight only the mark
had glimmered in my view.’ And she, unable any longer to hide that she
knew him, answered with the verse: ‘Had it been with the arrows of the
heart that you had shot, though from the moon’s slim bow no brightness
came would you have missed your mark?’ Yes, it was her voice. He was
delighted, and yet....
[1] A famous poem by Ōye no Chisato (ninth century): ‘What so lovely
as a night when the moon though dimly clouded is never wholly lost to
sight.’
[2] Kōkiden’s brothers.
[3] He had no right to such a costume; for though a son of the
Emperor, he had been affiliated to the Minamoto clan and no longer
counted as a member of the Imperial family.
[4] Korea.
CHAPTER IX
AOI
The accession of the new Emperor was in many ways unfavourable to
Genji’s position. His recent promotion[1] too brought with it heavy
responsibilities which sadly interrupted the course of his hidden
friendships, so that complaints of desertion or neglect were soon
heaped upon him from more than one quarter; while, as though Fate
wished to turn the tables upon him, the one being on earth for whose
love he longed in vain had now utterly abandoned him. Now that the
Emperor was free to live as he chose she was more constantly than ever
at his side, nor was her peace any longer disturbed by the presence of
a rival, for Kōkiden resenting the old Emperor’s neglect now seldom
left her son’s Palace. A constant succession of banquets and
entertainments, the magnificence of which became the talk of the whole
country, helped to enliven the ex-Emperor’s retirement and he was on
the whole very well content with his new condition. His only regret
concerned the Heir Apparent[2] whose position, unsupported by any
powerful influence outside the Palace, he regarded as extremely
insecure. He constantly discussed the matter with Genji, begging him
to enlist the support of the Minamoto clan. Such conversations tended
to be somewhat embarrassing, but they gave Genji pleasure in so
far as they enabled him to take measures for the boy’s welfare.
An unexpected event now occurred. Lady Rokujō’s daughter by her late
husband Prince Zembō was chosen to be the new Vestal Virgin at Ise.[3]
Her mother, who at the time when the appointment was first announced
happened to be particularly aggrieved at Genji’s treatment of her, at
once determined to make her daughter’s extreme youth a pretext for
leaving the Capital and settling permanently at Ise. Being at the
moment, as I have said, very much out of humour, she discussed the
matter openly, making no secret of her real reasons for wishing to
leave the City. The story soon reached the ex-Emperor’s ears, and
sending for Genji he said to him ‘The late Prince my brother was, as
you probably know, regarded with the utmost affection and esteem and I
am profoundly grieved to hear that your reckless and inconsiderate
conduct has cast a slur upon his family. For his daughter indeed I
feel as much responsible as if she were of my own children. I must
trouble you in future to safeguard to the utmost of your power the
reputation of these unfortunate ladies. If you do not learn to keep
better control over your frivolous inclinations you will soon find
yourself becoming extremely unpopular.’ Why should his father be so
much upset over the matter? And Genji, smarting under the rebuke, was
about to defend himself when it occurred to him that the warning was
not at all ill-merited and he maintained a respectful silence.
‘Affairs of this kind,’ the ex-Emperor continued, ‘must be managed so
that the woman, no matter who she is, need not feel that she has been
brought into a humiliating position or treated in a cynical and
off-hand way. Forget this rule, and she will soon make you feel the
unpleasant consequences of her resentment.’ ‘Wicked as he thinks
me already,’ said Genji to himself while this lecture was going on,
‘there is a much worse enormity of which he as yet knows nothing.’ And
stupefied with horror at the thought of what would ensue should his
father ever discover this hideous secret, he bowed and left the room.
What the ex-Emperor had said about ruining other people’s reputations
cut him to the quick. He realized that Rokujō’s rank and widowed
position entitled her to the utmost consideration. But after all it
was not he who had made public property of the affair; on the contrary
he had done everything in his power to prevent its becoming known.
There had always been a certain condescension in her treatment of him,
arising perhaps from the inequality of their ages,[4] and his
estrangement from her was solely due to the coldness with which she
had for a long time received him. That their private affairs were now
known not only to the ex-Emperor but also presumably to the whole
Court showed a lack of reticence which seemed to him deplorable.
Among others who heard of the business was Princess Asagao.[5]
Determined that she at least would not submit herself to such
treatment she ceased to answer his letters even with the short and
guarded replies that she had been in the habit of sending to him.
Nevertheless he found it hard to believe that so gentle-mannered a
creature was thinking unkindly of him and continued to regard her with
devoted admiration.
Princess Aoi when the story reached her ears was of course distressed
by this new instance of his fickleness; but she felt that it was
useless, now that his infidelity was open and unabashed, to protest
against one particular injury, and to his surprise she seemed to
take the matter rather lightly. She was suffering much inconvenience
from her condition and her spirits were very low. Her parents were
delighted and at the same time surprised to hear of what was to come.
But their pleasure and that of all her friends was marred by grave
forebodings, and it was arranged that prayers for her health and
special services of intercession should be recited in all the temples.
At such a time it was impossible for Genji to leave her and there were
many who though his feelings had not in reality cooled towards them
felt that they were being neglected.
The Vestal Virgin of Kamo still remained to be selected. The choice
fell upon Kōkiden’s daughter, San no Miya. She was a great favourite
both with her brother the new Emperor and with the Empress Mother. Her
retirement from the world was a bitter blow to them; but there was no
help for it since she alone of all the royal princesses fulfilled the
prescribed conditions.
The actual ritual of investiture could not be altered, but the Emperor
saw to it that the proceedings should be attended with the utmost Pomp