The Flood Gauge

SINCE the night of his so vivid and disquieting dream, the late Emperor had been constantly in Genji’s thoughts. He longed to succour his father’s soul, weighed down as it was (if the words of that nightly apparition were indeed to be trusted) by a load of earthly sin. Now that he was back in the City he was anxious to lose no time, and the great ceremony of the Eight Readings, for which he had begun to make arrangements soon after his return, was duly carried out in the Godless Month.²⁶¹ The manner in which this function was attended showed that Genji had fully regained his former ascendancy.

Ever since his vivid and troubling dream, Genji had been constantly thinking of the late Emperor. He longed to help his father’s soul, which was burdened by earthly sins, if the words of the apparition in his dream could be trusted. Now that he was back in the City, he was eager to lose no time. Soon after his return, he began arranging the great ceremony of the Eight Readings. It was duly held in the Godless Month.²⁶¹ The attendance at the ceremony showed that Genji had fully regained his former influence.

Ill though she was, Kōkiden still had sufficient interest in what went on about her to be furious at this recrudescence of a force which she confidently supposed herself to have annihilated. But the Emperor, much as he stood in awe of her, was now obsessed by the idea that if he again disobeyed the late Emperor’s injunction some terrible calamity would overtake him. The feeling that he had successfully insisted upon Genji’s recall quite braced him, and the pain in his eyes, which had till recently been very troublesome, now began to show signs of improvement. But he did not somehow feel that he was likely to be very much longer on the Throne. There were many matters which he desired to see satisfactorily settled while he was still capable of attending to them, and he constantly summoned Genji to the Palace to consult him upon the most confidential affairs of policy and state. In doing so he was but following his real inclination; this was very well understood in the country and the public at large was delighted to see the Emperor once more asserting himself.

Though she was ill, Kōkiden still cared enough about events around her to be furious. A force she had been sure she had destroyed was rising again. But the Emperor, though he greatly feared her, was now obsessed with a thought. He believed that if he again disobeyed the late Emperor’s command, some terrible disaster would befall him. He felt strengthened by having successfully insisted on Genji’s recall. The pain in his eyes, which had troubled him greatly until recently, now began to improve. But somehow he did not feel likely to remain on the throne much longer. He wanted to see many matters settled satisfactorily while he was still able to attend to them. He often summoned Genji to the Palace to consult him on the most confidential matters of policy and state. In doing so, he was following his own wishes. This was well understood throughout the country, and the public was delighted to see the Emperor asserting himself again.

As the time drew near when he intended to renounce the Throne, the Emperor became increasingly concerned with regard to the effect that this step would have upon Lady Oborozuki’s career. ‘My poor grand-father, the late Chief Minister, is gone,’ he said to her one day; ‘and it does not look as though my mother²⁶² would be with us much longer. I myself have no intention of remaining on the Throne. I am afraid you will be left in a most tiresome position. I know that there is some one whom you have always liked better than me. But I do not think anyone could possibly be more attached to you than I am, and it distresses me continually to think what will become of you when I am gone. Even if your former friend is willing to look after you again, however kind he is to you, I am quite certain he will take far less trouble about you than I do.’ The colour rushed to her cheeks and her eyes filled with tears. He saw that he had wounded her and, moved to sudden pity by the spectacle of her humiliation and remorse, he forgot all her misdeeds and continued in a gentler tone: ‘What a pity that we have never had any children! I am sure you and he will have some later on, and it will be a pity that they are his and not mine, because they will only be commoners, you know.’ He went on for some while discussing what would happen after he was dead, her distress and remorse increasing at every word. Her charm was such that, despite his jealousy, the Emperor had grown steadily more attached to her in the years that had passed. But though his partiality had raised her to a position of undisputed pre-eminence at Court, she had not at any time been happy. At first she brooded incessantly upon Genji’s comparative indifference towards her, but later, as her sense of responsibility increased, she marvelled more and more at the childish recklessness which had led her into that miserable adventure and, besides destroying her own good name, had reacted so disastrously upon her seducer.

As the time approached for the Emperor to give up the Throne, he grew increasingly concerned about Lady Oborozuki’s future. ‘My poor grandfather, the late Chief Minister, is gone,’ he said to her one day. ‘And it does not look as though my mother²⁶² will be with us much longer. I have no intention of staying on the Throne myself. I am afraid you will be left in a very difficult position. I know there is someone you have always liked better than me. But I do not think anyone could be more devoted to you than I am. It constantly distresses me to think what will become of you when I am gone. Even if your former friend is willing to care for you again, I am sure he will take far less trouble over you than I do, however kind he may be.’ Her cheeks flushed and her eyes filled with tears. He saw that he had hurt her. Her humiliation and remorse moved him to sudden pity, and he forgot all her misdeeds. He continued more gently: ‘What a pity we have never had any children! I am sure you and he will have some later. And it will be a pity that they are his and not mine, because they will only be commoners, you know.’ He went on for some time, discussing what would happen after his death. Her distress and remorse grew with every word. Despite his jealousy, the Emperor had grown steadily more attached to her over the years, such was her charm. His favor had given her an unrivaled position at Court, but she had never been happy. At first she constantly brooded over Genji’s relative indifference to her. Later, as her sense of responsibility grew, she wondered more and more at her own childish recklessness. It had led her into that miserable affair. It had also ruined her reputation and had disastrous consequences for the man who seduced her.

In the second month of the new year the Initiation Ceremony of the Crown Prince was performed. He was only eleven years old but was big for his age, and it was already apparent that he was developing an extraordinary resemblance to his guardian, Prince Genji. In this the world saw nothing to complain of; their future monarch could not, they felt, have chosen a better model. But the Lady Abbess, his mother, watched the growing resemblance with very different feelings and could not but imagine that it was arousing the blackest suspicions.

In the second month of the new year, the Crown Prince’s Initiation Ceremony took place. He was only eleven, but he was big for his age. He was already beginning to look remarkably like his guardian, Prince Genji. People saw nothing wrong with the resemblance. They felt their future monarch could not have chosen a better model. But his mother, the Lady Abbess, felt very differently as she watched the resemblance grow. She could not help imagining that it was stirring the darkest suspicions.

The Emperor himself was greatly relieved to see that the boy was shaping so well, and he now began to prepare Lady Kōkiden for the news that he intended to vacate the Throne. His actual resignation came suddenly, indeed before the end of the second month, and Kōkiden was very much upset. To put matters right he assured her that his abdication had but one motive: namely, that he might be free to devote his poor abilities to looking after her. At this she was naturally somewhat mollified.

The Emperor himself was greatly relieved to see how well the boy was developing. He began to prepare Lady Kōkiden for the news that he intended to give up the throne. He abdicated suddenly, before the end of the second month, and Kōkiden was very upset. To reassure her, he said he had only one reason for abdicating. He wanted to be free to devote his modest abilities to looking after her. This naturally made her somewhat less upset.

Fujitsubo’s son accordingly became Emperor under the title Ryōzen, and Lady Jōkyōden’s little son became Crown Prince. The new regime bore somewhat the character of a Restoration and was marked by a return to all the gaieties and festivities of the old Emperor’s reign. From being President of Council, Genji became Palace Counsellor; it was intended that he should fulfil the functions of Chief Minister, and it was only because the two ministerial posts were already filled that this less imposing title was given him. Genji however professed himself quite unable to cope with the duties of so arduous a function, and proposed that Aoi’s father, the Minister of the Left, should be asked to assume control. But the old man pointed out that illness had long ago obliged him to forgo the executive part of his duties. Since then he had not grown any younger, and feared that his head was no longer clear enough to deal with complicated affairs. Genji replied that in the Other Land,²⁶³ at times of change and uncertainty, even those who had retreated far away among the hills had sometimes been prevailed upon to return and lend their aid to a government that showed itself to be well-disposed. Nor had such men ever considered that their white hairs constituted a bar, but had come forward gladly to take office under the new regime. And indeed for doing so they had always been deemed true paladins of wisdom. ‘It is my desire,’ Genji concluded, ‘and that of the Council that you should resume the position which you held before your health obliged you to withdraw, and we feel that in doing so you may be sure of incurring no hostile criticism from any quarter.’ It was quite true that retired Ministers had sometimes been known to resume their functions. The old man withdrew his opposition and allowed them to make him Grand Minister with Plenary Powers. He was now sixty-three. Since the decline of his public influence, his whole family had lived very much under a cloud. But now that he was again in the ascendant they began to resume their old place in society. His sons were soon once more entrusted with positions of great importance; in particular, Tō no Chūjō became Privy Counsellor of the Second Class. Chūjō’s daughter, who was now twelve years old, was being trained for the Court, whither she was to be sent as soon as she was old enough. The boy who had sung the Ballad of Takasago so prettily some years ago, was already installed as one of the Emperor’s pages and was thought to be doing very well. Besides these he had a number of other children, all of them very promising, and Genji, whose exiguous progeny was of small comfort to him, quite envied Chūjō the size and prosperity of his young family.

Fujitsubo’s son accordingly became Emperor under the title Ryōzen, and Lady Jōkyōden’s young son became Crown Prince. The new regime had something of the character of a Restoration. It brought back all the gaiety and festivities of the old Emperor’s reign. Genji became Palace Counsellor after serving as President of Council. He was meant to carry out the duties of Chief Minister. He was given the less impressive title only because both ministerial posts were already filled. Genji, however, said he could not possibly manage such demanding duties. He proposed that Aoi’s father, the Minister of the Left, be asked to take charge. But the old man pointed out that illness had long ago forced him to give up the active part of his duties. He had grown no younger since then, and he feared his mind was no longer clear enough to handle complicated affairs. Genji replied that in the Other Land,²⁶³ people had sometimes been persuaded to return from retirement deep in the hills. In times of change and uncertainty, they had lent their help to a well-disposed government. Such men had never considered their white hair an obstacle. They had gladly come forward to serve under the new regime. Indeed, they had always been regarded as true champions of wisdom for doing so. ‘It is my wish,’ Genji concluded, ‘and the Council’s, that you return to the position you held before illness forced you to withdraw. We believe you can be sure that no one will criticize you for doing so.’ Retired ministers had indeed sometimes returned to their duties. The old man withdrew his objection and allowed them to make him Grand Minister with Plenary Powers. He was now sixty-three. Since his public influence had declined, his whole family had lived very much under a cloud. But now that he was rising in influence again, they began to regain their old place in society. His sons were soon entrusted with important positions once more. In particular, Tō no Chūjō became Privy Counsellor of the Second Class. Chūjō’s daughter, now twelve, was being prepared for life at Court. She would be sent there as soon as she was old enough. The boy who had sung the Ballad of Takasago so prettily some years before was already one of the Emperor’s pages. He was thought to be doing very well. Chūjō also had several other children, all of them very promising. Genji, whose few children were little comfort to him, rather envied the size and prosperity of Chūjō’s young family.

Yūgiri, Genji’s son by Aoi, was a fine little fellow. He was already attached to the suite of the new Crown Prince. The princess, Aoi’s mother, remained entirely unmoved by the renewed good fortunes of her husband and family. Indeed, this return to happier days only served to awaken fresh memories of the daughter whose loss had marked the beginning of all their troubles. Her one consolation had been that by her death Aoi had been spared the torture which Genji’s disgrace and banishment would have inflicted upon her proud and fastidious nature. Now that he was restored to his former glories not even this consideration remained valid. Genji continued to show her the same attentions as before his exile and lost no opportunity of going over to the Great Hall. Yūgiri’s old nurse and other members of the household had during all these years remained faithfully at their posts, and Genji contrived, in one way and another, to show each of them how much he appreciated her patience and fidelity. The recipients of these small favours were in a state of rapturous gratitude and delight.

Yūgiri, Genji’s son by Aoi, was a fine little boy. He was already part of the new Crown Prince’s household. The princess, Aoi’s mother, was unmoved by her husband’s and family’s renewed good fortune. In fact, their return to happier days only brought fresh memories of her daughter. Aoi’s death had marked the beginning of all their troubles. The princess’s one consolation had been that Aoi had been spared the pain of Genji’s disgrace and exile. It would have been torture for someone as proud and sensitive as Aoi. Now that Genji had regained his former glory, even that was no longer a consolation. Genji continued to show the princess the same care he had before his exile. He took every opportunity to visit her at the Great Hall. Yūgiri’s old nurse and other members of the household had faithfully remained in their positions through all those years. In one way or another, Genji found ways to show each woman how much he appreciated her patience and loyalty. These small favors filled the women who received them with gratitude and delight.

He was also deeply touched by the conduct of the gentlewomen at the Nijō-in, in whom he had formerly shown so little interest. He determined henceforward to take more pains about them. He soon found himself so much occupied in paying small attentions to Miss Chūjō, Madam Nakatsukasa and other good ladies of his household, that he scarcely ever had time to leave the house. He was also much taken up with the rebuilding of a lodge which stood to the east of his palace, on an estate which had belonged to his father. He took great trouble over the work and had the place put in splendid order, for it was his intention to lend it to unfortunate or unprotected persons, such as the lady at ‘the village of falling flowers,’ whom he could best assist if he had them near at hand.

He was also deeply touched by the conduct of the women at the Nijō-in, whom he had previously shown so little interest in. He resolved to pay them more attention from then on. He soon became so busy showing small kindnesses to Miss Chūjō, Madam Nakatsukasa, and the other good ladies of his household that he hardly had time to leave the house. He was also busy rebuilding a lodge east of his palace, on an estate that had belonged to his father. He took great care with the work and had the lodge put in splendid order. He meant to lend it to people who were unfortunate or had no one to protect them, such as the lady at ‘the village of falling flowers.’ He could best help them if they were close at hand.

Meanwhile he often wondered how the Lady of Akashi was faring, but he was at this time so much occupied both with private and national affairs that he could not get news of her as often as he would have liked to do. He reckoned that her delivery was likely to take place early in the third month, and about that time he contrived to send a secret courier to Akashi and learnt that the event had already taken place sixteen days ago. It was a girl, and everything had gone well. This was Genji’s first daughter, and he felt quite excited. But how callous he had been to let her go through all this alone! Why had he not brought her with him to the City and looked after her while this was happening? He felt, indeed, a sudden outburst of tenderness towards her and of remorse at his own hardness of heart.

Meanwhile, he often wondered how the Lady of Akashi was doing. But he was so busy with private and national affairs that he could not get news of her as often as he wished. He expected her to give birth early in the third month. Around that time, he managed to send a secret courier to Akashi. He learned that she had given birth sixteen days earlier. The baby was a girl, and everything had gone well. She was Genji’s first daughter, and he felt quite excited. But how heartless he had been to let the Lady of Akashi go through it all alone! Why had he not brought her with him to the City and cared for her during the birth? He felt a sudden rush of tenderness for her and remorse for his own hardness of heart.

Astronomers had once told him that he would have three children, of whom the eldest and youngest would eventually ascend the Throne, while the middle one would rise to be Chief Minister. They had further said it would be the lowest-born of the three mothers who would give birth to the future Empress. All that had happened so far fitted in very well with their prognostications. The prophecy that his children would attain Imperial rank and lead the Government of the country had been repeatedly made by sign-readers of all kinds; but during the difficult times from which Genji had just emerged it appeared to be wildly improbable that any of these hopes would be fulfilled. But now the safe accession of Ryōzen to the Throne made him feel that everything would happen as the soothsayers had foretold. That he himself was not destined to achieve such honours had been generally recognized and he had long ago given up regarding such a thing as within the bounds of possibility. So well had this been recognized by his father, the old Emperor, that although Genji was his favourite son he had given special instructions that he was to remain a commoner. As regards Ryōzen, it was not of course recognized in the world that His Majesty was Genji’s son; but that, after all, did not in any way invalidate the truth of the sign-readers’ prognostications.

Astronomers had once told Genji that he would have three children. The eldest and youngest would eventually ascend the throne, while the middle child would become Chief Minister. They also said that the lowest-born of the three mothers would give birth to the future Empress. Everything that had happened so far fit their predictions very well. Fortune-tellers of all kinds had repeatedly predicted that his children would attain imperial rank and govern the country. But during the difficult times Genji had just endured, it had seemed wildly unlikely that any of these hopes would come true. Now, with Ryōzen safely on the throne, Genji felt that everything would happen as the fortune-tellers had predicted. It was generally understood that Genji himself was not destined for such honors. He had long ago given up thinking they were possible. His father, the old Emperor, understood this so well that he gave special instructions for Genji to remain a commoner, although Genji was his favorite son. Of course, the world did not recognize that His Majesty Ryōzen was Genji’s son. But that did not make the fortune-tellers’ predictions any less true.

But if this new child were really going to be empress it seemed almost disrespectful to have allowed her to be born at so strange a place. He must make amends to this future sovereign, and that he might soon be able to lodge both mother and child in proper comfort, he ordered his bailiffs to push through the rebuilding of the eastern lodge as rapidly as possible.

But if the new child really was going to be empress, her strange birthplace seemed almost disrespectful. He had to make amends to the future sovereign. He wanted to provide proper comfort for both mother and child as soon as possible. So he ordered his bailiffs to rebuild the eastern lodge as quickly as they could.

It occurred to him that it would be very difficult for her to secure a suitable wet-nurse at Akashi. He chanced to hear of a young woman, a child of the old Emperor’s Lady-in-Attendance, who had recently, under distressing circumstances, been left with an infant on her hands. Both the Lady-in-Attendance and her husband, who had been one of the Royal Chamberlains, were dead, and the girl had been left entirely to her own devices; with the result which I have mentioned above. His informant undertook to interview the girl and, if possible, persuade her to take service at Akashi. She did not in point of fact need very much persuasion. She was young and thoughtless and thoroughly tired of sitting all day in a large tumble-down house with nothing to do but stare in front of her. She could not imagine any service which she would better like to enter than his, and at once agreed to go. Genji was of course delighted; though he felt somewhat uncomfortable at sending away a young girl to a place where she would enjoy so few distractions. There were certain matters which it was necessary to talk over with her, and in complete secrecy, with many precautions against his absence being noticed at home, he contrived to visit the young woman’s house. She did not actually withdraw her consent; but she was now feeling very nervous about the whole business. Genji, however, took so much trouble in explaining to her what she had to do and in removing all her doubts and apprehensions that in the end she put herself entirely at his disposal. It happened to be a lucky day, and with many apologies for giving her so little time he asked her to get ready for the journey. ‘It seems very hard,’ Genji said, ‘that you should be packed off to the country like this to look after some one else’s child. But I am particularly anxious that some one should be there. I know by experience that it will be rather dull; but you must make up your mind to put up with it for a time, just as I did.’ Having thus encouraged her, he gave a detailed description of the place and all that belonged to it.

It occurred to him that she would have great difficulty finding a suitable wet nurse at Akashi. By chance, he heard of a young woman who was the daughter of the old Emperor’s Lady-in-Attendance. The young woman had recently been left with an infant under distressing circumstances. Her mother and her father, who had been one of the Royal Chamberlains, were both dead. The girl had been left entirely to her own devices, with the result I have mentioned above. The person who told Genji about her offered to speak with her. He would try to persuade her to take a position at Akashi. In fact, she did not need much persuasion. She was young and thoughtless, and thoroughly tired of sitting all day in a large, run-down house. She had nothing to do there but stare ahead of her. She could not imagine a position she would like better than one in Genji’s service, and she agreed at once to go. Genji was delighted, of course. Still, he felt somewhat uneasy about sending a young girl to a place with so few distractions. He needed to discuss certain matters with her. So he arranged to visit her house in complete secrecy, taking many precautions to keep his absence from being noticed at home. She did not withdraw her consent, but she was now very nervous about the whole business. Genji took great care to explain what she had to do and to ease all her doubts and fears. In the end, she placed herself entirely at his disposal. It happened to be a lucky day, and he asked her to get ready for the journey. He apologized many times for giving her so little notice. ‘It seems very hard,’ Genji said, ‘that you should be sent off to the country like this to look after someone else’s child. But I am particularly anxious to have someone there. I know from experience that it will be rather dull. But you must make up your mind to put up with it for a while, just as I did.’ After encouraging her in this way, he described the place and everything connected with it in detail.

She had sometimes done service at the Palace and this was not the first time Genji had seen her. But her misfortunes had brought her very low and she looked years older than when he saw her last. The house was in a hopeless state of disrepair and its vast size, together with the carefully planned copses and avenues which surrounded it, made the place only the more depressing. How had she contrived to hold out there so long? His sympathy was aroused. The charm of youth had not after all entirely deserted her, and she was intelligent. He felt inclined to prolong the interview and said laughing: ‘Now that it is all arranged I feel quite sorry that you have agreed to go. What do you feel about it?’ She felt indeed that if she were destined to enter Genji’s service at all, it would have been agreeable to find herself consigned to a rather less remote part of his household. He now recited the verse: ‘Can this one moment of farewell indeed have been the sum of all our friendship, whose separation seems now like the parting of familiar friends?’ Smiling she answered him: ‘Your chagrin, I suspect, is not that I must leave you, but springs from envy that I not you should go whither your heart is set.’ Her quickness delighted him and, whatever truth there may have been in her ironic exposure of his feelings, he was really sorry that she was going.

She had sometimes served at the Palace, and Genji had seen her before. But her misfortunes had reduced her to poverty. She looked years older than when he had last seen her. The house was hopelessly run-down. Its vast size made it even more depressing, as did the carefully planned groves and avenues around it. How had she managed to stay there so long? He felt sorry for her. She had not entirely lost the charm of youth, and she was intelligent. He wanted to talk with her longer and said with a laugh, ‘Now that everything is arranged, I’m quite sorry you agreed to go. How do you feel about it?’ She did feel that, if she was to enter Genji’s service, she would have preferred a less remote part of his household. He then recited a verse: ‘Can this one moment of farewell really be all our friendship has amounted to? For our parting now feels like that of old friends.’ Smiling, she answered: ‘I suspect you’re upset not because I must leave you, but because you envy me. I, not you, am going where your heart longs to be.’ Her quick wit delighted him. And whatever truth there was in her teasing account of his feelings, he really was sorry she was going.

He sent her as far as the boundary of the City in a wheeled carriage,²⁶⁴ under the care of his most trusted personal servants, upon whom he had enjoined absolute silence concerning this affair. Among the baggage was a vast number of presents, from the Guardian Sword²⁶⁵ down to the most trifling articles such as might possibly be useful to the Lady of Akashi at this crisis; upon the young nurse too he lavished every small attention which his ingenuity could devise, determined to mitigate so far as was possible the discomfort of her long journey. It amused him to picture to himself the extravagant fuss which the old priest, at all times so comically preoccupied with his daughter’s fortunes, must be making in this latest crisis. Not but what he was himself filled with the tenderest concern for the Lady’s welfare. Above all, he must not let her feel at such a minute that there was now or ever could be any obstacle to his fulfilling the promises concerning which she herself had always been so sceptical, and in the letter which he now sent he spoke in the most definite manner of his intentions towards the child and his plans for her future life at the Capital.

He sent her as far as the boundary of the City in a wheeled carriage,²⁶⁴ accompanied by his most trusted personal servants. He had ordered them to tell no one about the affair. Among the baggage were many presents, from the Guardian Sword²⁶⁵ to the smallest things that might be useful to the Lady of Akashi at this critical time. He also gave the young nurse every little comfort he could think of, determined to ease her long journey as much as possible. He was amused to imagine the fuss the old priest must be making over this latest crisis. The priest was always comically preoccupied with his daughter’s fortunes. Yet he himself was deeply concerned for the Lady’s welfare. Above all, he must not let her feel that anything stood, or ever could stand, in the way of his promises. She had always been skeptical of them. In the letter he now sent, he spoke plainly about his intentions for the child and his plans for her future life at the Capital.

The travellers proceeded as far as the borders of Settsu by boat, and thence on horseback to Akashi with all possible speed, where their arrival was welcomed by the old recluse with boundless gratitude and delight. With raised hands he solemnly made obeisance in the direction of the Capital, and the mother and child, marked henceforward with this new and unhoped-for sign of princely favour, became invested in his eyes with an almost alarming degree of sanctity. The child was indeed a most exquisite creature, and the young nurse felt, from the moment it was presented to her, that Genji’s care and anxiety on its behalf were by no means ill-bestowed. In an instant the discomforts and perils of her long journey seemed like an evil dream, from which she had suddenly awaked to find this pretty and enticing infant lying in her arms. Henceforward she had no thought but how best to tend and succour it.

The travelers went by boat as far as the borders of Settsu. From there, they rode to Akashi as quickly as possible. The old recluse welcomed their arrival with boundless gratitude and delight. Raising his hands, he bowed solemnly toward the Capital. The mother and child had now received this new and unexpected sign of princely favor. In his eyes, they had become almost alarmingly sacred. The child was indeed a most beautiful creature. From the moment the baby was placed in her arms, the young nurse felt that Genji’s care and concern were fully justified. At once, the hardships and dangers of her long journey seemed like a bad dream. She felt as if she had suddenly awakened to find this lovely, appealing infant in her arms. From then on, she thought only of how best to care for and help the child.

The mother, it seemed, had for many months past been in very low spirits. Her confinement had left her in a condition of extreme weakness, and she was herself convinced that she would not recover. These fresh tokens of Genji’s affection and concern could not fail somewhat to revive her. For the first time she raised her head from the pillows and received the messengers with every sign of interest and delight. They informed her that they had been ordered to return to the Capital without a moment’s delay. She contrived to write a few hasty lines, in which little indeed could appear of all that at that moment she was thinking and feeling. Yet these few words made an impression upon their recipient the violence of which surprised and disquieted him.

The mother, it seemed, had been very low in spirits for many months. Childbirth had left her extremely weak, and she was convinced she would not recover. These fresh signs of Genji’s affection and concern were bound to lift her spirits somewhat. For the first time, she raised her head from the pillows and greeted the messengers with interest and delight. They told her they had been ordered to return to the Capital without a moment’s delay. She managed to write a few hasty lines. They could express very little of all she was thinking and feeling at that moment. Yet her few words affected their recipient so strongly that he was surprised and troubled.

He had not himself told Murasaki about the birth of his child at Akashi, nor was it likely that anyone else would in so many words have done so. But he feared that some inkling of the matter might reach her, and he finally made up his mind that it would be better for her to know all about it. ‘I had far rather that this had not happened. It is all the more irritating because I have for so long been hoping that you would have a child; and that, now the child has come, it should be some one else’s instead is very provoking. It is only a girl, you know, which really makes it rather a different matter. It would perhaps have been better from every point of view if I had left things as they were, but this new complication makes that quite impossible. I think, indeed, of sending for the child. I hope that when it arrives you will not feel ill-disposed towards it.’ She flushed: ‘That is just the sort of thing you always used to say,’ she answered. ‘It seems to me to show a very strange state of mind. Of course I ought to put up with it, but there are certain things which I do not see how I can be expected to get used to....’ ‘Softly, softly,’ he answered, laughing at her unwonted asperity, ‘who is asking you to get used to anything? I will tell you what you are doing. You are inventing all sorts of feelings for me such as I have never really had at all, and then getting cross with me for having them. That is not a very amiable proceeding, is it?’ And having gone on in this strain for some while, he became quite cheerful.

He had not told Murasaki about the birth of his child at Akashi. Nor was anyone else likely to tell her outright. But he feared she might hear something about it, and finally decided she should know everything. ‘I really wish this had not happened. It is all the more upsetting because I have hoped for so long that you would have a child. Now that a child has come, it is very frustrating that she should be someone else’s. She is only a girl, you know, which makes it rather different. Perhaps it would have been better in every way to leave things as they were. But this new complication makes that impossible. In fact, I am thinking of sending for the child. I hope you will not be unkind to her when she arrives.’ She blushed. ‘That is just the sort of thing you always used to say,’ she answered. ‘It seems to me a very strange way of thinking. Of course I ought to put up with it, but there are some things I cannot see how I can be expected to get used to....’ ‘Easy, easy,’ he answered, laughing at her unusual sharpness. ‘Who is asking you to get used to anything? I will tell you what you are doing. You are imagining that I have all sorts of feelings I have never really had, then getting angry with me for having them. That is not very kind, is it?’ He went on like this for a while and became quite cheerful.

She thought of how they had longed for one another during the years of his exile, of his constant letters and messages. This whole affair at Akashi—what had it been but a pastime, a momentary distraction in the midst of his disappointments and troubles? ‘You will understand then,’ Genji continued, ‘that I was anxious to hear how things were going on. I sent to enquire and have just heard that everything is still as well as one can hope for. But if I start telling you about it now I know we shall soon be at cross purposes again....’ ‘She is of course very charming,’ he added presently, ‘but I think my feeling for her had a good deal to do with the place and the circumstances....’ He began to describe how exquisitely the smoke from the salt-kilns had tapered across the evening sky; he spoke of the poems which they had exchanged, of his first glimpse of her by night, of her delightful playing on the zithern. Upon all these themes he enlarged with evident satisfaction. Murasaki while she listened could not but remember how particularly unhappy she had been just at the very time when the episodes which Genji was now recalling with such relish were taking place at Akashi. Even if this affair were, as he represented it to be, a mere pastime of the moment, it was clear that he had been singularly successful in his search for distraction. ‘Come,’ he said at last, ‘I am doing my best to show you that I am fond of you. You had best be quick, if you are ever going to forgive me at all; life does not last forever. Here am I trying so hard just now not to give you the slightest cause for one speck of jealousy or suspicion. And now just because of this unfortunate affair....’ So saying he sent for his large zithern and tried to persuade her to play it with him as they were used to do. But Murasaki could not help remembering his enthusiasm for the playing of the Lady at Akashi. With such virtuosity she did not care to compete, and say what he would he could not persuade her to play a note.

She thought of how they had longed for each other during his years in exile, and of his constant letters and messages. What had the whole affair at Akashi been but a pastime, a brief distraction from his disappointments and troubles? ‘So you will understand,’ Genji continued, ‘that I was anxious to hear how things were going. I sent to ask and have just heard that everything is still as well as one can hope. But if I start telling you about it now, I know we shall soon misunderstand each other again....’ ‘She is very charming, of course,’ he added after a while, ‘but I think my feelings for her had a lot to do with the place and the circumstances....’ He began to describe how beautifully the smoke from the salt kilns had tapered across the evening sky. He spoke of the poems they had exchanged, his first glimpse of her at night, and her delightful playing on the zither. He spoke at length about all these things, clearly pleased by the memories. As Murasaki listened, she could not help remembering how unhappy she had been at that very time. While she had suffered, the events Genji now recalled with such pleasure had been taking place at Akashi. Even if the affair had been only a passing amusement, as he claimed, he had clearly found a great deal of distraction in it. ‘Come,’ he said at last, ‘I am doing my best to show you that I care for you. You had better be quick if you are ever going to forgive me. Life does not last forever. Here I am, trying so hard not to give you the slightest reason for jealousy or suspicion. And now, just because of this unfortunate affair....’ With that, he sent for his large zither and tried to persuade her to play it with him, as they used to do. But Murasaki could not forget his enthusiasm for the Lady at Akashi’s playing. She did not care to compete with such skill. Whatever he said, he could not persuade her to play a note.

It sometimes happened that her usual good temper and gentleness would thus all at once desert her, giving place to a fit of wild jealousy and resentment. To Genji these outbursts were by no means unattractive.

Sometimes her usual good temper and gentleness would suddenly give way to wild jealousy and resentment. Genji found these outbursts quite attractive.

It occurred to him that the fifth day of the fifth month would be the fiftieth day of the child’s life, and he knew that his absence from the Prayers which would be held on that day would be extremely painful to the mother. If only he had them with him in the Capital, what a delightful affair he could make of this Fiftieth Day Ceremony! It was really too bad that a daughter of his should have come into existence in such an outlandish place as this. He ought never to have allowed it. And this was his first daughter. If it had been a boy he did not think he would have minded nearly so much. But this girl seemed very important, for he felt that in a sense all his misfortunes had come to him as a preliminary to her birth, and had, if one could put it so, no other goal or object. He lost no time in sending a messenger to Akashi with strict injunctions to arrive there on the fifth day without fail. The messenger duly arrived, bearing with him the most touching and gratifying tokens of Genji’s anxiety for the welfare of his friends. To the Lady of Akashi he sent an acrostic poem, lamenting that he should have left her to dwell, like the pine-tree that grows beneath the northern cliff, in a place of shadows, to which not even the rejoicings of the Fiftieth Day would bring an altering gleam. ‘My anxiety for you both,’ his letter continued, ‘is becoming too great a torment for me to bear. Things cannot go on like this and I have quite decided to bring you to the Capital. Do not however think that my care for you will end merely with that....’ She told her father of Genji’s decision, and this time at any rate the old man had good cause for that mixture of joy and weeping to which he was at all times prone. Looking round at Genji’s Fiftieth Day presents which lay about in astonishing profusion she realized how dark a day this would have been for her but for the coming of this messenger from the City. As a second consolation she had for the first time, in the nurse whom Genji had sent to her, some one to whom she could confide the affairs of her heart, and this changed her whole life. Her father had gathered about her, picking them up one by one as opportunity offered, a collection of dames who, as regards birth and upbringing, were quite the equals of the new nurse. But the mountain solitudes of Akashi did not offer much scope for choice and the poor ladies were one and all the most tottering and antiquated relics of bygone Courts. Among them the new arrival felt incredibly brisk and smart and in this gloomy company her opinion of herself went up by leaps and bounds. She had endless stories about life at the Capital; and when these failed, she had only to describe some occasion at which Genji had figured or some incident showing the affection in which he was held or the extent of the power which he now wielded (subjects to which she continually returned with remarkable zest): at once the Lady of Akashi’s cheeks would glow with pride. She ought indeed to be happy that such a Prince as this should deign even to undo and abandon her, leaving nothing to show for their love save the child that had been begotten of it. The nurse was allowed to read Genji’s letters, and though she did so with passionate interest, she could not but feel somewhat jealous of her mistress’s strange and unforeseen good fortune. At such times it would seem to the nurse that to her alone of all mankind nothing good ever happened, till suddenly in Genji’s letter she would come across some reference to herself: ‘What about the nurse? How is she turning out?’ and so forth, or sometimes even more personal enquiry about her health and spirits. Then for a long while the girl, usually so despondent, would feel perfectly happy and contented.

He realized that the fifth day of the fifth month would be the fiftieth day of his child’s life. He knew his absence from the prayers that day would cause her mother great pain. If only they were with him in the Capital! What a delightful Fiftieth Day Ceremony he could arrange for them. It was a shame that his daughter had been born in such a remote place. He should never have allowed it. And she was his first daughter. If the child had been a boy, he did not think he would have minded nearly as much. But this girl seemed very important. He felt that, in a sense, all his misfortunes had led up to her birth. They had, one might say, served no other purpose. He immediately sent a messenger to Akashi, with strict orders to arrive on the fifth day without fail. The messenger arrived as planned, bringing touching and welcome signs of Genji’s concern for his friends. For the Lady of Akashi, he brought an acrostic poem. In it, Genji regretted leaving her in a place of shadows, like a pine tree beneath a northern cliff. Not even the Fiftieth Day celebrations would bring a glimmer of light to that place. ‘My worry for you both,’ his letter continued, ‘is becoming too painful to bear. Things cannot go on like this, and I have decided to bring you to the Capital. But do not think that my care for you will end there....’ She told her father of Genji’s decision. This time, at least, the old man had good reason for his usual mixture of joy and tears. She looked around at Genji’s Fiftieth Day gifts, which lay everywhere in astonishing abundance. She realized how dark the day would have been without this messenger from the City. She had a second comfort too. In the nurse Genji had sent her, she finally had someone she could confide in about her feelings. This changed her whole life. Her father had gathered a group of ladies around her, finding them one by one as opportunities arose. Their birth and upbringing were quite equal to the new nurse’s. But the lonely mountains of Akashi offered little choice. The poor ladies were all extremely frail and old-fashioned remnants of past Courts. Among them, the newcomer felt remarkably lively and smart. In such gloomy company, her opinion of herself grew by leaps and bounds. She had endless stories about life in the Capital. When those ran out, she could simply describe an occasion when Genji had appeared. Or she could tell a story showing how much people loved him or how much power he now held. She returned to these subjects again and again with remarkable enthusiasm. At once, the Lady of Akashi’s cheeks would glow with pride. She ought indeed to be happy that such a Prince would even ruin and abandon her. He had left her nothing to show for their love except the child born of it. The nurse was allowed to read Genji’s letters. Though she read them with intense interest, she could not help feeling jealous of her mistress’s strange, unexpected good fortune. At such times, the nurse felt that nothing good ever happened to her alone, out of all mankind. Then she would suddenly find a reference to herself in Genji’s letter. ‘What about the nurse? How is she turning out?’ he might ask. Sometimes he made even more personal inquiries about her health and spirits. Then the girl, usually so downhearted, would feel perfectly happy and content for a long while.

To Genji’s Fiftieth Day letter the Lady of Akashi sent the following reply: ‘Alas that to the little crane who calls to you from among the numberless islands of the deep, you do not come, though the Fiftieth Day²⁶⁶ be come.’ ‘I am for a thousand reasons,’ she continued, ‘in great despondency concerning our future; and for that very reason occasional kindnesses such as you have to-day shown to me are all the more precious. As for myself I do not rightly know what will become of me. But I earnestly hope that our daughter at any rate may live to be a consolation to you rather than an embarrassment and anxiety.’

The Lady of Akashi replied to Genji’s Fiftieth Day letter: ‘Alas, you do not come to the little crane who calls to you from among the countless islands of the sea, though the Fiftieth Day²⁶⁶ has come.’ ‘For a thousand reasons,’ she continued, ‘I feel deeply discouraged about our future. That makes occasional kindnesses like the one you showed me today all the more precious. I do not really know what will become of me. But I earnestly hope that our daughter, at least, may be a comfort to you rather than a source of embarrassment and worry.’

Genji carried this letter about with him and constantly re-read it half aloud to himself, pausing over every sentence with fond deliberation; Murasaki could not fail to notice his preoccupation and once, hearing him thus employed, she murmured the song: ‘Far from me have you drifted as those boats that, starting from Mikuma shore, now row far out at sea.’ She had not meant him to hear. But he looked up and said sharply: ‘Do you really think that it is so bad as that! I should have thought you would understand exactly what such a letter as this must mean to me. It is perfectly natural that I should be interested, deeply interested in an occasional budget of news from a place where I spent so long a time, and if in reading it I come across references which remind me suddenly of some interesting event or experience of those days, I think it is quite natural that I should occasionally break out into an exclamation, or something of that sort. It would be much better if you simply pretended not to hear. But here is the letter.’ He held it out to her, but in such a way that she could only see the outer fold upon which the address was written. Examining the writing she saw at once that it was a flawless hand, such as the greatest lady in the land would have had no cause to disown. From that moment she knew what was in store for her; this would assuredly prove no fleeting fancy.

Genji carried the letter with him and kept rereading it quietly to himself. He lingered lovingly over every sentence. Murasaki could not help noticing how absorbed he was. Once, when she heard him reading, she murmured the song: ‘You have drifted far from me, like the boats that left Mikuma shore and now row far out at sea.’ She had not meant him to hear. But he looked up and said sharply: ‘Do you really think it is as bad as that? I would have thought you understood exactly what a letter like this must mean to me. It is perfectly natural that I should be deeply interested in occasional news from a place where I spent so long. And the letter may suddenly remind me of some interesting event or experience from those days. If it does, I think it is quite natural for me to exclaim now and then, or something like that. It would be much better if you simply pretended not to hear. But here is the letter.’ He held it out to her, but only let her see the outer fold where the address was written. She examined the handwriting and saw at once that it was flawless. Even the greatest lady in the land could have been proud of it. From that moment, Murasaki knew what lay ahead for her. This would certainly be no passing fancy.

In spite of these preoccupations his thoughts sometimes turned towards the Lady in the Village of Falling Flowers and he realized with dismay that he had not once been near her since his return to the Capital. For one thing, his new position in the Government had given him so much business to look after and was attended by formalities and restrictions which made it more than ever difficult for him to go about as he chose. Part of the fault however was certainly hers; for, inured to a life that offered few novelties or distractions, she was willing to accept without ill-temper or complaint such treatment as others would have found insufferable. But the fifth month at last brought him a little leisure. Once more he thought of his obligation, and this time he actually managed to slip away and make the long-deferred visit. It was a comfort that here at least he was certain of not being treated to any exhibition of fashionable tantrums, coquettishly withering glances or well-calculated resentment; for he knew that, seldom as she saw him, his interest in her was by far the most important fact in her life, and a visit from him was not lightly to be sacrificed to some useless outburst of jealousy or irritation.

Despite these concerns, his thoughts sometimes turned to the Lady in the Village of Falling Flowers. To his dismay, he realized he had not visited her once since returning to the Capital. His new government position had given him a great deal of work. It also came with formalities and restrictions that made it harder than ever to go where he pleased. But she was certainly partly to blame. She was used to a life with few surprises or distractions. So she accepted without anger or complaint treatment that others would have found unbearable. At last, the fifth month brought him some free time. He thought again of his obligation and finally managed to slip away for his long-delayed visit. It was a comfort to know that, here at least, he would face no fashionable tantrums, teasingly scornful glances, or carefully calculated resentment. He saw her rarely, but he knew that his interest in her was by far the most important thing in her life. She would not lightly waste a visit from him on a pointless outburst of jealousy or irritation.

The house had in these last years grown rapidly more and more dilapidated and had indeed become a most melancholy-looking place. After paying his respects to the elder sister he hastened to the main entrance of the western wing and stood in the porch. It was near midnight; the moon had sunk behind a bank of light clouds. It was with feelings of inexpressible joy and agitation that she suddenly saw his figure dimly outlined in the darkness. She had been sitting at the lattice and, in her shyness, did not rise when she saw him. They continued to converse thus, he in the porch and she at her window, but there was in her manner no hint of unfriendliness or reprobation. What a relief to encounter at last a disposition so grateful and unexacting! Some water-fowl were clamouring quite close to the house. She recited the verse: ‘Dare I admit you to a house so desolate that even the shy water-birds regard it as their home?’ Her voice died away to a whisper as she reached the last words in a way which he found strangely alluring. What a lot of nice people there seemed to be in the world, thought Genji. And the odd part of it was that it was just this very fact which made life so difficult and fatiguing. He answered with the verse: ‘If the cry of the water-fowl brings you always so promptly to your door, some visitor there must be whom it is your pleasure to admit.’ This was of course mere word-play. He did not for a moment suppose that any such agreeable adventures ever fell to her lot; nor indeed that she would welcome them. For though she had had to wait years for this visit, he felt confident that her fidelity had never once wavered. She reminded him of his poem: ‘Gaze not into the sky....’ and of all that had befallen at that farewell scene on the eve of his departure for Suma. ‘It seems strange,’ she said at last, ‘that I of all people should so much have minded your being away, considering how seldom I see you when you are here!’ But even this was said with perfect gentleness and good humour. His reply to this charge was, you may be sure, both prompt and conciliatory, and it was not long before he had managed, by kindness of one sort or another, to make her, for the moment at any rate, as happy as it is possible for any woman to be.

In recent years, the house had fallen rapidly into disrepair and had become a deeply melancholy place. After paying his respects to the elder sister, he hurried to the main entrance of the western wing. He stood in the porch. It was nearly midnight, and the moon had sunk behind a bank of light clouds. When she suddenly saw his figure outlined dimly in the darkness, she felt indescribable joy and excitement. She had been sitting at the lattice and was too shy to rise when she saw him. They went on talking like this, he in the porch and she at her window. But there was no hint of coldness or reproach in her manner. What a relief to find someone so grateful and undemanding at last! Some waterbirds were calling loudly quite close to the house. She recited a verse: ‘Dare I admit you to a house so deserted that even the shy waterbirds call it home?’ Her voice faded to a whisper as she reached the last words. He found this strangely alluring. What a lot of lovely people there seemed to be in the world, thought Genji. And the strange thing was that this very fact made life so difficult and tiring. He answered with a verse: ‘If the cry of the waterbirds always brings you so quickly to your door, there must be some visitor you are pleased to admit.’ This was only wordplay, of course. He did not for a moment suppose that any such pleasant adventures ever came her way. Nor did he suppose she would welcome them. Though she had waited years for his visit, he felt sure her faithfulness had never once wavered. She reminded him of his poem, ‘Gaze not into the sky....’, and of everything that had happened at their farewell on the eve of his departure for Suma. ‘It seems strange,’ she said at last, ‘that I of all people should have minded your absence so much, when I see you so seldom even when you are here!’ But she said even this with perfect gentleness and good humour. His answer to this complaint was, you may be sure, both quick and reassuring. Before long, he had found one way and another to show her kindness. For the moment, at least, he made her as happy as any woman could possibly be.

He often thought during these days of Lady Gosechi, and would very much have liked to see her again; but the difficulties seemed too great and he did not attempt it. Her parents saw plainly enough that she had not got over her unfortunate attachment and did their best to settle her future in some other way. But she for her part declared she had given up all thought of lovers or marriage. ‘If only I had some large convenient building,’ thought Genji, ‘where I could house these friends of mine and be able to keep an eye not only on them, but on any babies that might chance to get born, how much simpler life would be!’ The new eastern wing was indeed promising to prove a very handsome affair and thoroughly in the style of the moment. He was impatient to get it finished, and now appointed special foremen to superintend the different branches of the work and get it put through as quickly as possible.

During those days, Genji often thought of Lady Gosechi and very much wanted to see her again. But the difficulties seemed too great, so he made no attempt to see her. Her parents could see that she had not recovered from her unfortunate attachment. They did their best to find another way to secure her future. But she declared that she had given up all thought of lovers or marriage. ‘If only I had a large, convenient building where I could house these friends of mine,’ Genji thought. ‘I could keep an eye on them and on any babies they might happen to have. How much simpler life would be!’ The new eastern wing did indeed promise to be very handsome and entirely in the latest style. He was eager to see it finished. He appointed special foremen to oversee the different branches of the work and get it done as quickly as possible.

Not infrequently something would happen to remind him of the Lady Oborozuki and despite all that had happened a fresh wave of longing would beset him. She for her part had not only suffered but learnt her lesson and utterly refused to have any dealings with him, which made him feel very irritated and depressed. Now that the ex-Emperor Suzaku was relieved of the cares of Government, he became somewhat more animated and showed a certain amount of interest in music and other Court diversions. It was curious that among all his Ladies-in-Waiting and Ladies-of-the-Wardrobe it was to Lady Jōkyōden, the mother of the Crown Prince, that he paid the least attention. Not even the singular chance which made her mother of the Heir Apparent seemed able to restore to her any particle of the ascendancy which she had lost when Lady Oborozuki was taken into favour. She had indeed left the Emperor’s Palace and now lived in apartments attached to those of the Crown Prince, her son. Genji’s rooms at Court were in the old Shigeisa; the Crown Prince was occupying the Nashitsubo, which was not far away. Thus Genji, as a near neighbour, was constantly consulted by the Prince’s staff and was often able to be of considerable assistance to them.

Often, something would remind him of Lady Oborozuki. Despite all that had happened, he would feel a fresh wave of longing for her. She, for her part, had suffered and learned her lesson. She refused to have anything more to do with him, which made him irritated and depressed. Now that the ex-Emperor Suzaku was free of the duties of government, he became somewhat livelier. He showed some interest in music and other court amusements. Curiously, of all his ladies-in-waiting and ladies of the wardrobe, he paid the least attention to Lady Jōkyōden. She was the mother of the Crown Prince. Even the unusual chance that had made her mother of the heir apparent could not restore any of her former influence. She had lost it when Lady Oborozuki became a favorite. Lady Jōkyōden had left the Emperor’s Palace and now lived in rooms attached to those of her son, the Crown Prince. Genji’s rooms at court were in the old Shigeisa. The Crown Prince lived in the Nashitsubo, which was nearby. As a close neighbor, Genji was constantly consulted by the Prince’s staff and could often be of considerable help to them.

As Fujitsubo had become a nun, her full rank could not be restored; but she received a Royal Grant equivalent to that of an Empress Mother,²⁶⁷ together with the services of such State officers as usually wait upon an ex-Empress. The whole of these additional resources went in the celebration of those religious functions which had now become her whole employment in life. For many years she had felt that it was impossible for her to appear at Court and to her great distress her son, the present Emperor, had grown up a stranger to her. Now that he was safely on the Throne she could come and go as she pleased; and indeed her constant presence at Court now became the greatest grievance of her old rival Kōkiden, who saw in it the frustration of all the schemes to which her whole life had been devoted. Genji bore Kōkiden no malice and, without thrusting his services upon her, did what he could to help her. The fact that these magnanimous overtures were met with unrelenting hostility was observed by all at Court and made a most painful impression.

Because Fujitsubo had become a nun, her full rank could not be restored. But she received a royal grant equivalent to that of an Empress Mother,²⁶⁷ along with the services of state officers who usually attended a former empress. She spent all these additional resources on religious ceremonies, which had now become her sole occupation in life. For many years she had felt unable to appear at court. To her great distress, her son, the present Emperor, had grown up a stranger to her. Now that he was safely on the throne, she could come and go as she pleased. In fact, her constant presence at court became the greatest grievance of her old rival Kōkiden. Kōkiden saw it as the defeat of all the schemes to which she had devoted her life. Genji bore Kōkiden no ill will. Without forcing his services on her, he did what he could to help her. Everyone at court noticed that she met his generous efforts with unrelenting hostility, and it made a deeply painful impression.

Prince Hyōbukyō had treated Genji with marked coldness in the period before his exile. Now that Genji’s fortunes were again on the ascendant he appeared anxious to renew their former friendship; but Genji felt little inclined to do so. That at a time when so many animosities were in abeyance and so many broken friendships had been renewed Genji and her brother should be on these very indifferent terms was to Fujitsubo a source of great disappointment and anxiety.

Prince Hyōbukyō had treated Genji very coldly before his exile. Now that Genji’s fortunes were rising again, the prince seemed eager to renew their old friendship. But Genji had little desire to do so. Fujitsubo was deeply disappointed and anxious that Genji and her brother remained on such indifferent terms. This was especially troubling when so many hostilities had been set aside and so many broken friendships renewed.

Power was now pretty equally divided between Genji himself and his father-in-law, the old Minister at the Great Hall. In the eighth month of this year Tō no Chūjō’s daughter came to Court. Her grandfather, the old Minister, was a conspicuous figure at the Presentation and saw to it that the ceremony should lack no jot of its traditional grandeur. It was well known that Prince Hyōbukyō would very much have liked to see his second daughter in a similar position. But Genji did not feel sufficiently friendly towards him to second this design, particularly as there were many other young ladies who were quite as well qualified to fill the post. Prince Hyōbukyō saw nothing for it but to submit.

Power was now divided fairly equally between Genji and his father-in-law, the old Minister at the Great Hall. In the eighth month of that year, Tō no Chūjō’s daughter came to Court. Her grandfather, the old Minister, played a prominent part in the Presentation. He made sure the ceremony had all its traditional grandeur. It was well known that Prince Hyōbukyō would have very much liked his second daughter to hold a similar position. But Genji did not feel friendly enough toward him to support this plan. Besides, many other young women were just as well qualified for the position. Prince Hyōbukyō saw no choice but to accept this.

In the autumn Genji made his pilgrimage to the Shrine of Sumiyoshi, where, as will be remembered, he had various vows to fulfil. The occasion was made one of public importance and the splendour of his cortège, in which all the greatest noblemen and courtiers of the day vied with one another to take part, made a deep impression throughout the kingdom. The Lady of Akashi had been unable to pay her accustomed visit to the Shrine either last autumn or during the spring of this year. She determined to renew the practice, and it so happened that she arrived by boat at Sumiyoshi just as Genji’s magnificent procession was passing along the shore. She saw throngs of servitors, laden with costly offerings; she saw the Eastern Dancers,²⁶⁸ in companies of ten, riding by on horseback, men of picked stature, conspicuous in their strange blue-striped dress. Not a word concerning Genji’s visit to Sumiyoshi had reached her, and turning to some one who was standing near she asked what procession this might be. ‘What procession?’ the man exclaimed in astonishment. ‘Why, the Chief Minister’s!’ and a shout of laughter went up at the notion that there could possibly exist anybody in the world who had not heard of this all-important event, laughter in which a number of rough scallawags who were standing by joined as heartily as the rest.

In the autumn, Genji made his pilgrimage to the Shrine of Sumiyoshi. As you may remember, he had several vows to fulfill there. The visit became an event of public importance. All the greatest noblemen and courtiers of the day competed to join his splendid procession. It made a deep impression throughout the kingdom. The Lady of Akashi had been unable to make her usual visit to the shrine last autumn or that spring. She decided to resume the practice. By chance, she arrived at Sumiyoshi by boat just as Genji’s magnificent procession was passing along the shore. She saw crowds of servants carrying costly offerings. She saw the Eastern Dancers,²⁶⁸ riding past on horseback in groups of ten. They had been chosen for their height and stood out in their strange blue-striped clothing. She had heard nothing of Genji’s visit to Sumiyoshi, so she asked someone nearby whose procession it was. ‘What procession?’ the man exclaimed in astonishment. ‘Why, the Chief Minister’s!’ People burst out laughing at the idea that anyone in the world could have missed hearing about this all-important event. A number of rough rascals standing nearby joined in the laughter as heartily as the rest.

She was confounded. That after all these long months of waiting it should be thus she met him showed indeed to what a different world he really belonged! Yet after all they were not quite strangers, he and she. She was at least of more account in his eyes than these wretches who had scoffed at her ignorance, than all this rabble who cared nothing for him and had come here only that they might boast of having shared in his triumph. How cruel an irony that she who thought of him and him only, who painfully gathered together every scrap of intelligence concerning his health and movements, should all unwittingly have chosen this disastrous day for her journey, while all the rest of the world resounded with the news of his coming; she hid her face and wept. The procession moved on its way—innumerable green cloaks, with here and there a scarlet one among them, bright as an autumn maple-tree amid a grove of pines. In cavalcade after cavalcade the varying colours flashed by, now dark, now light.²⁶⁹ Among the officers of the Sixth Grade there was one whose sheriff’s coat of gold and green made him conspicuous; this was Ukon, the gentleman who upon the occasion of Genji’s visit to the Imperial Tombs had recited the verse: ‘Little, alas, they heed their worshippers....’²⁷⁰ He had become captain of the Quiver Bearers, and as such was attended by more numerous officers than any other of the sheriffs. Among these attendants was Yoshikiyo, who in a resplendent crimson cloak, worn with an air of the utmost nonchalance, was perhaps the handsomest figure in all the throng.

She was bewildered. After all those long months of waiting, to meet him like this showed how different his world was from hers! Yet they were not quite strangers. At least she mattered more to him than those wretches who had mocked her ignorance. She mattered more than all this rabble, who cared nothing for him. They had come only so they could boast of sharing in his triumph. How cruelly ironic it was that she should have unknowingly chosen this disastrous day for her journey! She thought of him and him alone, and painstakingly gathered every scrap of news about his health and movements. Yet all the rest of the world was talking about his arrival. She hid her face and wept. The procession moved on its way. Countless green cloaks passed by, with a scarlet one here and there, bright as an autumn maple among pines. Cavalcade after cavalcade passed, their colors flashing by, now dark, now light.²⁶⁹ Among the officers of the Sixth Grade, one stood out in a gold and green sheriff’s coat. This was Ukon, the gentleman who had recited the verse during Genji’s visit to the Imperial Tombs: ‘Little, alas, they heed their worshippers....’²⁷⁰ He had become captain of the Quiver Bearers. In that role, he had more officers attending him than any other sheriff. Among them was Yoshikiyo. He wore a splendid crimson cloak with an air of complete nonchalance and was perhaps the handsomest figure in the whole crowd.

Here, prosperous and happy, were all the knights and gentlemen whom she had seen at Akashi; then a pitiable band, now scattered amongst a vast cohort of partisans and retainers. The young princes and courtiers who rode with the procession had vied with one another in the magnificence of their accoutrement. Such gorgeous saddles and trappings had rarely been seen; and it may be imagined how they dazzled the eye of a country girl, fresh from her hillside retreat. At last came Genji’s coach. She could catch but a momentary glimpse of it; and of the face for which she yearned with so ardent a longing she could see nothing at all. Imitating the example of the great Tōru²⁷¹ he was attended by boy outriders. They were charmingly dressed, their hair looped at the sides and tied with purple ribbons. The ten of them were arranged according to their height, and a very pretty sight they were as they filed past in their dainty costumes. A boy rode by, clad in the dress of a Court page, a person of some consequence evidently, for he was obsequiously watched over and assisted, while a posse of boy grooms, each differently dressed, yet forming between them a carefully designed pattern, rode in his train. She was told that this was Prince Yūgiri, Genji’s son by Lady Aoi. She thought of her own daughter for whom so different a fate seemed to be reserved, and in sad submission bowed her head towards the Shrine. The Governor of the Province had now appeared, his arrival being attended by greater pomp than had ever before marked his intercourse with a Minister on pilgrimage. The Lady of Akashi saw clearly that even should she succeed in forcing her way through the crowd, there was little chance that in the midst of all these excitements the God would pay any attention to her insignificant offering. She was on the point of going home again, since there seemed to be no object in staying any longer, when it occurred to her that she might at any rate row over to Naniwa and perform the ceremony of Purification. This she did, while Genji, still unaware that she had been so near him, spent the rest of the evening preforming his vows within the Shrine. At last, thinking that by now the God ought to be thoroughly content, Genji determined to enjoy himself a little into the bargain; and the rest of the night was spent by the whole company in the most lively fashion imaginable. Koremitsu and the rest made a mental note that for certain kinds of religious observance there was much to be said. It happened that Genji went outside for a little while and Koremitsu, who was with him, recited an acrostic verse in which he hinted that beneath the pine-trees of Sumiyoshi a less solemn stillness now prevailed than when the Gods first ruled on earth. This could not be denied, and indeed to Genji too a joyful time had succeeded to an age of sadness. He therefore answered with the verse: ‘That from wild waves whose onslaught drove me from my course this God delivered me, I shall not soon forget.’ Koremitsu then went on to tell him how the boat from Akashi, dismayed by the crowds that flocked the Shrine, had put out again to sea. He hated to think that she had been there without his knowing it; besides, he felt now that it was this very God of Sumiyoshi who had given her to him for a bride. He could not let her go back without a word from him to cheer her. To think that she had come and gone without his even hearing that she was at hand would certainly grieve her worst of all. But for the moment she had gone further up the coast and there was nothing to be done.

All the knights and gentlemen she had seen at Akashi were there, prosperous and happy. Once a pitiful little band, they were now scattered among a vast company of followers and attendants. The young princes and courtiers in the procession had competed to dress themselves and their horses magnificently. Such splendid saddles and trappings had rarely been seen. One can imagine how they dazzled a country girl who had just left her hillside retreat. At last came Genji’s coach. She caught only a momentary glimpse of it. She could not see at all the face she longed for so ardently. Following the example of the great Tōru²⁷¹, he was accompanied by boy outriders. They were charmingly dressed, with their hair looped at the sides and tied with purple ribbons. The ten boys rode in order of height. They made a pretty sight as they passed in their delicate costumes. Another boy rode by, dressed as a Court page. He was evidently someone important, for people fussed over him and helped him at every turn. A group of boy grooms rode behind him. Each was dressed differently, but together their clothes formed a carefully designed pattern. She was told that the boy was Prince Yūgiri, Genji’s son by Lady Aoi. She thought of her own daughter, whose fate seemed destined to be so different. Sadly accepting this, she bowed her head toward the Shrine. The Governor of the Province had now arrived. His arrival was more splendid than any previous visit he had paid to a Minister on pilgrimage. The Lady of Akashi saw clearly that, even if she managed to push through the crowd, the God was unlikely to notice her insignificant offering amid all the excitement. She was about to go home, since there seemed no reason to stay. Then she thought she could at least row over to Naniwa and perform the ceremony of Purification. She did so, while Genji, still unaware that she had been so near, spent the rest of the evening fulfilling his vows inside the Shrine. At last, he thought the God ought to be thoroughly satisfied by now. So he decided to enjoy himself a little as well. The whole company spent the rest of the night as lively a time as could be imagined. Koremitsu and the others made a mental note that certain kinds of religious observance had much to recommend them. Genji happened to go outside for a little while. Koremitsu went with him and recited an acrostic verse. In it, he hinted that the stillness beneath the pine trees of Sumiyoshi was less solemn now than when the Gods first ruled the earth. This could not be denied. Indeed, Genji too had entered a joyful time after an age of sadness. So he answered with the verse: ‘I will not soon forget how this God saved me from the wild waves that drove me off course.’ Koremitsu then told him how the boat from Akashi had put out to sea again, driven away by the crowds flocking to the Shrine. Genji hated to think she had been there without his knowing it. Besides, he now felt that this very God of Sumiyoshi had given her to him as a bride. He could not let her return without a word from him to cheer her. Surely nothing would grieve her more than thinking she had come and gone without his even hearing she was nearby. But for the moment she had gone farther up the coast, and there was nothing he could do.

After leaving Sumiyoshi he visited several places in the neighbourhood. At Naniwa he too underwent the ceremony of Purification, together with other ceremonies, particularly the Ablution of the Seven Streams. As he passed the estuary of Horiye he murmured ‘Like the Tide-gauge at Naniwa...,’²⁷² hardly knowing why the lines had come into his head. Koremitsu, who was near his coach, overheard these words, and regarding them as a command to him to produce writing materials (a duty for which he was often in request) he whipped out a short-handled pen from the folds of his dress and as soon as Genji’s coach came to a standstill handed it in to him. Genji was amused by his promptness and on a folded paper wrote the lines: ‘That once again our love to its flood-mark shall rise, what better presage than this chance meeting by the tide-gauge of the shore?’ This he sent across to Naniwa by the hand of an underling who, from conversation with her servants, knew at what address she was to be found. Much as she had suffered at seeing him pass her by, it needed only this trifling message to allay all her agitation. In a flutter of gratitude and pride she indited the answer: ‘How comes it²⁷³ that to the least of those who bide as pilgrims in this town you bear a love that mounts so high upon the flood-gauge of your heart?’ She had that day been bathing in the Holy Waters at the Shrine of Rain-coat Island, and she sent him her poem tied to a prayer-strip which she had brought from the Shrine. When the message reached Genji it was already growing dark; the tide was full, and the cranes along the river-mouth had with one accord set up their strange and moving cry. Touched by the beauty of the place and hour, he suddenly lost all patience with the crowds that surged around him. Could he but banish them all from his sight and find himself with only the writer of this diffident poem at his side!

After leaving Sumiyoshi, he visited several nearby places. At Naniwa, he too underwent the ceremony of Purification and other rites, especially the Ablution of the Seven Streams. As he passed the estuary of Horiye, he murmured, ‘Like the Tide-gauge at Naniwa...,’²⁷² hardly knowing why the lines had come to mind. Koremitsu, who was near his coach, overheard him. He took the words as a command to bring writing materials, a duty he was often called upon to perform. He quickly pulled a short-handled pen from the folds of his robe. As soon as Genji’s coach stopped, he handed it to him. Amused by his promptness, Genji wrote on a folded paper: ‘What better sign that our love will rise to its flood-mark again than this chance meeting by the shore’s tide-gauge?’ He sent it across to Naniwa with a servant who had spoken with her servants and knew where she was staying. Though she had suffered when Genji passed her by, this small message was enough to calm all her distress. Full of gratitude and pride, she wrote back: ‘Why is it²⁷³ that you love the least of those staying as pilgrims in this town? Why does your love rise so high on the flood-gauge of your heart?’ That day she had bathed in the Holy Waters at the Shrine of Rain-coat Island. She sent him her poem tied to a prayer-strip she had brought from the Shrine. By the time her message reached Genji, it was growing dark. The tide was full, and the cranes along the river mouth had all begun their strange, moving cries. Touched by the beauty of the place and the hour, he suddenly lost all patience with the crowds pressing around him. If only he could send them all away and have only the writer of this modest poem at his side!

The journey back to the City was enlivened by many excursions and entertainments, but all the while his thoughts continually returned to the strange coincidence of that unhappy meeting. Quantities of dancing-girls had attached themselves to his retinue. Despite their total lack of sense or breeding, their company appeared to afford a vast deal of satisfaction to the hot-blood young gentlemen who formed Genji’s escort. This seemed to him very strange. One cannot enjoy beautiful scenery or works of art in the company of any but the right person; and surely if, in such matters as that, one is so easily put off by commonness or stupidity, it must make some difference whom one chooses as partner in these far more intimate associations? He could not indeed contrive to take the slightest interest in these creatures. They on their side quickly perceived that they were not being a success, and at once redoubled their efforts; with the consequence that he found them only the more repulsive.

The journey back to the City was filled with outings and entertainment. But all the while, Genji’s thoughts kept returning to the strange coincidence of that unhappy meeting. Many dancing girls had joined his retinue. They had no sense or refinement, yet their company seemed to delight the hot-blooded young gentlemen in Genji’s escort. This seemed very strange to him. One could only enjoy beautiful scenery or works of art in the right company. If vulgarity or stupidity could spoil such pleasures, surely it must matter whom one chose for far more intimate relationships? He could not take the slightest interest in these creatures. They quickly saw that they were not succeeding and immediately tried even harder. As a result, he found them even more repulsive.

Next day was marked a ‘good day’ in the calendar, and Genji’s party being safely on its way back to the Capital, the Lady of Akashi was able to return to Sumiyoshi and pursue her devotions in peace, now at last finding occasion to fulfil the many vows that had accumulated since her last visit to the Shrine. Her recent glimpse of Genji in all his glory had but increased the misgivings which day and night beset her: amid such surroundings as that it was impossible that so insignificant a person as herself should not rapidly sink into obscurity and contempt. She did not expect to hear from him again till he was back at Court. She was counting the days, when to her surprise a messenger appeared. In a letter, which had evidently been written during the journey, he named the actual date at which he should send for her to the City. Once more he sought to dispel all her doubts and anxieties; she could rely upon him implicitly; her position in his household would, he besought her to believe, be neither equivocal nor insecure. Nevertheless, she felt that she was embarking upon a perilous voyage under skies which, however promising an aspect they might now be wearing, might at any moment change to the threat of a hideous disaster. Her father too, when it came to the prospect of actually releasing her from his care, was exceedingly perturbed; indeed he dreaded her departure for the Capital even more than he had feared the prospect of her remaining forever buried in her rustic home. Her answer to Genji was full of reservations and misgivings concerning her fitness for the position which he promised her.

The next day was marked a ‘good day’ in the calendar. Genji’s party was safely on its way back to the Capital, so the Lady of Akashi could return to Sumiyoshi. There she could worship in peace and finally fulfill the many vows she had made since her last visit to the Shrine. Her recent glimpse of Genji in all his glory had only increased the doubts that troubled her day and night. In such surroundings, someone as insignificant as herself could only sink quickly into obscurity and contempt. She did not expect to hear from him again until he was back at Court. She was counting the days when, to her surprise, a messenger appeared. Genji’s letter had clearly been written during the journey. In it, he named the exact date when he would send for her to come to the City. Once again, he tried to dispel all her doubts and anxieties. She could rely on him completely, he said. He begged her to believe that her position in his household would be clear and secure. Even so, she felt she was setting out on a dangerous voyage. The skies might look promising now, but at any moment they could threaten a terrible disaster. Her father, too, was deeply troubled at the prospect of actually letting her leave his care. Indeed, he dreaded her departure for the Capital even more than he had feared her remaining forever buried in her country home. Her reply to Genji was full of doubts and reservations about whether she was suited to the position he promised her.

The retirement of the Emperor Suzaku had necessitated the appointment of a new Vestal at Ise, and Lady Rokujō had brought her daughter back again to the City. Genji had written the usual congratulations and this had given her immense pleasure; but she had no desire to give him the opportunity of once more distracting her as he had done in those old days, and she had answered only in the most formal terms. Consequently he had not, since her return, made any attempt to visit her. He did indeed make some vague suggestion of a meeting; but these hints were very half-hearted and it was a relief to him that they were not taken. He had recently decided not to complicate his life by outside relationships even of the most harmless kind: he simply had not time. And particularly in a case of this sort he saw no object in forcing his society upon some one who did not desire it. He was however extremely curious to see how the Vestal Virgin, now known as Lady Akikonomu, had grown up. Rokujō’s old palace in the Sixth Ward had been admirably repaired and redecorated, and life there was in these days by no means intolerable. Rokujō herself had gifts of character and intelligence which the passage of years had not obliterated. Her own personality and the unusual beauty of many of her gentlewomen combined to make her house a meeting place for men of fashion, and though she was herself at times very lonely, she was leading a life with which she was on the whole by no means ill-contented, when her health gave way. She felt at once that there was no hope for her, and oppressed by the thought that she had for so long been living in a sinful place,²⁷⁴ she resolved to become a nun. This news was a great blow to Genji. That he would ever again meet her as a lover, he had long felt to be impossible. But he thought of her as a friend whose company and conversation would always be among his greatest pleasures. That she should have felt it necessary to take this solemn and irrevocable step was a terrible shock, and on hearing what had happened he at once hastened to her palace. It proved to be a most harrowing visit. He found her in a state of complete collapse. Screens surrounded her bed; his chair was placed outside them, as near as possible to her pillow, and in this manner they conversed. It was evident that her strength was rapidly failing. How bitterly he now repented that he had not come to her sooner; had not proved, while yet there was time, that his passion for her had never expired! He wept bitterly, and Rokujō on her side, amazed to realize from the very intensity of his grief that during all the years when she had imagined herself to be forgotten, she had never been wholly absent from his thoughts, in a moment discarded all her bitterness, and seeing that his distress was unendurable began with the utmost tenderness to lead his thoughts to other matters. She spoke after a while about her daughter, Lady Akikonomu, the former Virgin of Ise, begging him to help her on in the world in any way he could. ‘I had hoped,’ she said, ‘having cast the cares of the world aside, to live on quietly at any rate until this child of mine should have reached an age when she could take her life into her own hands....’ Her voice died away. ‘Even if you had not mentioned it, I should always have done what I could to help her,’ answered Genji, ‘but now that you have made this formal request to me, you may be sure that I shall make it my business to look after her and protect her in every way that lies in my power. You need have no further anxiety on that score....’ ‘It will not be so easy,’ she answered. ‘Even a girl whose welfare has been the sole object of devoted parents often finds herself in a very difficult position if her mother dies and she has only her father to rely upon. But your task will, I fear, be far harder than that of a widowed father. Any kindness that you show the girl will at once be misinterpreted; she will be mixed up in all sorts of unpleasant bickerings and all your own friends will be set against her. And this brings me to a matter which is really very difficult to speak about. I wish I were so sure in my own mind that you would not make love to her. Had she my experience, I should have no fear for her. But unfortunately she is utterly ignorant and indeed is just the sort of person who might easily suffer unspeakable torment through finding herself in such a position. I cannot help wishing that I could provide for her future in some way that was not fraught with this particular danger....’ What an extraordinary notion, thought Genji. How could she have got such a thing into her head? ‘You are thinking of me as I was years ago,’ he answered quickly. ‘I have changed a great deal since then, as you would soon discover if you knew more about me....’

Emperor Suzaku’s retirement meant that a new Vestal had to be appointed at Ise. Lady Rokujō had brought her daughter back to the City. Genji had written the usual congratulations, which had given her immense pleasure. But she did not want to give him another chance to unsettle her as he had in the past. So she had answered in the most formal terms. As a result, he had not tried to visit her since her return. He had vaguely suggested a meeting, but his hints were half-hearted. He was relieved that she had not responded to them. He had recently decided not to complicate his life with outside relationships, however harmless. He simply did not have time. And in a case like this, he saw no point in forcing his company on someone who did not want it. He was, however, extremely curious to see how the Vestal Virgin, now known as Lady Akikonomu, had grown up. Rokujō’s old palace in the Sixth Ward had been beautifully repaired and redecorated. Life there was now far from unbearable. Rokujō herself had qualities of character and intelligence that the years had not erased. Her personality and the unusual beauty of many of her gentlewomen made her house a gathering place for fashionable men. Though she was sometimes very lonely, she was generally content with her life when her health failed. She knew at once that there was no hope for her. Troubled by the thought that she had lived so long in a sinful place,²⁷⁴ she decided to become a nun. The news was a great blow to Genji. He had long felt that they could never be lovers again. But he thought of her as a friend whose company and conversation would always give him the greatest pleasure. He was terribly shocked that she had felt it necessary to take this solemn and irrevocable step. As soon as he heard what had happened, he hurried to her palace. It was a deeply painful visit. He found her completely collapsed. Screens surrounded her bed, and his chair was placed outside them, as close to her pillow as possible. They talked this way, and it was clear that her strength was failing rapidly. How bitterly he now regretted not coming sooner, while there was still time to prove that his passion for her had never died! He wept bitterly. Rokujō was astonished by the depth of his grief. During all the years when she had thought herself forgotten, she had never been entirely absent from his thoughts. At once, she let go of all her bitterness. Seeing that his distress was unbearable, she gently began to turn his thoughts to other matters. After a while, she spoke about her daughter, Lady Akikonomu, the former Virgin of Ise. She begged him to help her make her way in the world however he could. ‘I had hoped,’ she said, ‘to put worldly cares aside and live quietly. I hoped to live at least until my child was old enough to take charge of her own life....’ Her voice faded. ‘Even if you had not mentioned it, I would always have done what I could to help her,’ Genji answered. ‘But now that you have formally asked me, you can be sure I will look after her. I will protect her in every way I can. You need not worry about that anymore....’ ‘It will not be so easy,’ she answered. ‘Even a girl whose devoted parents have cared about nothing but her welfare often faces great difficulties if her mother dies. That can happen when she has only her father to rely on. But I fear your task will be much harder than a widowed father’s. Any kindness you show her will be misunderstood at once. She will become caught up in all kinds of unpleasant quarrels, and all your own friends will turn against her. This brings me to something that is very difficult to speak about. I wish I could be sure that you would not make love to her. If she had my experience, I would have no fear for her. But unfortunately she is entirely inexperienced. She is just the kind of person who could easily suffer unspeakable torment in such a situation. I cannot help wishing I could provide for her future without exposing her to this particular danger....’ What an extraordinary idea, Genji thought. How could she have imagined such a thing? ‘You are thinking of me as I was years ago,’ he answered quickly. ‘I have changed a great deal since then. You would soon discover that if you knew more about me....’

Out of doors it was now quite dark. The room where he was sitting was lit only by the dim glow that, interrupted by many partitions, filtered through from the great lamp in the hall. Some one had entered the room. He peeped cautiously through a tear in one of the screens which surrounded the bed. In the very uncertain light he could just distinguish Rokujō’s form. Her hair was cropped, as is customary with novices before the final tonsure; but elegantly and with taste, so that her head, outlined against the pillows, made a delicate and charming picture. On the far side of the bed he could distinguish a second figure. This surely must be Lady Akikonomu. There was a point at which the screens had been carelessly joined, and looking through this gap he saw a young girl sitting in an attitude of deep dejection with her chin resting on her hand. So far as he could judge from this very imperfect view she was exceedingly good-looking. Her hair that hung loose to the ground, the carriage of her head, her movements and expression,—all had a singular dignity and grace; yet despite this proud air there was something about her affectionate, almost appealing. But was he not already beginning to take just that interest in her person against which her mother had a few moments ago been warning him? He hastily corrected his thoughts. Lady Rokujō now spoke again: ‘I am in great pain,’ she said, ‘and fear that at any moment my end may come. I would not have you witness my last agonies. Pray leave me at once.’ This she said with great difficulty, her women supporting her on either side. ‘How glad I should have been,’ said Genji, ‘if my visit had made you better. I am afraid it has only made you worse. I cannot bear to leave you in such pain. Tell me what it is that hurts so much?’ And so saying he made as though to come to her side. ‘Do not come to me!’ she cried out in terror, ‘I am grown hideous; you would not know me. Does what I say seem to you very strange and disjointed? It may be that my thoughts wander a little, for I am dying. Thank you for bearing patiently with me at such a time. I am much easier in my mind now that I have had this talk with you. I had meant to for a long time....’ ‘I am touched,’ replied Genji, ‘that you should have thought of me as a person to whom you could confide these requests. As you know, my father the late Emperor had a very large number of sons and daughters; for my part, I am not very intimate with any of them. But, when his brother died, he also regarded Lady Akikonomu here as though she were his own child and for that reason I have every right to regard her as my sister and help her in just those ways which a brother might. It is true that I am a great deal older than she is; but my own family is sadly small,²⁷⁵ and I could well afford to have some one else to look after....’

Outside, it was now quite dark. The room where he sat was lit only by the great lamp in the hall. Its dim light filtered through many partitions. Someone had entered the room. He peered cautiously through a tear in one of the screens around the bed. In the uncertain light, he could just make out Rokujō’s figure. Her hair had been cut short, as was customary for novices before their heads were shaved. But it had been cut elegantly and with taste. Her head, outlined against the pillows, made a delicate and charming picture. On the far side of the bed, he could make out a second figure. This surely had to be Lady Akikonomu. In one place, the screens had been carelessly joined. Through the gap, he saw a young girl sitting in deep dejection, her chin resting on her hand. As far as he could judge from this poor view, she was extremely beautiful. Her loose hair hung to the ground. The way she held her head, her movements, and her expression all had a remarkable dignity and grace. Yet despite her proud air, there was something affectionate, almost appealing, about her. But was he not already taking just the kind of interest in her that her mother had warned him against? He quickly corrected his thoughts. Lady Rokujō spoke again. ‘I am in great pain,’ she said, ‘and I fear I may die at any moment. I would not have you witness my final agony. Please leave me at once.’ She spoke with great difficulty, supported by her women on either side. ‘How glad I would have been,’ said Genji, ‘if my visit had made you better. I’m afraid it has only made you worse. I cannot bear to leave you in such pain. Tell me what hurts so much?’ As he spoke, he moved as if to come to her side. ‘Do not come near me!’ she cried in terror. ‘I have become hideous. You would not recognize me. Does what I say seem very strange and confused to you? My thoughts may wander a little, for I am dying. Thank you for being patient with me at such a time. I feel much easier now that I have had this talk with you. I had meant to for a long time....’ ‘I am touched,’ Genji replied, ‘that you thought you could confide these requests to me. As you know, my father, the late Emperor, had a great many sons and daughters. For my part, I am not very close to any of them. But when his brother died, he regarded Lady Akikonomu here as his own child. For that reason, I have every right to regard her as my sister. I can help her in just the ways a brother might. It is true that I am much older than she is. But my own family is sadly small,²⁷⁵ and I could easily look after someone else....’

After his return he sent incessantly to enquire after her progress and constantly wrote to her. She died some eight days later. He was deeply distressed, for a long while took no interest in anything that happened and had not the heart to go even so far as the Emperor’s Palace. The arrangements concerning her funeral and many other matters about which she had left behind instructions fell entirely upon him, for there was no one else to whom her people could apply. Fortunately the officers who had been attached to Lady Akikonomu’s suite while she was at Ise still remained in her service and they were able to give her a certain amount of assistance. Before the funeral Genji called in person and sent in a note to the bereaved lady of the house. A housekeeper (one of the people from Ise) brought back word that her mistress was completely overwhelmed by her loss and could not reply to him. He sent in a second message reminding Lady Akikonomu that her mother had solemnly committed her to his care and begging her not to regard him as an alien intruder into her affairs. He then sent for the various members of the household and gave them their instructions. He did so with an air of confidence and authority which surprised those who remembered for how long he had absented himself from that house. The funeral was carried out with the utmost pomp, the bier being attended not only by her servants, but by all Genji’s servants and retainers.

After he returned, he sent constant inquiries about her condition and wrote to her often. She died about eight days later. He was deeply distressed and, for a long time, took no interest in anything happening around him. He could not bring himself to go even as far as the Emperor’s Palace. He had to arrange her funeral and attend to the many other matters she had left instructions about. There was no one else her people could turn to. Fortunately, the officers who had served Lady Akikonomu while she was at Ise were still in her service. They were able to give her some assistance. Before the funeral, Genji came in person and sent a note to Lady Akikonomu, who had lost her mother. A housekeeper, one of the people from Ise, brought back her reply. Her mistress was completely overwhelmed by her loss and could not answer him. He sent a second message, reminding Lady Akikonomu that her mother had solemnly entrusted her to his care. He begged her not to regard him as an outsider intruding into her affairs. He then sent for the various members of the household and gave them instructions. He spoke with confidence and authority. This surprised those who remembered how long he had stayed away from the house. The funeral was conducted with the greatest ceremony. Her servants attended the bier, along with all of Genji’s servants and retainers.

For a long while afterwards he was immersed in prayers and penances and but seldom emerged from the seclusion of a thickly curtained recess. To Lady Akikonomu he sent many messages of enquiry, to which she now answered in her own hand. She had at first been too shy to do so; much to the dismay of her old nurse, who explained to her that not to answer letters is considered very uncivil. One day as he sat watching the wild storms of sleet and snow that were sweeping in a confused blizzard across the land, he could not help wondering how Lady Akikonomu was faring in this rough weather and sent a messenger to her palace. ‘I wonder how you like this storm,’ he wrote, and added the poem: ‘I see a house of mourning; dark tempests threaten it, and high amid the clouds hovers a ghost with anxious wing.’ It was written on light blue paper tinged with grey; the penmanship and make-up of the note were indeed purposely intended to be such as would impress a young girl. So much did this elegant missive dazzle her inexperienced eye that she again felt utterly unable to reply, and it was only when one member of her household after another reproached her for such rudeness and ingratitude that she at last took up a sheet of heavily scented dark-grey paper and in brush-strokes so faint as to be scarcely distinguishable wrote the poem: ‘Would that like the snow-flakes when they are weary of falling I might sink down upon the earth and end my days.’ There was nothing very remarkable about the writing, but it was an agreeable hand and one which bore unmistakable traces of the writer’s lineage. He had formed a high opinion of her at the time when she first went to Ise and had very much regretted her withdrawal from the world. Now she was an ordinary person again, and, if he wished to cultivate her acquaintance, entirely at his disposal; but this very fact (as was usual with him) caused a revulsion of feeling. To go forward in the direction where fewest obstacles existed seemed to him to be taking a mean advantage. Although he was, in his attentions to Lady Akikonomu, merely fulfilling her mother’s request, he knew quite well how every one at Court was expecting the story to end. Well, for once in a way their expectations would be disappointed. He was fully determined to bring her up with the utmost propriety and, so soon as the Emperor reached years of discretion, to present her at Court; in fact, to adopt her as his daughter,—a thing which, considering the smallness of his family, it was natural for him to do. He constantly wrote her letters full of kindness and encouragement, and occasionally called at her palace. ‘What I should really like,’ he said one day, ‘would be for you to look upon me, if you will forgive my putting it in that way, as a substitute for your dear mother. Can you not sometimes treat me as though I were an old friend? Can you not trust me with some of the secrets you used to confide to her?’ Such appeals merely embarrassed her. She had lived so secluded a life that to open her mouth at all in a stranger’s presence seemed to her a terrible ordeal, and her gentlewomen were in the end obliged to make such amends as they could. It was a comfort that many of her officers and gentlewomen were closely connected with the Imperial Family and would, if his project for installing her in the Palace did not come to naught, be able to help her to assert herself. He would have been glad to know more about her appearance, but she always received him from behind her curtains, and he neither felt justified in taking the liberties that are accorded to a parent nor did he feel quite sure enough of himself to wish to put his parental feelings to the test. He was indeed very uncertain with regard to his own intentions, and for the present mentioned his plans about her to nobody. He saw to it that the Memorial Service was carried out with great splendour, devoting to the arrangement of it a care that deeply gratified the bereaved household. Life there was becoming more and more featureless and depressing as the weeks went by. One by one Lady Akikonomu’s servants and retainers were finding other employment. The Palace stood at the extreme outer edge of the Sixth Ward, in a district which was very little frequented, and the melancholy bells which went on tolling and tolling in innumerable adjacent temples reduced her every evening to a state of abject misery. She had always been used to spend a great deal of time in her mother’s company, and even when she was sent to Ise, though no parent had ever before accompanied the Vestal Virgin, they still remained unseparated. It can be imagined then that her mother’s loss left her peculiarly helpless and desolate; and the thought that Rokujō, who had travelled so far for her sake, should now set out upon this last journey all alone, caused her unspeakable pain. Many suitors both high and low, under cover of paying attentions to one or other of her gentlewomen, now began to frequent the house. Genji however had in his best fatherly style exacted a promise from the lady’s old nurse that she would allow no matchmaking to go on in the house. Above all he feared that some of her women might wish for their own ends to keep these gentlemen hanging about the premises. It soon however became apparent that there was no danger of this. The ladies concerned knew that their doings would probably reach Genji’s ears, and they were far too anxious to stand well with him to dream of abusing their position. The suitors soon found that their advances were not met with the slightest encouragement.

For a long time afterward, he devoted himself to prayers and penances. He rarely came out from behind the thick curtains of his secluded recess. He sent Lady Akikonomu many messages asking how she was, and she now replied in her own hand. At first, she had been too shy to do so. Her old nurse was dismayed and explained that leaving letters unanswered was very rude. One day, he sat watching a wild blizzard of sleet and snow sweep across the land. He wondered how Lady Akikonomu was managing in such weather and sent a messenger to her palace. ‘I wonder how you like this storm,’ he wrote, and added the poem: ‘I see a house of mourning. Dark storms threaten it, and high among the clouds a ghost hovers on anxious wings.’ The note was written on pale blue paper tinged with grey. Its handwriting and presentation were deliberately chosen to impress a young girl. The elegant letter so dazzled her inexperienced eyes that she again felt unable to reply. Only after one member of her household after another reproached her for her rudeness and ingratitude did she finally respond. She took a sheet of heavily scented dark grey paper. In brushstrokes so faint they were barely visible, she wrote the poem: ‘If only I could sink to the earth, like snowflakes tired of falling, and end my days.’ There was nothing remarkable about her writing, but it was pleasant and showed unmistakable signs of her lineage. He had thought highly of her when she first went to Ise and had greatly regretted her withdrawal from the world. Now she was an ordinary person again. If he wished to get to know her, she was entirely at his disposal. But that very fact, as was usual with him, made him turn away. To take the path with the fewest obstacles seemed to him to be taking unfair advantage. His attentions to Lady Akikonomu were only fulfilling her mother’s request. Even so, he knew perfectly well how everyone at Court expected the story to end. Well, for once, they would be disappointed. He was determined to bring her up with the greatest propriety. As soon as the Emperor was old enough to exercise judgment, he would present her at Court. In fact, he would adopt her as his daughter, a natural step for a man with so small a family. He often wrote her kind, encouraging letters and occasionally visited her palace. ‘What I would really like,’ he said one day, ‘is for you to think of me, if you will forgive me for putting it that way, as a substitute for your dear mother. Could you sometimes treat me like an old friend? Could you trust me with some of the secrets you used to share with her?’ Such appeals only embarrassed her. She had lived such a sheltered life that speaking at all in a stranger’s presence seemed a terrible ordeal. In the end, her gentlewomen had to make up for her silence as best they could. It was a comfort that many of her officers and gentlewomen were closely connected to the Imperial Family. If his plan to establish her in the Palace succeeded, they could help her assert herself. He would have liked to know more about her appearance, but she always received him from behind her curtains. He did not feel entitled to take the liberties a parent might. Nor was he sure enough of himself to want to put his parental feelings to the test. He was very uncertain about his own intentions and, for the time being, told no one of his plans for her. He made sure the Memorial Service was conducted with great splendor. The care he devoted to its arrangements deeply gratified the grieving household. Life there grew increasingly empty and depressing as the weeks passed. One by one, Lady Akikonomu’s servants and retainers found other employment. The palace stood at the far edge of the Sixth Ward, in a district few people visited. Each evening, the mournful bells of the countless nearby temples rang on and on, leaving her utterly miserable. She had always spent a great deal of time with her mother. Even when she was sent to Ise, they had remained together, although no parent had ever before accompanied the Vestal Virgin. Her mother’s death left her especially helpless and desolate, as anyone could imagine. Rokujō had traveled so far for her sake. The thought that her mother must now make this last journey alone caused her unspeakable pain. Many suitors, both high and low, now began to visit the house. They did so under cover of paying attention to one or another of her gentlewomen. Genji, however, had adopted his best fatherly manner and made her old nurse promise to allow no matchmaking in the house. Above all, he feared that some of her women might keep these gentlemen coming for their own purposes. Soon, however, it became clear that there was no danger of this. The women concerned knew that Genji would probably hear what they did. They were far too eager to remain in his good favor to dream of abusing their position. The suitors soon found that their advances received not the slightest encouragement.

It will be remembered that at the time of Lady Akikonomu’s departure for Ise the retired Emperor Suzaku had, when presiding at the magnificent farewell ceremony in the Daigoku Hall, been greatly struck with her beauty. This impression had remained with him, and on her return to the Capital he begged Rokujō to let her daughter come to him, promising that she should take her place as the equal of his sister, the former Vestal of Kamo, and the other princesses, his sisters and kinswomen whom he sheltered under his roof. This proposal did not please her. She feared that where so many exalted personages were gathered together her daughter would be likely to receive but scant attention. Moreover Suzaku was at the time in very bad health, and if he should fail to recover, his dependants might be left in a precarious position. Now that her mother was dead it was all the more desirable to establish her in a manner which offered some prospect of security. When therefore Suzaku repeated his invitation, this time in somewhat insistent terms, Lady Akikonomu’s friends were placed in an awkward position. Genji’s private plan of affiancing her to the boy-Emperor would, now that Suzaku had displayed so marked an inclination towards her, be difficult to pursue without too deeply offending his brother. Another consideration weighed with him: he was becoming more and more fascinated by the girl’s beauty and he was in no hurry to commit her to other hands. Under the circumstances he thought the best thing he could do was to talk the matter over with Lady Fujitsubo. ‘I am in great difficulties over this business,’ he said. ‘As you know, the girl’s mother was a woman of singularly proud and sensitive temperament. I am ashamed to say that, following my own wanton and selfish inclinations, I behaved in such a way as to do great injury to her reputation, with the consequence that henceforward she on her side harboured against me a passionate resentment, while I on mine found myself branded not only by her but also by the world at large as a profligate and scamp. Till the very last I was never able to recover her confidence; but on her death-bed she spoke to me of Akikonomu’s future in a way which she would never have done had she not wholly regained her good opinion of me. This was a great weight off my mind. Even had these peculiar relations not existed between us, her request was one which even to a stranger I could hardly have refused. And as it was, you may imagine how gladly I welcomed this chance of repairing, even at this late hour, the grievous wrong which my light-mindedness had inflicted upon her during her lifetime. His Majesty is of course many years younger than Akikonomu;²⁷⁶ but I do not think it would be a bad thing if he had some older and more experienced person in his entourage. However, it is for you to decide....’ ‘I am of the same opinion,’ Fujitsubo replied. ‘It would of course be very imprudent to offend the retired Emperor. But surely the mother’s wishes are a sufficient excuse. If I were you I should pretend you know nothing about the retired Emperor’s inclination towards her and present her at the Palace without more ado. As a matter of fact, Suzaku now cares very little about such matters. What energy he still possesses is spent on prayers and meditation. I do not think you will find that he minds very much one way or the other....’ ‘All the same, I think it will be best under the circumstances if the request for Akikonomu’s Presentation came from you,’ said Genji. ‘I could then seem merely to be adding my solicitations to yours. You will think that in weighing the pros and cons of the matter with such care I am over-scrupulous; and indeed I fear that you have found me rather tedious. It is simply that I am extremely anxious people should not think me lacking in respect towards my brother....’ It soon became apparent that, in accordance with Fujitsubo’s advice, he had decided to disregard the retired Emperor’s wishes. But it was in Genji’s own palace and not, for the moment at any rate, in the Emperor’s household that Lady Akikonomu was to be installed. He explained the circumstances to Murasaki. ‘She is just about your age,’ he said, ‘and you will find her a very agreeable companion. I think you will get on famously together....’ Murasaki at once took to the idea and was soon busy with preparations for the reception of the visitor.

As you may remember, the retired Emperor Suzaku had been struck by Lady Akikonomu’s beauty when she left for Ise. He had presided over her magnificent farewell ceremony in the Daigoku Hall. He had not forgotten her, and when she returned to the Capital, he begged Rokujō to let her daughter come to him. He promised that Akikonomu would be treated as an equal to his sister, the former Vestal of Kamo. She would also be equal to the other princesses, his sisters and kinswomen, who lived under his roof. The proposal did not please Rokujō. She feared that among so many exalted people, her daughter would receive little attention. Moreover, Suzaku was in very poor health. If he did not recover, those who depended on him might be left in an uncertain position. Now that her mother was dead, it was even more important to secure Akikonomu’s future. So when Suzaku repeated his invitation, this time more insistently, Lady Akikonomu’s friends were placed in an awkward position. Genji had privately planned to arrange Akikonomu’s marriage to the boy-Emperor. But now that Suzaku had shown such a strong interest in her, pursuing that plan might deeply offend his brother. Another thought weighed on Genji. He was growing more fascinated by the girl’s beauty and was in no hurry to give her to someone else. Under the circumstances, he thought it best to discuss the matter with Lady Fujitsubo. ‘I am in great difficulty over this matter,’ he said. ‘As you know, the girl’s mother was a woman of exceptional pride and sensitivity. I am ashamed to say that I followed my own reckless and selfish desires and badly damaged her reputation. As a result, she came to resent me bitterly. She and the world at large also branded me a scoundrel and a man of loose morals. Until the very end, I was never able to regain her trust. But on her deathbed, she spoke to me about Akikonomu’s future. She would never have done so unless she had completely regained her good opinion of me. This was a great relief. Even without the peculiar relationship between us, I could hardly have refused such a request from a stranger. As things stood, you can imagine how gladly I welcomed this chance to make amends. Even at this late hour, I could begin to repair the terrible harm my thoughtlessness had caused her during her life. His Majesty is, of course, many years younger than Akikonomu.²⁷⁶ But I do not think it would be a bad thing for him to have someone older and more experienced in his circle. However, the decision is yours....’ ‘I agree,’ Fujitsubo replied. ‘It would, of course, be very unwise to offend the retired Emperor. But surely the mother’s wishes are excuse enough. If I were you, I would pretend to know nothing of the retired Emperor’s interest in her. Then I would present her at the Palace without further delay. In fact, Suzaku now cares very little about such matters. He spends what energy he still has on prayers and meditation. I do not think you will find that he minds very much either way....’ ‘Even so, I think it would be best if the request for Akikonomu’s Presentation came from you,’ Genji said. ‘Then I could appear merely to add my own request to yours. You will think I am being too scrupulous in weighing the arguments so carefully. Indeed, I fear you have found me rather tedious. It is simply that I am very anxious that people should not think I lack respect for my brother....’ It soon became clear that Genji had decided to follow Fujitsubo’s advice and disregard the retired Emperor’s wishes. But for the time being, Lady Akikonomu was to live in Genji’s own palace, not in the Emperor’s household. He explained the circumstances to Murasaki. ‘She is about your age,’ he said, ‘and you will find her a very pleasant companion. I think you will get along famously....’ Murasaki liked the idea at once and was soon busy preparing to receive their visitor.

Fujitsubo was all this while extremely exercised in mind concerning the future of her niece, the youngest daughter of Prince Hyōbukyō, for Genji’s estrangement from the father seemed to block every avenue of advancement. Tō no Chūjō’s daughter, as the grandchild of the Senior Minister, was treated on all sides with the utmost deference and consideration, and she had now become the Emperor’s favourite playmate. ‘My brother’s little girl is just the same age as the Emperor,’ said Fujitsubo one day; ‘he would enjoy having her to play at dolls with him sometimes, and it would be a help to the older people who are looking after him.’ But quite apart from affairs of state, Genji had (as Fujitsubo knew) such a multiplicity of private matters to attend to and was plagued from morning till night by such a variety of irritating applications and requests that she had not the heart to keep on bothering him. It was something that a person like Lady Akikonomu would soon be at the Emperor’s side; for Fujitsubo herself was in very poor health and, though she sometimes visited the Palace, she could not look after her son’s education as she would have liked to do. It was necessary that there should be some one grown up to keep an eye on him, and though she would dearly like to have seen her niece installed as his playmate, she was extremely glad of the arrangement whereby a sensible creature like Lady Akikonomu was to have him in her constant care.

Fujitsubo had long been deeply worried about her niece’s future. The girl was the youngest daughter of Prince Hyōbukyō. Genji’s estrangement from her father seemed to block every path to advancement for her. Tō no Chūjō’s daughter, as the Senior Minister’s granddaughter, was treated with the greatest respect and consideration by everyone. She had now become the Emperor’s favorite playmate. ‘My brother’s little girl is just the same age as the Emperor,’ Fujitsubo said one day. ‘He would enjoy having her play with dolls with him sometimes. It would also help the older people who look after him.’ But Fujitsubo knew that Genji had many private matters to attend to, quite apart from affairs of state. He was troubled from morning to night by all sorts of irritating appeals and requests. She did not have the heart to keep bothering him. It was some comfort that someone like Lady Akikonomu would soon be at the Emperor’s side. Fujitsubo herself was in very poor health. Though she sometimes visited the Palace, she could not oversee her son’s education as she would have liked. An adult needed to keep an eye on him. Fujitsubo would have dearly liked her niece to become his playmate. Even so, she was extremely glad that someone as sensible as Lady Akikonomu would be looking after him constantly.