The tale of Genji
leaving Genji amused at the practised air with which he invariably
handled matters of this kind. He said nothing to anyone, but returning
to his private house made the cakes there with his own hands.
Genji was beginning to despair of ever restoring her confidence and
good humour. But even now, when she seemed as shy of him as on
the night when he first stole her from her home, her beauty fascinated
him and he knew that his love for her in past days had been but a
particle compared with what he had felt since yesterday.
How strange a thing is the heart of man! For now it would have seemed
to him a calamity if even for a single night he had been taken from
Murasaki’s side; and only a little while ago....
Koremitsu brought the cakes which Genji had ordered very late on the
following night. He was careful not to entrust them to Shōnagon, for
he thought that such a commission might embarrass a grown woman.
Instead, he sent for her daughter Miss Ben and putting all the cakes
into one large perfume-box he bade her take them secretly to her
mistress. ‘Be sure to put them close by her pillow, for they are lucky
cakes and must not be left about the house. Promise me not to do
anything silly with them.’ Miss Ben thought all this very odd, but
tossing her head she answered ‘When, pray, did you ever know me to be
silly,’ and she walked off with the box. Being quite a young girl and
completely innocent as regards matters of this kind she marched
straight up to her mistress’s bed and, remembering Koremitsu’s
instructions, pushed the box through the curtains and lodged it safely
by the pillow. It seemed to her that there was someone else there as
well as Murasaki. ‘No doubt,’ thought she ‘Prince Genji has come as
usual to hear her repeat her lessons.’
As yet no one in the household save Koremitsu had any knowledge of the
betrothal. But when next day the box was found by the bed and brought
into the servant’s quarters some of those who were in closest touch
with their master’s affairs at once guessed the secret. Where did
these little dishes come from, each set on its own little carved
stand? and who had been at such pains to make these dainty and
ingenious cakes? Shōnagon, though she was shocked at this casual way
of slipping into matrimony, was overjoyed to learn that Genji’s
strange patronage of her young mistress had at last culminated in a
definite act of betrothal, and her eyes brimmed with tears of
thankfulness and delight. All the same, she thought he might at least
have taken the trouble to inform her old nurse, and there was a good
deal of grumbling in the household generally at an outside retainer
such as Koremitsu having got wind of the matter first.
During the days that followed he grudged even the short hours of
attendance which he was obliged to put in at the Palace and in his
father’s rooms, discovering (much to his own surprise) that save in
her presence he could no longer enjoy a moment’s peace. The friends
whom he had been wont to visit showed themselves both surprised and
offended by this unexplained neglect, but though he had no wish to
stand ill with them he now found that even a remote prospect of having
to absent himself from his palace for a single night was enough to
throw him quite out of gear; and all the time he was away his spirits
were at the very lowest ebb and he looked for all the world as though
he were sickening from some strange illness. To all invitations or
greetings he invariably replied that he was at present in no fit mood
for company (which was naturally taken as an allusion to his recent
loss) or that he must now be gone, for someone with whom he had
business was already awaiting him.
The Minister of the Right was aware that his youngest daughter[31] was
still pining for Prince Genji and he said one day to Princess Kōkiden:
‘While his wife was alive we were bound of course to discourage her
friendship with him in every way we could. But the position is now
quite changed and I feel that as things are there would be much
to be said for such a match.’ But Kōkiden had always hated Genji and
having herself arranged that her sister should enter the Palace,[32]
she saw no reason why this plan should suddenly be abandoned. Indeed
from this moment onwards she became obstinately determined that the
girl should be given to the Emperor and to no one else. Genji indeed
still retained a certain partiality towards her; but though it grieved
him to hear that he had made her unhappy he had not at present any
spare affection to offer her. Life, he had come to the conclusion, was
not long enough for diversions and experiments; henceforward he would
concentrate. He had moreover received a terrible warning of the
dangers which might accrue from such jealousies and resentments as his
former way of life had involved. He thought with great tenderness and
concern of Lady Rokujō’s distress; but it was clear to him that he
must beware of ever again allowing her to regard him as her true haven
of refuge. If however she would renew their friendship in quite new
terms, permitting him to enjoy her company and conversation at such
times as he could conveniently arrange to do so, he saw no reason why
they should not sometimes meet.
Society at large knew that someone was living with him, but her
identity was quite unknown. This was of no consequence; but Genji felt
that sooner or later he ought to let her father Prince Hyōbukyō know
what had become of her and decided that before he did so it would be
best to celebrate her Initiation. This was done privately, but he was
at pains that every detail of the ceremony should be performed with
due splendour and solemnity, and though the outside world was not
invited it was as magnificent an affair as it well could be. But ever
since their betrothal Murasaki had shown a certain shyness and
diffidence in his presence. She could not help feeling sorry that
after all the years during which they had got on so well together and
been such close friends he should suddenly take this strange idea into
his head, and whenever her eyes met his she hastily averted them. He
tried to make a joke of the matter, but to her it was very serious
indeed and weighed heavily upon her mind. Her changed attitude towards
him was indeed somewhat comic; but it was also very distressing, and
one day he said: ‘Sometimes it seems as though you had forgotten all
the long years of our friendship and I had suddenly become as new to
you as at the start’; and while thus he scolded her the year drew to a
close. On New Year’s Day he paid the usual visits of ceremony to his
father, to the Emperor and to the Heir Apparent. Next he visited the
Great Hall. The old Minister made no reference to the new year, but at
once began to speak of the past. In the midst of his loneliness and
sorrow he was so deeply moved even by this hasty and long deferred
visit that though he strove hard to keep his composure it was more
than he could compass to do. Looking fondly at his son-in-law he
thought that the passage of each fresh year did but add new beauty to
this fair face. They went together into the inner rooms, where his
entry surprised and delighted beyond measure the disconsolate ladies
who had remained behind. Next they visited the little prince who was
growing into a fine child; his merry face was indeed a pleasure to
see. His resemblance to the Heir Apparent was certainly very striking
and Genji wondered whether it had been noticed.
Aoi’s things were still as she had left them. His New Year clothes had
as in former years been hung out for him on the clothes-frame. Aoi’s
clothes-frame which stood empty beside it wore a strangely desolate
air. A letter from the Princess her mother was now brought to him:
‘To-day,’ she said, ‘our bereavement was more than ever present
to my mind, and though touched at the news of your visit, I fear that
to see you would but awaken unhappy recollections.’ ‘You will
remember,’ she continued, ‘that it was my custom to present you with a
suit of clothes on each New Year’s Day. But in these last months my
sight has been so dimmed with tears that I fear you will think I have
matched the colours very ill. Nevertheless I beg that though it be for
to-day only you will suffer yourself to be disfigured by this
unfashionable garb ...’ and a servant held out before him a second[33]
suit, which was evidently the one he was expected to wear to-day. The
under-stuff was of a most unusual pattern and mixture of colours and
did not at all please him; but he could not allow her to feel that she
had laboured in vain, and at once put the suit on. It was indeed
fortunate that he had come to the Great Hall that day, for he could
see that she had counted on it. In his reply he said: ‘Though I came
with the hope that you would be the first friend I should greet at
this new springtide, yet now that I am here too many bitter memories
assail me and I think it wiser that we should not meet.’ To this he
added an acrostic poem in which he said that with the mourning dress
which he had just discarded so many years of friendship were cast
aside that were he to come to her[34] he could but weep. To this she
sent in answer an acrostic poem in which she said that in this new
season when all things else on earth put on altered hue, one thing
alone remained as in the months gone by—her longing for the child who
like the passing year had vanished from their sight.
But though hers may have been the greater grief we must not think that
there was not at that moment very deep emotion on both sides.
[1] We learn in Chapter XXXIV that he was made Commander of the
Bodyguard at the age of twenty-one. He is now twenty-two.
[2] Genji’s son by Fujitsubo (supposed by the world to be the
Emperor’s child) had been made Heir Apparent.
[3] An Emperor upon his succession was obliged to send one unmarried
daughter or grand-daughter to the Shintō Temple at Ise, another to the
Shintō Temple at Kamo. See Appendix II.
[4] She was seven years older than Genji.
[5] a Daughter of Prince Momozono. See above, p. 68.
[6] We learn later that he was a son of Iyo no Kami.
[7] Father of Princess Asagao; brother of the ex-Emperor and therefore
Genji’s paternal uncle.
[8] The clash of coaches took place at the Purification. The actual
_matsuri_ (Festival) takes place some days later.
[9] I.e. astrologically.
[10] _Kokinshū_ 509.
[11] The clash of the chariots at the Festival of Purification.
Probably a quotation.
[12] The jealous person is unconscious of the fatal effects which his
jealousy is producing.
[13] Members of the Imperial family were not allowed to leave the
Capital without the consent of the Emperor.
[14] A temporary building erected afresh for each new Virgin a few
miles outside Kyoto. She spent several years there before proceeding
to Ise.
[15] The Chinese version of the Sanskrit _Saddharma Pundarika Sutra_;
see _Sacred Books of the East_, Vol. 21.
[16] The lying-in jacket.
[17] These presents (_ubuyashinai_) were given on the third, fifth and
ninth nights.
[18] The ceremony of investing the newly elected officials.
[19] Had she corresponded with someone who was in mourning, she would
herself have become unclean and been disqualified from attending upon
her daughter the Vestal Virgin.
[20] Used in writing to people who were in mourning.
[21] See p. 182.
[22] Winter clothes are begun on the first day of the tenth month.
[23] From a poem to a dead lady, by Liu Yü-hsi (A.D. 772–842).
_I saw you first standing at the window of Yü Liang’s tower;_
_Your waist was slender as the willow-trees that grow at
Wu-ch‘ang._
_My finding you and losing you were both like a dream;_
_Oh tell me if your soul dwells in the rain, or whether in the