The tale of Genji
Literature_, p. 169.
[7] Name of the Emperor Uda after his retirement in A.D. 897.
[8] Poetess, 9th century.
[9] Famous poet, 883–946 A.D.
[10] 1 A.M.
[11] A poem by Lady Ise written on a picture illustrating Po Chü-i’s
_Everlasting Wrong_.
[12] Reigned 889–897. The law in question was made in 894.
[13] 3 P.M.
[14] These symbolized the unmanly life of childhood which Genji had
now put behind him.
[15] The _butō_, a form of kowtow so elaborate as to be practically a
dance.
[16] Fujitsubo.
[17] This touch is reminiscent of early chronicles such as the
_Nihongi_, which delight in alternative explanations. In the
subsequent chapters such archaisms entirely disappear.
CHAPTER II
THE BROOM-TREE
Genji the Shining One.... He knew that the bearer of such a name could
not escape much scrutiny and jealous censure and that his lightest
dallyings would be proclaimed to posterity. Fearing then lest he
should appear to after ages as a mere good-for-nothing and trifler,
and knowing that (so accursed is the blabbing of gossips’ tongues) his
most secret acts might come to light, he was obliged always to act
with great prudence and to preserve at least the outward appearance of
respectability. Thus nothing really romantic ever happened to him and
Katano no Shōshō[1] would have scoffed at his story.
While he was still a Captain of the Guard and was spending most of his
time at the Palace, his infrequent visits to the Great Hall[2] were
taken as a sign that some secret passion had made its imprint on his
heart. But in reality the frivolous, commonplace, straight-ahead
amours of his companions did not in the least interest him, and it was
a curious trait in his character that when on rare occasions, despite
all resistance, love did gain a hold upon him, it was always in the
most improbable and hopeless entanglement that he became involved.
It was the season of the long rains. For many days there had not been
a fine moment and the Court was keeping a strict fast. The people at
the Great Hall were becoming very impatient of Genji’s long residence
at the Palace, but the young lords, who were Court pages, liked
waiting upon Genji better than upon anyone else, always managing to
put out his clothes and decorations in some marvellous new way. Among
these brothers his greatest friend was the Equerry, Tō no Chūjō, with
whom above all other companions of his playtime he found himself
familiar and at ease. This lord too found the house which his
father-in-law, the Minister of the Right, had been at pains to build
for him, somewhat oppressive, while at his father’s house he, like
Genji, found the splendours somewhat dazzling, so that he ended by
becoming Genji’s constant companion at Court. They shared both studies
and play and were inseparable companions on every sort of occasion, so
that soon all formalities were dispensed with between them and the
inmost secrets of their hearts freely exchanged.
It was on a night when the rain never ceased its dismal downpour.
There were not many people about in the palace and Genji’s rooms
seemed even quieter than usual. He was sitting by the lamp, looking at
various books and papers. Suddenly he began pulling some letters out
of the drawers of a desk which stood near by. This aroused Tō no
Chūjō’s curiosity. ‘Some of them I can show to you’ said Genji, ‘but
there are others which I had rather....’ ‘It is just those which I
want to see. Ordinary, commonplace letters are very much alike and I
do not suppose that yours differ much from mine. What I want to see
are passionate letters written in moments of resentment, letters
hinting consent, letters written at dusk....’
He begged so eagerly that Genji let him examine the drawers. It was
not indeed likely that he had put any very important or secret
documents in the ordinary desk; he would have hidden them away much
further from sight. So he felt sure that the letters in these drawers
would be nothing to worry about. After turning over a few of them,
‘What an astonishing variety!’ Tō no Chūjō exclaimed and began
guessing at the writers’ names, and made one or two good hits. More
often he was wrong and Genji, amused by his puzzled air, said very
little but generally managed to lead him astray. At last he took the
letters back, saying ‘But you too must have a large collection. Show
me some of yours, and my desk will open to you with better will.’ ‘I
have none that you would care to see,’ said Tō no Chūjō, and he
continued: ‘I have at last discovered that there exists no woman of
whom one can say “Here is perfection. This is indeed she.” There are
many who have the superficial art of writing a good running hand, or
if occasion requires of making a quick repartee. But there are few who
will stand the ordeal of any further test. Usually their minds are
entirely occupied by admiration for their own accomplishments, and
their abuse of all rivals creates a most unpleasant impression. Some
again are adored by over-fond parents. These have been since childhood
guarded behind lattice windows[3] and no knowledge of them is allowed
to reach the outer-world, save that of their excellence in some
accomplishment or art; and this may indeed sometimes arouse our
interest. She is pretty and graceful and has not yet mixed at all with
the world. Such a girl by closely copying some model and applying
herself with great industry will often succeed in really mastering one
of the minor and ephemeral arts. Her friends are careful to say
nothing of her defects and to exaggerate her accomplishments, and
while we cannot altogether trust their praise we cannot believe that
their judgment is entirely astray. But when we take steps to test
their statements we are invariably disappointed.’
He paused, seeming to be slightly ashamed of the cynical tone which he
had adopted, and added ‘I know my experience is not large, but that is
the conclusion I have come to so far.’ Then Genji, smiling: ‘And are
there any who lack even one accomplishment?’ ‘No doubt, but in such a
case it is unlikely that anyone would be successfully decoyed. The
number of those who have nothing to recommend them and of those in
whom nothing but good can be found is probably equal. I divide women
into three classes. Those of high rank and birth are made such a fuss
of and their weak points are so completely concealed that we are
certain to be told that they are paragons. About those of the middle
class everyone is allowed to express his own opinion, and we shall
have much conflicting evidence to sift. As for the lower classes, they
do not concern us.’
The completeness with which Tō no Chūjō disposed of the question
amused Genji, who said ‘It will not always be so easy to know into
which of the three classes a woman ought to be put. For sometimes
people of high rank sink to the most abject positions; while others of
common birth rise to be high officers, wear self-important faces,
redecorate the inside of their houses and think themselves as good as
anyone. How are we to deal with such cases?’
At this moment they were joined by Hidari no Uma no Kami and Tō
Shikibu no Jō, who said they had also come to the Palace to keep the
fast. As both of them were great lovers and good talkers, Tō no Chūjō
handed over to them the decision of Genji’s question, and in the
discussion which followed many unflattering things were said. Uma
no Kami spoke first. ‘However high a lady may rise, if she does not
come of an adequate stock, the world will think very differently of
her from what it would of one born to such honours; but if through
adverse fortune a lady of highest rank finds herself in friendless
misery, the noble breeding of her mind is soon forgotten and she
becomes an object of contempt. I think then that taking all things
into account, we must put such ladies too into the “middle class.” But
when we come to classify the daughters of Zuryō,[4] who are sent to
labour at the affairs of distant provinces,—they have such ups and
downs that we may reasonably put them too into the middle class.
‘Then there are Ministers of the third and fourth classes without
Cabinet rank. These are generally thought less of even than the
humdrum, ordinary officials. They are usually of quite good birth, but
have much less responsibility than Ministers of State and consequently
much greater peace of mind. Girls born into such households are
brought up in complete security from want or deprivation of any kind,
and indeed often amid surroundings of the utmost luxury and splendour.
Many of them grow up into women whom it would be folly to despise;
some have been admitted at Court, where they have enjoyed a quite
unexpected success. And of this I could cite many, many instances.’
‘Their success has generally been due to their having a lot of money,’
said Genji smiling. ‘You should have known better than to say that,’
said Tō no Chūjō, reproving him, and Uma no Kami went on: ‘There are
some whose lineage and reputation are so high that it never occurs to
one that their education could possibly be at fault; yet when we meet
them, we find ourselves exclaiming in despair “How can they have
contrived to grow up like this?”
‘No doubt the perfect woman in whom none of those essentials is
lacking must somewhere exist and it would not startle me to find her.
But she would certainly be beyond the reach of a humble person like
myself, and for that reason I should like to put her in a category of
her own and not to count her in our present classification.
‘But suppose that behind some gateway overgrown with vine-weed, in a
place where no one knows there is a house at all, there should be
locked away some creature of unimagined beauty—with what excitement
should we discover her! The complete surprise of it, the upsetting of
all our wise theories and classifications, would be likely, I think,
to lay a strange and sudden enchantment upon us. I imagine her father
rather large and gruff; her brother, a surly, ill-looking fellow.
Locked away in an utterly blank and uninteresting bed-room she will be
subject to odd flights of fancy, so that in her hands the arts that
others learn as trivial accomplishments will seem strangely full of
meaning and importance; or perhaps in some particular art she will
thrill us by her delightful and unexpected mastery. Such a one may
perhaps be beneath the attention of those of you who are of flawless
lineage. But for my part I find it hard to banish her ...’ and here he
looked at Shikibu no Jō, who wondered whether the description had been
meant to apply to his own sisters, but said nothing. ‘If it is
difficult to choose even out of the top class ...’ thought Genji, and
began to doze.
He was dressed in a suit of soft white silk, with a rough cloak
carelessly slung over his shoulders, with belt and fastenings untied.
In the light of the lamp against which he was leaning he looked so
lovely that one might have wished he were a girl; and they thought
that even Uma no Kami’s ‘perfect woman,’ whom he had placed in a
category of her own, would not be worthy of such a prince as Genji.
The conversation went on. Many persons and things were discussed. Uma
no Kami contended that perfection is equally difficult to find in
other spheres. The sovereign is hard put to it to choose his
ministers. But he at least has an easier task than the husband, for he
does not entrust the affairs of his kingdom to one, two or three
persons alone, but sets up a whole system of superiors and subordinates.
But when the mistress of a house is to be selected, a single
individual must be found who will combine in her person many diverse
qualities. It will not do to be too exacting. Let us be sure that the