The Palace in the Tangled Woods

WHILE Genji, like Yukihira of old, ‘dragged his leaky pails’ along the shore of Suma, his absence had been mourned, in varying ways and degrees, by a very large number of persons in the Capital. Even those who stood in no need of patronage or protection and had through his departure lost only the amenities of a charming friendship were deeply distressed. For some of them, such as Murasaki, this sad time was mitigated by constant messages from his place of exile; some were privileged to busy their needles upon such garments as his altered state prescribed, or were allowed the consolation of rendering him other small services such as in his present difficulties he was likely to require. But there were others who, though they had received his favours, had done so unknown to the world, and these ladies now learned of Genji’s last hours at the Capital from the casual gossip of some friend who had no idea that the matter was of any particular concern to them. Needless to say they feigned a like indifference; but such concealment costs one dear and not a few hearts were broken in the process.

While Genji, like Yukihira long ago, ‘dragged his leaky pails’ along the shore of Suma, many people in the Capital mourned his absence. They missed him in different ways and to different degrees. Even those who needed no help or protection from him were deeply distressed. They had lost only the pleasure of a charming friendship. For some, such as Murasaki, this sad time was made easier by his constant messages from exile. Some had the privilege of sewing the clothes his changed circumstances required. Others found comfort in providing the small services he was likely to need in his difficulties. But there were other women who had received his favors in secret. They now learned about Genji’s last hours in the Capital through casual gossip from friends. These friends had no idea the matter was of any particular concern to them. Naturally, the women pretended to be equally indifferent. But such concealment comes at a great cost, and many hearts were broken in the process.

Among those who fared worst during his absence was the lady at the Hitachi Palace.²⁷⁷ During the period after her father’s death there had been no one to take care of her and she had for a while led a very wretched existence. But then came the unexpected apparition of Genji. His letters and visits, which to him in the crowded days of his glory were insignificant acts of courtesy, implying no more than a very mild degree of interest and affection, were to their recipient, with her narrow and unvarying life, like the reflection of a star when it chances to fall into a bowl of water. It was but natural, she thought, that when the outcry against him began Genji should no longer find time for an attachment which had in any case played only a very subordinate part in his life, particularly as the attacks upon him were part of a widespread movement which could not but be causing him the greatest anxiety. Then came his exile and at last his triumphant return. But still she heard no word from him.

Among those who suffered most during his absence was the lady at the Hitachi Palace.²⁷⁷ After her father died, no one had looked after her, and for a while she had lived a miserable life. Then Genji appeared unexpectedly. In his busy days of glory, his letters and visits were insignificant courtesies to him. They showed only a little interest and affection. But to her, in her narrow, unchanging life, they were like a star reflected in a bowl of water. When the outcry against him began, she thought it natural that Genji no longer had time for her. After all, their attachment had played only a small part in his life. Besides, the attacks were part of a widespread movement that must have caused him great anxiety. Then came his exile and, at last, his triumphant return. But still she heard nothing from him.

In old days when she heard nothing from him for a week or two she would become a little tearful it is true, but she still managed to carry on her ordinary existence. Now months, years had passed; long ago she had given up all hope, and sank into a condition of settled apathy and gloom. ‘Poor princess!’ said the elderly gentlewomen who waited upon her. ‘Really she has had the worst possible luck! To see this glorious apparition suddenly descending upon her like a God or Buddha out of the sky—not that he meant very much by it; but she, poor lady, could never get over the surprise of his noticing her at all—and then for him to disappear without a word! She knows of course that it is not from her that he has run away to Suma; it all comes of this new government! But still, one cannot help being very sorry for the poor young creature.’ She had indeed during the time after her father’s death become gradually inured to a life of extreme monotony and isolation; but Genji’s visits had awakened in her quite new ambitions; for the first time in her life she began to feel herself drawn towards the world of taste and fashion. This made her renewed state of poverty and isolation all the more difficult to bear. The fact that Genji frequented the house had for the time being induced a certain number of other visitors to present themselves. But since his departure one visitor after another, having grown more and more remiss in his attentions, finally ceased to come at all. Her father’s ladies-in-waiting were all very advanced in years and every now and then one of them would die; the other servants, both indoors and out, were continually seeking better service, and hardly a month passed but some member of her staff either died or drifted away. The palace grounds, which had for long years past been allowed to sink into a sad state of neglect, had now become a mere jungle. Foxes had made their lairs in the garden walks, while from the ornamental plantations, now grown into dank and forbidding woods, the voice of the screech-owl sounded day and night alike; so little was there now any sign of human habitation in that place, so dim was the daylight that pierced those tangled thickets. The few servants who still lingered on in the midst of all this desolation began to declare that tree-spirits and other fearsome monsters had established themselves in the palace grounds and were every day becoming more open and venturesome in their habits. ‘There is no sense in continuing to live like this,’ one of these ladies said. ‘Nowadays all the government officials are building themselves handsome houses. Several of them have for a long time past had their eye on all your timber and have been making enquiries in the neighbourhood whether you might not be prevailed upon to part with it. If only you would consent to do so, you might with the proceeds easily buy some newer place that would be less depressing to live in. You are really asking too much of the few servants that remain with you....’ ‘Hush, how can you suggest such a thing!’ answered the princess. ‘What would people think if they heard you? So long as I am alive no such disrespect to my poor Father’s memory shall ever be committed. I know quite well that the grounds have become rather wild and dismal; but this was his home, his dear spirit haunts the place, and I feel that so long as I am here I am never far off from him. That has become my only comfort....’ She broke off in tears, and it was impossible to allude to the subject again. Her furniture too, though entirely out of fashion, was much of it very beautiful in an old-world way, and enquiries were constantly coming from those who made it their business to understand such matters and had heard that she possessed a work by such and such a master of some particular time and school. Such proposals she regarded merely as an ill-bred comment upon her poverty and indeed complained of them bitterly to the aforementioned gentlewoman. ‘But, Madam,’ the lady protested, ‘it is not at all an unusual thing....’ And to convince her mistress that funds must somehow or other be procured she began to call her attention to various dilapidations, the repair of which could not safely be deferred for a single day. But it made no difference. The idea of selling any of her possessions seemed to the princess utterly untenable. ‘If he had not meant me to keep them, he would not have put them here,’ she said; ‘I cannot bear to think of them becoming ornaments in ordinary, worldly people’s houses. I do not think he would wish me to...,’ and that was all that could be got out of her.

In earlier days, she would grow a little tearful if she heard nothing from him for a week or two. Even so, she managed to go on with her ordinary life. Now months and years had passed. She had long ago given up all hope and had sunk into lasting apathy and gloom. ‘Poor princess!’ said the elderly ladies who attended her. ‘She really has had the worst possible luck! That glorious figure suddenly appeared before her, like a God or Buddha descending from the sky. Not that he meant very much by it. But she, poor lady, could never get over her surprise that he had noticed her at all. And then he disappeared without a word! Of course she knows he did not run away to Suma to escape her. It is all because of this new government! But still, one cannot help feeling very sorry for the poor young woman.’ After her father’s death, she had gradually grown used to a life of extreme monotony and isolation. But Genji’s visits had awakened entirely new ambitions in her. For the first time, she felt drawn to the world of taste and fashion. This made her return to poverty and isolation all the harder to bear. While Genji was visiting the house, his presence had encouraged a number of other visitors to come too. But after he left, they came less and less often, until finally none came at all. Her father’s ladies-in-waiting were all very old, and every now and then one of them died. The other servants, both indoors and out, were constantly looking for better positions. Hardly a month passed without someone on her staff dying or drifting away. The palace grounds had been neglected for many years and had now become a jungle. Foxes had made their dens along the garden paths. The ornamental groves had grown into damp, forbidding woods, where screech-owls called day and night. There was now so little sign that anyone lived there, and so little daylight reached through the tangled thickets. The few servants who remained amid this desolation began to say that tree-spirits and other frightening monsters had settled in the grounds. They said the creatures were becoming bolder and showing themselves more openly every day. ‘There is no sense in going on living like this,’ one of the ladies said. ‘These days all the government officials are building themselves fine houses. Several of them have had their eye on your timber for a long time. They have been asking around the neighborhood whether you might be persuaded to sell it. If only you would agree, you could easily use the money to buy a newer, less depressing place to live. You are really asking too much of the few servants who remain with you....’ ‘Hush, how can you suggest such a thing!’ the princess answered. ‘What would people think if they heard you? As long as I live, I will never allow such disrespect to my poor father’s memory. I know the grounds have become rather wild and gloomy. But this was his home, and his dear spirit haunts the place. I feel that as long as I am here, I am never far from him. That has become my only comfort....’ She broke off in tears, and it was impossible to raise the subject again. Her furniture, too, was entirely out of fashion, though much of it had an old-fashioned beauty. People who made it their business to know about such things were constantly making inquiries. They had heard that she owned a piece by one master or another, from a particular period and school. She saw such offers as nothing more than rude comments on her poverty. Indeed, she complained bitterly about them to the same lady. ‘But, Madam,’ the lady protested, ‘there is nothing at all unusual about it....’ She began pointing out various things that had fallen into disrepair and could not safely be left another day. She hoped to convince her mistress that money had to be found somehow. But it made no difference. To the princess, selling any of her possessions was completely out of the question. ‘If he had not meant me to keep them, he would not have put them here,’ she said. ‘I cannot bear to think of them becoming ornaments in ordinary, worldly people’s houses. I do not think he would wish me to....’ That was all anyone could get her to say.

Visitors and even letters were now absolutely unknown at the Hitachi Palace. True, her elder brother the Zen priest on the rare occasions when he came up to the Capital, usually visited the palace. But he did little more than poke his head in and go away. He was a particularly vague and unpractical sort of man, who even among his fellow clerics ranked as unusually detached from all worldly considerations. In fact he was a saint, and consequently very unlikely to notice that the whole place was overgrown with weeds and bushes, still less to suggest any means of clearing them away.

Visitors and even letters were now completely unknown at the Hitachi Palace. Her older brother, a Zen priest, usually visited the palace on the rare occasions when he came to the Capital. But he did little more than poke his head in and leave. He was a particularly vague and impractical man. Even among his fellow priests, he was unusually detached from worldly concerns. In fact, he was a saint. So he was very unlikely to notice that the whole place was overgrown with weeds and bushes, much less suggest a way to clear them away.

Meanwhile, the state of affairs was becoming very acute. The once elegant courtyard was thickly overgrown with weeds; and lusty hemlock clumps were fast destroying the gables and eaves of the roof. The main eastern and western gates of the park were barricaded by huge masses of mugwort and it was impossible to open them. This might have given the inhabitants of the palace a certain comforting sense of security, had it not been for the fact that the walls which surrounded the estate were everywhere either broken down or upon the point of falling. Horse and oxen from the neighbouring pastures soon found their way through these gaps, and when the summer came they began to make free with the palace lawns in a way which scandalized the little herd-boys who were in charge of them. At the time of the autumn equinox there were very heavy gales, and one day the main roof of the servants’ wing was blown right away, leaving only a ceiling of thin match-boarding, a mere shell, which would not have withstood the mildest shower of rain. At this the under-servants left in a body. Henceforward the few inhabitants of the palace led a pitiable existence, not even getting enough to eat, for there was no one to make up the fires or prepare their food. Thieves and vagabonds had the place completely at their mercy; but fortunately it never occurred to them to go near it. How could so desolate a ruin contain anything worth meddling with? They shook their heads and trudged on. But strangely enough, had he penetrated those savage thickets, an enterprising burglar would have found, amid a tangled mass of wreckage, a drawing-room²⁷⁸ perfectly appointed in every detail, each ornament, each screen and article of furniture still standing exactly where the late prince had left it. True, there was no longer anyone to dust this last-surviving room, and it needed dusting badly. Never mind, it was a real room; not just a living-place, but a noble apartment with everything in it handsome and dignified just as it ought to be. And here, year in and year out, her whole life was spent.

Meanwhile, things were getting worse. The once elegant courtyard was thick with weeds. Large clumps of hemlock were quickly destroying the roof’s gables and eaves. Huge masses of mugwort blocked the estate’s main east and west gates, making them impossible to open. This might have given the palace’s inhabitants a comforting sense of security. But the walls around the estate had either collapsed or were about to fall everywhere. Horses and oxen from the neighboring pastures soon found their way through the gaps. When summer came, they began roaming freely over the palace lawns, to the dismay of the young boys tending them. Around the autumn equinox, violent winds struck. One day, the main roof of the servants’ wing blew off. Only a thin ceiling of wooden boards remained. It was a mere shell that could not have kept out even the lightest rain. At this, the lower servants all left together. After that, the few people remaining in the palace lived in misery. They did not even have enough to eat, because no one was there to tend the fires or prepare food. Thieves and vagabonds could have done as they pleased there, but fortunately it never occurred to them to go near the place. How could such a desolate ruin contain anything worth taking? They shook their heads and walked on. Yet, strangely enough, an enterprising burglar who ventured through those wild thickets would have found something unexpected. Amid the tangled wreckage was a drawing-room²⁷⁸, perfectly furnished in every detail. Every ornament, screen, and piece of furniture still stood exactly where the late prince had left it. True, no one was left to dust this last surviving room, and it badly needed dusting. Never mind, it was a real room, not just a place to live. It was a noble room, with everything in it handsome and dignified, just as it should be. And here, year after year, she spent her whole life.

Solitary people with a great deal of time on their hands seem usually to turn to old ballads and romances for amusement and distraction, but for such employments the princess showed little inclination. Even in the lives of those who have no particular interest in poetry there are usually periods of inactivity during which they take to exchanging verses with some sympathetic correspondent—verses which, if they are young, generally contain affecting references to various kinds of plant and tree. But the princess’s father had imbued her with the belief that all outward display of emotion is undignified and ill-bred; she felt that what he would really have liked best would have been for her to communicate with no one at all, and she had long given up writing even to the few relations with whom she might have been expected occasionally to correspond.

People who live alone and have plenty of time usually seem to turn to old ballads and romances for entertainment and distraction. But the princess had little interest in such things. Even people with no particular interest in poetry usually have quiet periods when they exchange verses with a sympathetic correspondent. If they are young, their verses generally contain touching references to various plants and trees. But the princess’s father had taught her that all outward displays of emotion were undignified and ill-bred. She felt that he would really have preferred her to communicate with no one at all. She had long since stopped writing even to the few relatives she might have been expected to contact occasionally.

At rare intervals she would open an old-fashioned chest and fiddle for a while with a number of ancient picture-scrolls, illustrations of such stories as The Chinese Prefect, The Mistress of Hakoya, Princess Kaguya²⁷⁹ and the like. Then there were some poems which, though all of very ancient date, were excellently chosen, with the names of the poets and the titles of the poems written in a nice clear hand at the side, so that one could really tell what one was reading. They were written on the best Kanya and Michinoku papers, now grown somewhat puffy with age,²⁸⁰ and though it cannot be supposed that she could derive much pleasure from reading the same familiar pages over and over again, yet it was noticed that in her hours of deepest depression she would often sit with the books spread open before her. As for reading the Sūtras or performing those Buddhist ceremonies which have now become so indispensable an element in fashionable life, she would have shuddered at the thought, and would not have dreamed of so much as touching a rosary, even though no one was there to see. Such was the arduous standard of conduct which this lady imposed upon herself.

Once in a great while, she would open an old-fashioned chest and look through some ancient picture scrolls. They illustrated stories such as The Chinese Prefect, The Mistress of Hakoya, Princess Kaguya²⁷⁹ and others. There were also some poems. Though all were very old, they had been excellently chosen. The poets’ names and the poems’ titles were written clearly beside them, so one could tell what one was reading. The poems were written on the finest Kanya and Michinoku papers, now somewhat puffy with age.²⁸⁰ She could hardly have enjoyed reading the same familiar pages over and over. Yet people noticed that, when she was most depressed, she often sat with the books open before her. As for reading the Sūtras or performing Buddhist ceremonies, she would have shuddered at the thought. These had become indispensable to fashionable life, but she would not have dreamed of even touching a rosary. She would not have done so even when no one was there to see. Such was the demanding standard of conduct this lady imposed on herself.

Of her old servants only Jijū, the daughter of her foster-nurse, had survived the general exodus of the last few years. Jijū’s friend, the former Vestal of Kamo, whose company had been one of her distractions, was dead, and the poor lady’s existence had become such as no one could reasonably be expected to endure. A sister of the princess’s mother had fallen on evil days and ended by marrying a provincial official. She now lived at the Capital, and as she had daughters, together with a bevy of unusually agreeable young waiting-women, Jijū occasionally visited the house, where indeed she was quite at home, for both her parents had been friends of the family. But the princess herself, with her usual unsociability, absolutely refused to hold any communication with her aunt’s household. ‘I am afraid the princess looks upon me as a very vulgar person,’ the aunt said to Jijū one day. ‘She still thinks, despite the wretched manner in which she now lives, that to have such relations as we is a disgrace to her. At any rate I suppose that is why she is so careful never to come near us.’ It was in this somewhat malicious tone that she always discussed her niece’s behaviour.

Of her old servants, only Jijū, the daughter of her foster nurse, remained. The others had all left over the past few years. Jijū’s friend, the former Vestal of Kamo, had been one of the princess’s sources of distraction. Now she was dead, and the poor lady’s life had become more than anyone could reasonably be expected to endure. A sister of the princess’s mother had fallen on hard times and eventually married a provincial official. She now lived in the Capital with her daughters and a group of unusually pleasant young waiting-women. Jijū visited the house occasionally and felt quite at home there, since both her parents had been friends of the family. But the princess herself was as unsociable as ever and refused to have anything to do with her aunt’s household. ‘I’m afraid the princess thinks I’m a very vulgar person,’ the aunt said to Jijū one day. ‘Even though she lives so miserably now, she still thinks having relatives like us is a disgrace. At least, I suppose that’s why she’s so careful never to come near us.’ She always spoke about her niece’s behavior in this somewhat spiteful way.

I have noticed that people of quite common origin who have risen in the world can in a very short time achieve a perfect imitation of aristocratic importance. And similarly, if through some accident an aristocrat falls into low company, he generally exhibits a meanness so thorough-going that it is hard to believe he has been at any pains to acquire it. Of this second tendency the princess’s aunt was a good example. She knew that after her unfortunate marriage the people at the Hitachi Palace had regarded her as a disgrace to the family. Now that the prince was dead and Suyetsumu herself was in circumstances of such difficulty, there seemed to be quite a good chance that the princess might eventually have to take shelter under her aunt’s roof. This was what the aunt herself was looking forward to. It was her revenge. She saw the princess installed as a dependant, fetching and carrying for her daughters. And what an ideal drudge she would make, being so priggish and strait-laced that it would never be necessary to keep an eye upon her! ‘You ought to bring her round to see us sometimes,’ the aunt would say to Jijū, ‘and if you could get her to bring her zithern, so much the better; we have heard so much about her playing.’ Jijū did her best, and the princess, docile as usual, admitted that there was everything to be said in favour of paying an occasional visit. But when it came to the point, panic overwhelmed her. She would do anything, anything that Jijū asked; but she would not make friends. And so, greatly to the aunt’s discomfiture, the matter was dropped.

I have noticed that people of quite ordinary origins can rise in the world and quickly learn to imitate aristocratic dignity perfectly. Similarly, if an aristocrat falls into low company by some accident, he generally becomes remarkably mean. His meanness is so complete that it is hard to believe he had to make any effort to acquire it. The princess’s aunt was a good example of this second tendency. She knew that, after her unfortunate marriage, the people at the Hitachi Palace had regarded her as a disgrace to the family. Now the prince was dead, and Suyetsumu herself was in great difficulty. There seemed a good chance that the princess might eventually have to take shelter in her aunt’s house. Her aunt was looking forward to that. It was her revenge. She pictured the princess living as a dependent, running errands for her daughters. And what an ideal servant she would make! She was so prim and strict that there would never be any need to watch her. ‘You ought to bring her over to see us sometimes,’ the aunt would say to Jijū. ‘And if you could persuade her to bring her zithern, so much the better. We have heard so much about her playing.’ Jijū did her best, and the princess, as obedient as ever, agreed that an occasional visit made perfect sense. But when the time came, she was overcome with panic. She would do anything, anything Jijū asked, but she would not make friends. And so the matter was dropped, much to the aunt’s disappointment.

About this time her uncle was appointed treasurer to a provincial district. He intended to take his family with him, and was anxious to equip his daughters with attendants whom it would be pleasant to name in the ears of provincial visitors. The chance of being able to exhibit a real princess as a member of their staff was not to be thrown away and the aunt returned once more to the attack. ‘I am very worried at having to go so far away from you,’ she sent word by Jijū. ‘We have not had the pleasure of seeing you much lately; but it was a great comfort to me to feel that I was near at hand and could help you if anything went wrong. I am most anxious that, if possible, we should not be separated....’ All this had no effect whatever. ‘The conceited little fool! I have no patience with her,’ the aunt cried out at last. ‘She may have these grand ideas about herself if she chooses; but no one else is going to take much notice of a creature that goes on year after year living in the hole-and-corner way that she does; least of all this famous Prince Genji, with whom she pretends to be so intimate.’

Around this time, her uncle was appointed treasurer of a provincial district. He planned to take his family with him. He wanted his daughters to have attendants whose names would impress their provincial visitors. He could not pass up the chance to show off a real princess among their attendants, and the aunt tried again. ‘I am very worried about going so far away from you,’ she said in a message sent through Jijū. ‘We have not had the pleasure of seeing you much lately. But it was a great comfort to know that I was nearby and could help if anything went wrong. I am very anxious that, if possible, we should not be separated....’ None of this had any effect. ‘The conceited little fool! I have no patience with her,’ the aunt cried at last. ‘She can have grand ideas about herself if she wants. But no one else is going to pay much attention to a creature who lives in hiding year after year. Least of all that famous Prince Genji, whom she pretends to know so well.’

At last came Genji’s pardon and recall, celebrated in every part of the kingdom by riotous holiday-making and rejoicing. His friends of either sex were soon vying with one another in demonstrations of good will and affection. These testimonies to his popularity, pouring in from persons of every rank and condition in life, naturally touched him deeply, and in these stirring days it would have been strange indeed if many minor affairs had not escaped his memory. But for her the time of his restoration was far harder to bear than that of his exile. For whereas she had before confidently looked forward to his return, counting upon it as we count upon the winter trees to bud again in spring, this glorious home-coming and restoration, when at last they came, brought joy to every hut and hovel in the land, but to her only a hundredfold increase of her former misery. For of what comfort to her were his triumphs, if she must hear of them from other lips?

At last, Genji was pardoned and called home. People celebrated with wild festivities throughout the kingdom. His friends, both men and women, soon competed to show him their goodwill and affection. These expressions of his popularity came from people of every rank and walk of life. Naturally, they moved him deeply. In those eventful days, it would have been strange if he had not forgotten many smaller matters. But for her, his return to favor was far harder to bear than his exile. Before, she had confidently expected him to return, just as we expect winter trees to bud again in spring. But when his glorious homecoming and return to favor finally came, they brought joy to every humble home in the land. To her, they brought only a hundredfold increase in her former misery. For what comfort were his triumphs to her if she had to hear of them from others?

The aunt had the satisfaction of seeing her prophecies fulfilled. It was of course out of the question that anyone would own to an acquaintance with a person living in such miserable squalor as now surrounded the princess. There are those, says the Hokkekyō,²⁸¹ whom even Buddha and his saints would have hard work to redeem; and certainly this lady had allowed her affairs to drift into a disorder which the most generous patron would shrink from attempting to set straight. This contempt for all the rest of the world, this almost savage unsociability, was of course no invention of her own; it was merely an attempt to perpetuate the haughty demeanour of the late prince and princess, her parents. But this did not make the young princess’s attitude any less irritating and ridiculous. ‘There is still time to change your mind,’ said her aunt one day. ‘A change of scene—a journey through the mountains, for example, is often very beneficial to people who have some trouble on their minds. I am sure you think that life in the provinces is very uncomfortable and disagreeable, but I can assure you that while you are with us you will never have to stay anywhere quite so higgledy-piggledy....’ The wretched old women who still dragged on their existence in the palace eagerly watched the princess’s face while their fate was being decided. Surely she would not throw away this opportunity of escape! To their consternation they soon saw that her aunt’s appeal was not making the slightest impression upon her. Jijū, for her part, had recently become engaged to a young cousin of the provincial treasurer’s, who was to accompany him to his province, and she was therefore pledged to go down to Tsukushi, whether the princess joined the party or not. She was however deeply attached to her mistress and very loath indeed to leave her in her present condition. She therefore discussed the matter with her again, and did everything in her power to persuade the princess to accompany them; only to make the extraordinary discovery that Suyetsumu was still from day to day living in the hope that the visitor from whom she had for all those years had no word would suddenly reappear and put everything to rights again. ‘He was very fond of me,’ she said. ‘It is only because he has been unhappy himself that he has not remembered to write to me. If he had the slightest idea of what is happening to us here, he would come at once....’ So she had been thinking for years, and though the general structure of the house fell every day into a more fantastic state of dilapidation, she still persisted as obstinately as ever in retaining every trifling article of furniture and decoration in exactly the place where it had always been. She spent so much of her time in tears that a certain part of her face had now become as red as the flower which the hillman carries over his ear; so that her appearance, particularly when she showed her face in profile, would have struck a casual visitor as somewhat forbidding. But of this I will say no more; it is perhaps always a mistake to enter into matters of that kind.

The aunt had the satisfaction of seeing her predictions come true. Of course, no one would admit to knowing someone who lived in the miserable squalor that now surrounded the princess. The Hokkekyō²⁸¹ says that there are people whom even Buddha and his saints would struggle to redeem. And certainly, the princess had let her affairs fall into such disorder that even the most generous patron would hesitate to put them right. Her contempt for everyone else and her almost savage unwillingness to mix with others were not her own invention. She was merely trying to carry on the proud manner of her late parents, the prince and princess. But that did not make the young princess’s attitude any less irritating or ridiculous. ‘There is still time to change your mind,’ her aunt said one day. ‘A change of scene, a journey through the mountains, for example, is often very good for people with troubles on their minds. I am sure you think life in the provinces is very uncomfortable and unpleasant. But I can assure you that while you are with us, you will never have to stay anywhere quite so chaotic....’ The miserable old women who still struggled to survive in the palace watched the princess’s face eagerly as their fate was decided. Surely she would not throw away this chance to escape! To their dismay, they soon saw that her aunt’s appeal was making no impression on her. Jijū, meanwhile, had recently become engaged to a young cousin of the provincial treasurer. Her fiancé was to accompany the treasurer to his province, so she was committed to going to Tsukushi, whether the princess joined them or not. But she was deeply attached to her mistress and very reluctant to leave her in her present condition. So she discussed the matter with her again and did everything she could to persuade the princess to come with them. Instead, she made an extraordinary discovery. Suyetsumu was still living from day to day in the hope that her visitor would suddenly reappear and put everything right. She had heard nothing from him in all those years. ‘He was very fond of me,’ she said. ‘It is only because he has been unhappy himself that he has forgotten to write to me. If he had the slightest idea what was happening to us here, he would come at once....’ She had thought this way for years. Though the house itself fell into an ever more fantastic state of disrepair, she remained as stubborn as ever about keeping every small piece of furniture and every decoration exactly where it had always been. She spent so much time crying that one part of her face had become as red as the flower the hillman wears over his ear. A casual visitor might therefore have found her appearance somewhat forbidding, especially when she showed her face in profile. But I will say no more about this. Perhaps it is always a mistake to go into matters of that kind.

As the cold weather came on, existence at the Hitachi Palace rapidly became more and more difficult. The princess sat staring in front of her, plunged in unbroken gloom. Meanwhile Genji celebrated the ritual of the Eight Readings, in memory of his father, the old Emperor. He took great trouble in choosing the priests for this ceremony and succeeded finally in assembling a notable band of dignitaries. Among them none was more renowned for the sanctity of his life and the wide range of his studies than Princess Suyetsumu’s brother, the Abbot of Daigoji. On his way back from the ceremony, he looked in for a moment at the Hitachi Palace. ‘I have just been celebrating the Eight Readings in Prince Genji’s palace,’ he said; ‘a magnificent ceremony! It is a pleasure to take part in such a service as that! I cannot imagine anything more beautiful and impressive. A veritable paradise—I say it in all reverence—a veritable paradise on earth; and the prince himself, so calm and dignified, you might have thought him an incarnation of some holy Buddha or Bodhisat. How came so bright a being to be born into this dim world of ours?’ So saying, he hurried off to his temple. Unlike ordinary, worldly men and women he never wasted time in discussing sordid everyday affairs or gossiping about other people’s business. Consequently he made no allusion to the embarrassed circumstances in which his sister was living. She sometimes wondered whether even the Saints whom he worshipped would, if they had found some one in a like situation, really have succeeded in behaving with so splendid an indifference.

As the cold weather set in, life at the Hitachi Palace quickly became more difficult. The princess sat staring ahead, sunk in constant gloom. Meanwhile, Genji held the ritual of the Eight Readings in memory of his father, the old Emperor. He took great care in choosing the priests and finally assembled a distinguished group. None was more renowned for his holy life and wide learning than Princess Suyetsumu’s brother, the Abbot of Daigoji. On his way back from the ceremony, he stopped briefly at the Hitachi Palace. ‘I have just taken part in the Eight Readings at Prince Genji’s palace,’ he said. ‘What a magnificent ceremony! It is a pleasure to take part in such a service! I cannot imagine anything more beautiful and impressive. It was a true paradise. I say it with all reverence, a true paradise on earth. And the prince himself was so calm and dignified that you might have thought him a Buddha or Bodhisat in human form. How did such a radiant being come to be born into this dim world of ours?’ With that, he hurried back to his temple. Unlike ordinary, worldly men and women, he never wasted time discussing grubby everyday affairs or gossiping about other people’s business. So he said nothing about the difficult circumstances in which his sister was living. She sometimes wondered whether even the Saints he worshipped could have shown such splendid indifference to someone in her situation.

She was indeed beginning to feel that she could hold out no longer, when one day her aunt suddenly arrived at the palace. This lady was quite prepared to meet with the usual rebuffs; but having on this occasion come in a comfortable travelling coach stored with everything that the princess could need during a journey she did not for an instant doubt that she would gain her point. With an air of complete self-confidence she bustled towards the front gate. No sooner had the porter begun trying to open it than she realized into what a pitch of decay her niece’s property had fallen. The doors were off their hinges, and as soon as they were moved tottered over sideways, and it was not till her own menservants come to the rescue that, after a tremendous shouldering and hoisting, a passage was cleared through which she could enter the grounds. What did one do next? Even such a heap of gimcrack ruins as this presumably had some apertures which were conventionally recognized as doors and windows. A lattice door on the southern side of the house was half open and here the visitors halted. It did not seem possible that any human being was within hail; but to their astonishment, from behind a smoke-stained, tattered screen-of-state the maid Jijū suddenly appeared. She was looking very haggard, but though age and suffering had greatly changed her, she was still a well-made, pleasing woman; ‘at any rate far more presentable than her mistress,’ thought the visitors. ‘We are just starting,’ cried out the aunt to the lady of the house, who, as she guessed, was seated behind this sooty screen: ‘I have come to take Jijū away. I am afraid you will find it very difficult to get on without her, but even if you will not deign to have any dealings with us yourself, I am sure you will not be so inconsiderate as to stand in this poor creature’s way....’ She put in so moving a plea on behalf of Jijū that there ought by rights to have been tears in her eyes. But she was in such high spirits at the prospect of travelling as a provincial governor’s wife that a smile of pleasant anticipation played upon her lips all the while. ‘I know quite well,’ she continued, ‘that the late prince was not at all proud of his connexion with us, and I am sure it was quite natural that when you were a child you should pick up his way of thinking and feeling. But that is a long time ago now. You may say that it was my fault we did not meet. But really while celebrities such as Prince Genji were frequenting the house I was not at all sure that humble people like ourselves would be welcome. However, one of the advantages of being of no importance is that we humdrum creatures are not subject to the same violent ups and downs as you exalted people. I for my part was very sorry to see your fortunes declining so rapidly as they have done of late, but so long as I was near at hand I was quite happy about you and did not consider it my duty to interfere. But now that I am going away to another part of the country, I confess I feel very uneasy....’ ‘It would be delightful to go with you. Most people would be very glad indeed.... But I think that as long as the place holds together at all I had better go on as I am....’ That was all that could be got out of her. ‘Well, that is for you to decide,’ said the aunt at last, ‘but I should not think that anyone has ever before buried himself alive in such a god-forsaken place. I am sure that if you had asked him in time Prince Genji would have been delighted to put things straight for you; indeed, with a touch here and there no doubt he would soon have made the place more sumptuous than the Jade Emperor’s²⁸² Palace. But unfortunately he is now entirely preoccupied with this young daughter of Prince Hyōbukyō, and will do nothing for anyone else. He used to lead a roving life, distributing his favours in all sorts of directions. But now that has all stopped, and under these circumstances it is very unlikely to occur to him that a person living buried away in the middle of such a jungle as this, is all the time expecting him to rush round and take her affairs in hand.’ The princess knew that this was only too true and she now began to weep bitterly. Yet she showed no signs of changing her mind, and the Chancellor’s wife, after wasting the whole afternoon in tormenting her, exclaimed at last: ‘Well then, I shall take Jijū. Make haste, please, please; it is getting late!’ Weeping and flustered Jijū drew her mistress back into the alcove: ‘I never meant to go,’ she whispered, ‘but this lady seems so very anxious to take me. I think perhaps I will travel with them part of the way and then come back again. There is a great deal of truth in all that she has been saying. But then, on the other hand, I do not like to upset you by leaving. It is terrible to have to decide so quickly....’ So she whispered; but though the princess loved her dearly and was stung to the quick that even this last friend should be making ready to desert her, she said not a word to encourage Jijū to stay, but only sobbed more bitterly than before. She was wondering what she could give to her maid to keep in remembrance of her long service in the family. Perhaps some cloak or dress? Unfortunately all her clothes were far too worn and soiled to give away. She remembered that somewhere in the house was a rather pretty box containing some plaited strands of her own hair, her fine glossy hair that grew seven feet long. This would be her present, and along with it she would give one of those boxes of delicious clothes-scent that still survived from the old days when her parents were alive. These she handed to Jijū together with an acrostic poem in which she compared her departure to the severing of this plaited tress of hair. ‘Your Mama told me always to look after you,’ she said, ‘and whatever happened to me I should never dream of sending you away. I think however that you are probably right to go, and only wish that some one nicer were taking charge of you....’ ‘I know Mama wished me to stay with you,’ said Jijū at last through her tears. ‘But quite apart from that, we have been through such terrible times together in these last years that I cannot bear to go off heaven knows where and leave you here to shift for yourself. But, Madam, “By the Gods of Travel to whom I shall make offering upon my way, I swear that never can I be shorn from you like this tress of severed hair.”’ Suddenly the voice of the aunt broke in upon them shouting impatiently: ‘What has become of Jijū? Be quick, now, it is getting quite dark!’ Hardly knowing what she did, Jijū climbed into the coach and as it drove away stared helplessly at the dilapidated house.

She was indeed beginning to feel that she could hold out no longer when her aunt suddenly arrived at the palace one day. Her aunt was fully prepared for the usual refusals. But this time she had come in a comfortable traveling coach, stocked with everything the princess might need for a journey. She had no doubt that she would get her way. Full of confidence, she hurried toward the front gate. As soon as the porter tried to open it, she saw how badly her niece’s property had decayed. The doors were off their hinges, and when he moved them, they toppled sideways. Her own servants had to come to his aid. After a great deal of pushing and lifting, they cleared a passage into the grounds. What was one to do next? Even a heap of shabby ruins like this presumably had openings that passed for doors and windows. A lattice door on the south side of the house stood half open, and the visitors stopped there. It seemed impossible that anyone inside could hear them. But to their astonishment, the maid Jijū suddenly appeared from behind a smoke-stained, tattered screen-of-state. She looked very haggard. Age and suffering had changed her greatly, but she was still a well-built, attractive woman. “At any rate, she is far more presentable than her mistress,” the visitors thought. “We are just starting,” the aunt called to the lady of the house. She guessed that the princess was sitting behind the sooty screen. “I have come to take Jijū away. I’m afraid you will find it very difficult to manage without her. But even if you will not stoop to have anything to do with us yourself, I’m sure you will not be so inconsiderate as to stand in this poor creature’s way....” She pleaded so movingly on Jijū’s behalf that she ought to have had tears in her eyes. But she was in such high spirits at the prospect of traveling as a provincial governor’s wife that she smiled with pleasure and anticipation all the while. “I know perfectly well,” she continued, “that the late prince was not at all proud of his connection with us. I’m sure it was only natural for you to pick up his way of thinking and feeling as a child. But that was a long time ago now. You may say it was my fault we did not meet. But while celebrities like Prince Genji were visiting the house, I really wasn’t sure that humble people like us would be welcome. Still, one advantage of being unimportant is that ordinary creatures like us don’t suffer the same violent changes of fortune as you exalted people. I was very sorry to see your fortunes decline so rapidly of late. But as long as I was nearby, I felt quite easy about you and didn’t think it was my duty to interfere. Now that I am going away to another part of the country, I confess I feel very uneasy....” “It would be delightful to go with you. Most people would be very glad indeed.... But I think that as long as the place holds together at all, I had better go on as I am....” That was all the aunt could get out of her. “Well, that is for you to decide,” the aunt said at last. “But I don’t suppose anyone has ever buried themselves alive in such a godforsaken place before. I’m sure that if you had asked Prince Genji in time, he would have been delighted to put things right for you. With a touch here and there, no doubt he would soon have made the place more splendid than the Jade Emperor’s²⁸² Palace. But unfortunately he is now entirely occupied with this young daughter of Prince Hyōbukyō and will do nothing for anyone else. He used to lead a wandering life, giving his favors to all sorts of people. But now that has all stopped. Under the circumstances, it is very unlikely to occur to him that someone buried away in the middle of a jungle like this is expecting him to rush over and take charge of her affairs.” The princess knew that this was only too true, and she began to weep bitterly. Yet she showed no sign of changing her mind. After wasting the whole afternoon tormenting her, the Chancellor’s wife finally exclaimed, “Well then, I shall take Jijū. Please hurry, please. It is getting late!” Weeping and flustered, Jijū drew her mistress back into the alcove. “I never meant to go,” she whispered, “but this lady seems so very anxious to take me. Perhaps I will travel part of the way with them and then come back. There is a great deal of truth in everything she has been saying. But on the other hand, I don’t like to upset you by leaving. It is terrible to have to decide so quickly....” Though the princess loved Jijū dearly, she said nothing to encourage her to stay. It hurt her deeply that even this last friend was preparing to desert her, but she only sobbed more bitterly than before. She wondered what she could give her maid as a keepsake of her long service to the family. Perhaps a cloak or a dress? Unfortunately, all her clothes were much too worn and soiled to give away. Then she remembered a rather pretty box somewhere in the house. It contained some plaited strands of her own fine, glossy hair, which grew seven feet long. That would be her present. With it she would give Jijū one of the boxes of delicious clothes-scent that remained from the old days, when her parents were alive. She handed these to Jijū with an acrostic poem. In it, she compared Jijū’s departure to the cutting of the plaited lock of hair. “Your Mama told me always to look after you,” she said, “and whatever happened to me, I would never dream of sending you away. But I think you are probably right to go. I only wish someone nicer were taking charge of you....” “I know Mama wished me to stay with you,” Jijū said at last through her tears. “But quite apart from that, we have been through such terrible times together these last years. I cannot bear to go off heaven knows where and leave you here to fend for yourself. But, Madam, ‘By the Gods of Travel, to whom I shall make an offering on my way, I swear that I can never be cut away from you like this severed lock of hair.’” Suddenly the aunt’s voice interrupted them. “What has become of Jijū?” she shouted impatiently. “Hurry now, it is getting quite dark!” Hardly knowing what she was doing, Jijū climbed into the coach. As it drove away, she stared helplessly at the dilapidated house.

So at last Jijū had left her; Jijū who for years past, though in sore need of a little pleasure and distraction, had never once asked for a single day’s holiday! But this was not the end of the princess’s troubles; for now even the few old charwomen who still remained in the house—poor doddering creatures who could never have persuaded anyone else to employ them—began threatening to leave. ‘Do you think I blame her?’ said one of them, speaking of Jijū’s departure. ‘Not I! What had she to stay for, I ask you. And come to that, I should like to know why we go on putting up with it all.’ And they began with one accord remembering influential patrons who had at one time or another promised to employ them. No, decidedly they would not stay in the place any longer.

So at last Jijū had left her. For years, Jijū had badly needed some pleasure and distraction, yet she had never asked for a single day off! But this was not the end of the princess’s troubles. Now even the few old cleaning women still in the house began threatening to leave. The poor, feeble creatures could never have persuaded anyone else to hire them. ‘Do you think I blame her?’ one said of Jijū’s departure. ‘Not me! What did she have to stay for, I ask you? And for that matter, I’d like to know why we keep putting up with it all.’ They all began remembering influential patrons who had promised to employ them at one time or another. No, they definitely would not stay there any longer.

These conversations, which took place in the princess’s hearing, had the most disquieting effect upon her. The Frosty Month²⁸³ had now come. In the open country around, though snow and hail frequently fell, they tended to melt between-whiles. But in the wilderness that surrounded the Hitachi Palace vast drifts of snow, protected by the tangled overgrowth from any ray of sunlight, piled higher and higher, till one might have fancied oneself in some valley among the Alps of Koshi. Through these arctic wastes not even the peasants would consent to press their way and the palace was for weeks on end entirely cut off from the outer world.

These conversations, which the princess overheard, deeply troubled her. The Frosty Month²⁸³ had now come. In the surrounding countryside, snow and hail fell often, though they tended to melt between storms. But in the wilderness around the Hitachi Palace, huge snowdrifts piled higher and higher. The tangled overgrowth kept every ray of sunlight from reaching them. One might have imagined being in a valley among the Alps of Koshi. Not even the peasants would venture through these frozen wastes. For weeks at a time, the palace was completely cut off from the outside world.

The princess sat staring at the snow. Life had been dull enough before, but at any rate she had some one at hand whose chatter at times broke in upon her gloom. But now Jijū’s laughter, Jijū’s tears were gone, and as she lay day and night alike behind her crumbling curtains-of-state the princess was consumed by a loneliness and misery such as she had never known before.

The princess sat staring at the snow. Life had been dull enough before, but at least she had someone nearby whose chatter sometimes interrupted her gloom. Now Jijū’s laughter and tears were gone. As the princess lay day and night behind her crumbling bed curtains, she was consumed by loneliness and misery unlike anything she had ever known.

Meanwhile, at the Nijō Palace, Genji remained wholly absorbed in the girl from whom he had so long been separated, and it was only a few very particular friends who heard any news of him at all. He did sometimes think of the Hitachi Palace and wondered whether the princess could still be living there all alone. But he was in no great hurry to discover, and the New Year passed without his having taken any steps about her. In the fourth month he decided to call upon the ladies in the Village of Falling Flowers, and having obtained Murasaki’s permission he set out one evening, clad in his usual disguise. For days it had rained unceasingly. But now, just at the moment when the heavy rain stopped and only a few scattered drops were falling, the moon rose; and soon it was one of those exquisite late spring nights through whose moonlight stillness he had in earlier years so often ridden out on errands of adventure. Busy with memories of such excursions he had not noticed where he was driving, when suddenly looking up he saw a pile of ruined buildings surrounded by plantations so tangled and overgrown that they wore the aspect of a primeval jungle. Over a tall pine-tree a trail of wisteria blossoms was hanging; it quivered in the moonlight, shaken by a sudden puff of wind that carried with it when it reached him a faint and almost imperceptible odour of flowers. It was for orange-blossom that he had set out that night; but here too was a flower that had a fragrance worth enjoying. He leaned out of the carriage window. They were passing by a willow whose branches swept the ground; with the crumbling away of the wall which had once supported it the tree had fallen forward till its trunk was almost prostrate. Surely he had seen these grounds before? Why, yes, this must be—suddenly it all came back to him. Of course it was that strange lady’s house. He was driving past the Hitachi Palace. Poor creature, he must discover at once what had become of her; and stopping his carriage and calling to Koremitsu, who as usual on occasions of the kind was in attendance upon him, he asked him whether this was not indeed Princess Suyetsumu’s place. ‘Why certainly!’ said Koremitsu. ‘In that case,’ said Genji, ‘I should like to find out whether the same people are still living there. I have not time to pay a personal visit now, but I should like you to go in and enquire. Make sure that you discover exactly how things stand. It looks so silly if one calls on the wrong people.’

Meanwhile, at the Nijō Palace, Genji was completely absorbed in the girl from whom he had been separated for so long. Only a few very close friends heard any news of him. He sometimes thought of the Hitachi Palace and wondered whether the princess was still living there alone. But he was in no great hurry to find out. The New Year passed, and he had done nothing about her. In the fourth month, he decided to visit the ladies in the Village of Falling Flowers. With Murasaki’s permission, he set out one evening in his usual disguise. It had rained steadily for days. But just as the heavy rain stopped, leaving only a few scattered drops, the moon rose. Soon it was one of those beautiful late spring nights. In earlier years, he had often ridden out on adventures through such moonlit stillness. Lost in memories of those outings, he had not noticed where his carriage was going. When he suddenly looked up, he saw a group of ruined buildings. The gardens around them were so tangled and overgrown that they looked like a primeval jungle. A trail of wisteria blossoms hung over a tall pine tree. It trembled in the moonlight, shaken by a sudden puff of wind. When the wind reached him, it carried a faint, almost imperceptible scent of flowers. He had set out that night for orange blossoms. But here was another flower with a fragrance worth enjoying. He leaned out of the carriage window. They were passing a willow whose branches swept the ground. The wall that had once supported it had crumbled away, and the tree had fallen forward. Its trunk was almost flat on the ground. Surely he had seen these grounds before? Why, yes, this must be the place. Suddenly it all came back to him. Of course, it was that strange lady’s house. He was passing the Hitachi Palace. Poor creature, he must find out at once what had become of her. He stopped his carriage and called to Koremitsu, who was with him, as usual on such occasions. Genji asked him whether this was indeed Princess Suyetsumu’s place. ‘Why, certainly!’ said Koremitsu. ‘In that case,’ said Genji, ‘I would like to find out whether the same people still live there. I don’t have time to visit myself now, but I would like you to go in and ask. Make sure you find out exactly how things stand. It looks so silly if one calls on the wrong people.’

After a particularly dismal morning spent in staring blankly in front of her the princess had fallen asleep and dreamed that her father, the late prince, was still alive and well. After such a dream as that she woke up more miserable than ever. The window side of the room had been flooded in the recent rains; but taking a cloth she began mopping up the water and trying to find a place where she could put her chair. While she did so the stress of her sufferings stirred her to a point of mental alertness which she did not often reach. She had composed a poem, and suddenly she recited the lines: ‘To the tears I shed in longing for him that is no more, are added the ceaseless drippings that patter from my broken roof!’

The princess spent a particularly miserable morning staring blankly ahead. Then she fell asleep and dreamed that her father, the late prince, was still alive and well. She woke from the dream more miserable than ever. Recent rains had flooded the side of the room near the window. But she took a cloth and began mopping up the water, trying to find a place for her chair. As she worked, the strain of her suffering made her mind sharper than it often was. She had composed a poem, and suddenly she recited the lines: ‘To the tears I shed for him who is gone, I add the endless drops pattering from my broken roof!’

Meanwhile Koremitsu had made his way into the house and was wandering this way and that looking for some sign of life. He spent a long while in poking into all sorts of corners and at last concluded that the place had been abandoned as uninhabited. He was just setting out to report this to Genji when the moon came out from behind a cloud, lighting up the front of the house. He then noticed a trellis roll-door which was half pulled up. A curtain behind it moved. It almost seemed as though some one were there. Koremitsu, feeling oddly enough quite nervous, turned back and approached this door, clearing his throat loudly as he did so. In answer to this signal a very aged, decrepit voice answered from within the room. ‘Well, what is it? Who are you?’ ‘It is Koremitsu,’ he answered, ‘could you tell Jijū that I should like to speak to her?’ ‘Jijū?’ the aged voice answered, ‘you cannot speak to her, she has gone away. But would not I do just as well?’ The voice was incredibly ancient and croaking, but he recognized it as that of one of the gentlewomen whom he used to meet here in former days. To those within, inured as they were to years of absolute isolation, the sudden apparition of this figure wrapped in a great hunting cloak, was a mystery so startling and inexplicable that for a while it did not occur to them that their visitor could be other than some fox-spirit or will-o’-the-wisp masquerading in human form. But the apparition behaved with reassuring gentility and coming right up to the doorway now addressed them as follows: ‘I must make it my business to find out exactly how matters stand. If you can assure me that, on your mistress’s side, nothing has changed since the time when we used to come here, then I think you will find His Highness my master no less ready to help you than he was in days gone by. Can I trust you to let her know that we halted here to-night? I must be able to report to my master that his message is in safe hands....’ The old lady and her companions burst out laughing. ‘Listen to him!’ they cried, ‘asking whether Madam has altered her way of life, whether she has taken to new friends! Do you suppose, young man, that if she were not waiting day and night for this famous prince of yours, she would still be living in this wilderness? Why, if there had been a soul in the world to help us, we should have shifted from these tumbledown quarters a long while ago. Just let Prince Genji have a look at the place for himself; he’ll soon know how things stand! Yes, and we have been living like this for years; I shouldn’t think anyone in the world has ever been through such times as we have in this house. I tell you it’s a wonder we’ve been able to bear it for so long, such a life as we and our poor young lady have been leading....’ They soon got launched upon a recital of their sufferings and misfortunes, which wandered so far from the purpose in hand that Koremitsu, growing impatient, at last interrupted them. ‘Enough, enough,’ he cried; ‘that will do to go on with. I will go to Prince Genji at once and tell him of this.’

Meanwhile, Koremitsu had made his way into the house and was wandering around, looking for signs of life. He spent a long time searching every corner. At last, he concluded that the place had been abandoned. He was about to report this to Genji when the moon emerged from behind a cloud, lighting the front of the house. He noticed a lattice door that had been rolled halfway up. A curtain behind it moved. It almost seemed as though someone was there. Feeling strangely nervous, Koremitsu turned back and approached the door, clearing his throat loudly as he went. An extremely old, feeble voice answered from inside the room. ‘Well, what is it? Who are you?’ ‘It is Koremitsu,’ he answered. ‘Could you tell Jijū that I would like to speak to her?’ ‘Jijū?’ the old voice replied. ‘You cannot speak to her. She has gone away. But wouldn’t I do just as well?’ The voice was incredibly old and croaking. But he recognized it as belonging to one of the gentlewomen he used to meet here years ago. The people inside had grown used to years of complete isolation. The sudden appearance of this figure, wrapped in a large hunting cloak, was startling and inexplicable. For a while, they could only imagine that their visitor was a fox-spirit or a will-o’-the-wisp disguised as a human. But the figure behaved with reassuring courtesy. He came right up to the doorway and said, ‘I must find out exactly how things stand. Can you assure me that, on your mistress’s side, nothing has changed since we used to come here? If so, I think you will find His Highness, my master, as ready to help you as he was in the past. Can I trust you to tell her that we stopped here tonight? I must be able to tell my master that his message is in safe hands....’ The old lady and her companions burst out laughing. ‘Listen to him!’ they cried. ‘He asks whether Madam has changed her way of life, whether she has made new friends! Young man, do you think she would still be living in this wilderness if she weren’t waiting day and night for your famous prince? If there had been a soul in the world to help us, we would have left these crumbling rooms long ago. Just let Prince Genji see the place for himself. He’ll soon know how things stand! Yes, and we have been living like this for years. I don’t think anyone in the world has ever suffered as we have in this house. I tell you, it’s a wonder we’ve been able to bear it so long, the life we and our poor young lady have been leading....’ They soon began recounting their sufferings and misfortunes. They strayed so far from the matter at hand that Koremitsu grew impatient and finally interrupted them. ‘Enough, enough,’ he cried. ‘That will do for now. I will go to Prince Genji at once and tell him about this.’

‘What a long time you have been!’ exclaimed Genji, when Koremitsu finally reappeared. ‘Are things in the palace much as they used to be? The whole place is so overgrown with creepers and bushes that I hardly recognize it.’ Koremitsu described how he at last discovered signs of life in the house and finally recognized the voice of Shōshō, Jijū’s old aunt, who had told him the lamentable tale which he now repeated.

‘You’ve been gone a long time!’ exclaimed Genji when Koremitsu finally returned. ‘Is the palace much as it used to be? The whole place is so overgrown with vines and bushes that I hardly recognize it.’ Koremitsu told him how he had finally found signs of life in the house. He had at last recognized the voice of Shōshō, Jijū’s old aunt. She had told him a sad story, which he now repeated to Genji.

Genji was horror-stricken at what he heard. How she must have suffered, buried away month after month amid all this disorder and decay! He was appalled at his own cruelty. How was it conceivable that he should have left her all this while to her own devices? ‘Now then, what am I to do?’ he said at last. ‘If I am to visit the poor lady I had much rather it was not at this time of night; but if I do not go in now, I may not get another chance for a long while. I am afraid that what the old ladies said is only too true; if she were not counting upon my return, she would scarcely have gone on living such a life as you have just heard described....’ He was about to go straight into the house, but suddenly he hesitated. Would it not be better first of all to send in a very nice friendly note and discover whether she really insisted upon seeing him? But then he remembered the extraordinary difficulty with which she penned an answer. If she had not very much improved in this respect since his last dealings with her, he might easily spend the rest of the night waiting for his messenger to return with her reply. He had just dismissed that idea as impracticable when Koremitsu broke in: ‘Pardon me, you have no notion how difficult it is to force a way through the brambles. Let me go first and shake the dew off the long branches. Then you will not get quite so wet.’

Genji was horrified by what he heard. How she must have suffered, shut away for months amid all this disorder and decay! He was appalled by his own cruelty. How could he have left her to fend for herself all this time? ‘Now, what should I do?’ he said at last. ‘If I visit the poor lady, I would much rather not do it so late at night. But if I do not go in now, I may not get another chance for a long time. I am afraid the old ladies were right. If she were not counting on my return, she would hardly have gone on living as you have just described....’ He was about to go straight into the house, but suddenly he hesitated. Would it be better to send her a kind, friendly note first? He could find out whether she really insisted on seeing him. But then he remembered how much trouble she had writing a reply. If she had not improved much since he last saw her, he might spend the rest of the night waiting. His messenger might take that long to return with her reply. He had just decided that the note was impractical when Koremitsu broke in: ‘Forgive me, but you have no idea how hard it is to get through the brambles. Let me go first and shake the dew off the long branches. Then you will not get quite so wet.’

Accordingly Koremitsu went in front lashing the bushes with his riding-whip. But when they got under the trees such showers shook down on them from the branches (for the woods were still wet with the recent rains) that Koremitsu was obliged to go and fetch his master’s umbrella, quoting as he held it aloft the old song about the dense forests of Miyagi-no, where ‘the drippings from wet boughs are worse than rain.’ Even so, the ends of Genji’s trousers became dripping wet before he reached the house. It was by no means easy even in old days to distinguish which was supposed to be the front door. By now such architectural features as doors and lobbies had long ago become merged in the general dilapidation. Genji’s entry, though effected by a somewhat undignified scramble, had at any rate the advantage of being completely private and unobserved. At last, just as she had always predicted, Genji had come back! But in the midst of her elation a sudden panic seized her. How could she meet him in the miserable dress that she was wearing? All seemed lost, when she remembered the clothes that her aunt had brought for her to travel in. She had thought at the time that her father would have considered them very unsuitable and had put them aside after a mere hasty glance. The servants had packed them in a scented Chinese trunk and now brought them out, smelling deliciously fragrant. She could not receive him in what she was wearing and she had nothing else to change into. Much as she disapproved of her aunt’s taste, what could she do but let them dress her in these new-fangled clothes? Thus equipped she took her seat behind the smoky curtains-of-state and waited. Presently Genji entered the room. ‘It is a long time since we have held any communication, is it not?’ he said, ‘but on my side at any rate that does not mean that there has been any change of feeling. I was all the while expecting to hear from you and was determined that I would not be the first to give a sign of life. At last however the sight of the familiar tree-groups by your gate overcame this resolution and I could not forbear....’ So saying he lifted one corner of the curtains that surrounded her daïs and peeped in. As in old days she was utterly overcome by confusion, and sat for some while unable to make any kind of rejoinder. At last, almost inaudibly, she murmured something about its being ‘kind of him to have found his way ... through all those wet bushes ... such a scramble!’

So Koremitsu went ahead, beating back the bushes with his riding whip. But the woods were still wet from the recent rains. When they went under the trees, showers of water fell on them from the branches. Koremitsu had to fetch his master’s umbrella. As he held it up, he quoted the old song about the dense forests of Miyagi-no, where ‘the drips from wet branches are worse than rain.’ Even so, the ends of Genji’s trousers were soaking wet by the time he reached the house. Even in the old days, it had been hard to tell which door was meant to be the front entrance. By now, doors, lobbies, and everything else had fallen into ruin together. Genji had to scramble in rather awkwardly, but at least no one saw him enter. At last, just as she had always predicted, Genji had come back! But in the midst of her joy, she suddenly panicked. How could she meet him in the miserable clothes she was wearing? All seemed lost until she remembered the clothes her aunt had brought her for the journey. At the time, she had thought her father would have found them very unsuitable. She had barely glanced at them before putting them aside. The servants had packed them in a scented Chinese trunk. Now they brought them out, smelling wonderfully fragrant. She could not receive him in the clothes she was wearing, and she had nothing else to change into. Though she disapproved of her aunt’s taste, what could she do but let the servants dress her in these new-fashioned clothes? Once dressed, she sat behind the smoke-darkened curtains around her dais and waited. Soon Genji entered the room. ‘It has been a long time since we last wrote to each other, hasn’t it?’ he said. ‘But at least on my side, that doesn’t mean my feelings have changed. I kept expecting to hear from you, and I was determined not to be the first to send word. But at last, the sight of the familiar groups of trees by your gate overcame my resolve. I couldn’t stay away....’ With that, he lifted one corner of the curtains around her dais and peeped in. As in the old days, she was completely overcome with confusion. For some time, she could not answer at all. At last, almost too quietly to hear, she murmured that it was ‘kind of him to find his way ... through all those wet bushes ... such a scramble!’

‘I am afraid you have been having a very dull time,’ he went on; ‘but pray give me credit for to-night’s persistence. It showed some devotion, did it not, that I should have forced my way into the heart of this tangled, dripping maze, without a word of invitation or encouragement? I am sure you will forgive me for neglecting you for so long when I tell you that for some while past I have seen absolutely no one. Not having received a word of any kind from you, I could not suppose that you were particularly anxious to see me. But henceforward I am going to assume, whether you write to me or no, that I shall not be unwelcome. There now! After that, if I ever behave badly again you will really have some cause to complain.’ So unhappy was he at the thought of all that she must have suffered during those years of penury and isolation that, in his desire to make amends, he soon began saying things which he did not quite mean. He even had thoughts of giving up his intended excursion and staying here for the night. But the princess seemed to be so painfully conscious of the deficiencies in her domestic arrangements and in general so completely overwhelmed by the presence of a visitor, that after passing some time in rather unsuccessful efforts to make further conversation, he began looking for an opportunity to slip quietly away. There came into his mind the old song: ‘The tree I planted spreads its boughs so high.’²⁸⁴ He had not indeed planted those great pine-trees that closed about the ruined palace on every side, but it seemed to him that they had shot up surprisingly since he first visited the place. How quickly the years had sped! And from the thought of what she must have been through during all this time he passed naturally to the recollection of his own misfortunes and adventures. ‘Yes, when one comes to think of it, it is indeed a long time,’ he said at last. ‘At Court there have been great changes, many of them for the worse. Some day when I have plenty of time I must tell you of my exile and the strange outcast life we led on those deserted shores. You too, no doubt, have much to tell of all that has befallen you in these last dull and dreary days. I could wish indeed that you had many friends to whom you could confide your sorrows. But if for the moment I am the only one, make what use of me you can. You will find that, whatever my faults may be, as a listener I have much to recommend me.’

‘I’m afraid you’ve had a very dull time,’ he went on. ‘But please give me some credit for my persistence tonight. Surely it showed some devotion to force my way into this tangled, dripping maze without any invitation or encouragement? I’m sure you’ll forgive me for neglecting you so long when I tell you that I’ve seen absolutely no one for some time. Since I hadn’t received a word from you, I couldn’t suppose you were particularly anxious to see me. But from now on, whether you write or not, I’ll assume I’m welcome. There now! If I behave badly again after that, you’ll really have reason to complain.’ He was deeply unhappy at the thought of all she must have suffered during those years of poverty and isolation. In his eagerness to make amends, he soon began saying things he did not quite mean. He even thought of giving up his planned outing and staying here for the night. But the princess seemed painfully aware of the shortcomings in her household arrangements. She also seemed completely overwhelmed by having a visitor. After spending some time trying, with little success, to keep the conversation going, he looked for a chance to slip quietly away. An old song came to mind: ‘The tree I planted spreads its boughs so high.’²⁸⁴ He had not planted the great pines that surrounded the ruined palace on every side. But they seemed to have grown surprisingly tall since his first visit. How quickly the years had passed! Thinking of what she must have endured during that time naturally brought his own misfortunes and adventures to mind. ‘Yes, when one thinks about it, it really has been a long time,’ he said at last. ‘There have been great changes at Court, many of them for the worse. Someday, when I have plenty of time, I must tell you about my exile. I must tell you, too, about the strange life we led as outcasts on those deserted shores. No doubt you also have much to tell about everything that has happened to you during these dull, dreary days. I wish you had many friends to whom you could confide your sorrows. But if for now I’m the only one, make what use of me you can. Whatever my faults, you’ll find I have much to recommend me as a listener.’

The moon was now sinking. The main western door stood wide open, and as the covered gallery which had formerly run along that side of the house had now completely crumbled away, the moonlight streamed unimpeded into the room where they were sitting. Looking about him he recognized one after another the familiar fittings and ornaments. Not a thing was missing from its place. It was strange indeed to contrast the absolutely unchanged aspect of this corner of the house with the surrounding wreckage and desolation. He remembered the old story of the unfilial son who so much enjoyed pulling down the pagoda which his poor father had erected. The princess could not indeed prevent the outward fabric of her father’s palace from falling into decay; but it was astonishing how little trace the passage of time had left upon the inner room in which he had once taken such pride.

The moon was sinking. The main western door stood wide open. The covered gallery that had once run along that side of the house had completely crumbled away. So the moonlight streamed into the room where they were sitting. Looking around, he recognized the familiar furnishings and ornaments, one after another. Nothing was missing from its place. It was strange to see this corner of the house completely unchanged, surrounded by ruin and desolation. He remembered the old story of the ungrateful son who had so enjoyed tearing down the pagoda his poor father had built. The princess could not keep the outside of her father’s palace from falling into decay. But it was astonishing how little time had changed the inner room in which he had once taken such pride.

Genji’s thoughts returned to the princess herself. She was the shyest, the most awkward creature he had ever met; and yet there was something extraordinarily distinguished about her movements and bearing. She interested him, as indeed she had always done; so much so that he had fully intended not to lose sight of her. How should he ever forgive himself for allowing her affairs to drift into this deplorable condition? The truth was, he had been entirely absorbed in his own troubles and projects. But that was no excuse.

Genji’s thoughts returned to the princess herself. She was the shyest and most awkward person he had ever met. Yet there was something remarkably distinguished about the way she moved and carried herself. She interested him, as she always had. In fact, he had been determined to stay in touch with her. How could he ever forgive himself for letting her affairs fall into such a terrible state? The truth was, he had been completely absorbed in his own troubles and plans. But that was no excuse.

Had his ultimate destination that night been some scene of lively modern entertainment, the contrast would have been fatal. But the Village of Falling Flowers struck him on this occasion as particularly staid and dreary, and he left with the impression that the latter hours of the night had been by no means more agreeably spent than the former.

If he had ended the night somewhere with lively modern entertainment, the contrast would have been disastrous. But this time, the Village of Falling Flowers struck him as particularly dull and dreary. He left feeling that the later hours of the night had been no more pleasant than the earlier ones.

The time of the Kamo Festival had come. On the eve of the festival-day Genji was to undergo the ritual of Purification and the presents which are customary in connexion with this occasion began pouring in thick and fast. Much of his time was spent in acknowledging them; but he did not forget his promise to the lady at Hitachi. The first thing to do was to make her palace habitable; and sending for his most reliable bailiffs he explained to them what he wanted done. Soon a host of workmen were clearing away the undergrowth, while carpenters went round with planks and stays, here patching a hole, there shoring up a tottering wall or replacing some rotten beam, till at last all was tolerably weather-tight and secure. The mere fact that Genji’s men were at work upon the building at once set the gossips talking and the most absurd stories were circulated. Somewhat embarrassed by all this Genji himself remained at a distance, but he wrote a long letter to the princess, telling her of the new rooms which he was now adding to his palace and offering her accommodation in them, so soon as the place was ready. ‘You had better be looking round for a few nice young maids and pages to bring with you,’ he told her. Nor did he forget to enquire individually after each of the queer old waiting-ladies, an attention which put them into such high spirits that the old palace had hardly room enough to hold them, as now gazing up at the sky, now staring in the direction from which the messenger had come, they gave unbridled vent to their gratitude and admiration. It was well known in society that Genji took little interest in the common run of women. Even the mildest flirtation with such persons seemed to hold no attraction for him; their conversation would have bored him and indeed he scarcely seemed to notice their existence. Those few favoured persons with whom he was generally known to have been on terms of intimacy were in every case women of entirely exceptional qualities. That one who in general showed such discrimination should single out as the recipient of his attentions a creature who could not lay claim to a single merit either of person or intellect, caused universal astonishment. This much at any rate was agreed, that though no one had heard anything about it, the affair must in reality be of very long standing.

The time for the Kamo Festival had come. On the eve of the festival, Genji was to undergo the ritual of Purification. The customary gifts for the occasion began pouring in. He spent much of his time acknowledging them, but he did not forget his promise to the lady at Hitachi. First, he had to make her palace fit to live in. He sent for his most reliable bailiffs and explained what he wanted done. Soon a host of workers were clearing away the undergrowth. Carpenters went around with planks and supports, patching holes, propping up unsteady walls, and replacing rotten beams. At last the palace was reasonably secure and protected from the weather. The mere sight of Genji’s men working on the palace set the gossips talking. The most absurd stories began to circulate. Somewhat embarrassed, Genji stayed away. But he wrote a long letter to the princess about the new rooms he was adding to his palace. He offered her a place in them as soon as they were ready. “You had better start looking for a few nice young maids and pages to bring with you,” he told her. He also asked after each of the strange old waiting ladies by name. His attention put them in such high spirits that the old palace could hardly contain them. Now gazing at the sky, now staring in the direction the messenger had come from, they freely expressed their gratitude and admiration. It was well known in society that Genji took little interest in ordinary women. Even the mildest flirtation with them seemed to hold no appeal for him. Their conversation would have bored him, and he hardly seemed to notice they existed. The few favored women he was known to have been intimate with all had exceptional qualities. So everyone was astonished that a man usually so discerning should pay attention to a creature with no merit at all in either appearance or intelligence. At least everyone agreed on one point. Though no one had heard anything about the affair, it must really have been going on for a very long time.

The retainers and dependants who, thinking that the Hitachi Palace would never see better days, had a short while ago been in such a hurry to seek other employment, now one after another came begging to re-enter the princess’s service. She at any rate knew how to behave towards those who waited upon her—treated them even with perhaps an exaggerated consideration. Whereas in the houses to which they had betaken themselves, belonging for the most part to wholly uncultured and undistinguished members of the petty bureaucracy, their experiences had been such as they would never have imagined to be possible; and they made no secret of the fact that they heartily repented of their recent experiment.

The retainers and dependants had thought the Hitachi Palace would never see better days. A short while ago, they had hurried to find other work. Now, one after another, they came begging to return to the princess’s service. She, at least, knew how to treat those who served her. She treated them with perhaps too much consideration. But in their new positions, they had experienced things they would never have imagined possible. Most of those households belonged to minor officials who were completely uncultured and undistinguished. The retainers and dependants made no secret of how deeply they regretted trying to work elsewhere.

Prince Genji’s influence was now greater than it had ever been in the days before his disaster. The mere fact that he was known to take an interest in the Hitachi Palace was enough to invest the place with a certain glamour. Visitors began to make their appearance, and soon the once deserted hills presented quite a busy and animated scene. One thing which had made the house so depressing was the fact that it was wholly shut in by bushes and trees. This jungle Genji now ordered to be reduced to tolerable dimensions; he had the ponds cleared and pleasant streams were made to run in and out among the flower-beds. All this work was performed with remarkable despatch, for even the lowest labourers and serfs knew that it was in their interest to please a lady who, for whatever reason it might be, evidently stood high in Genji’s esteem.

Prince Genji’s influence was now greater than it had ever been before his disaster. The mere fact that he was known to be interested in the Hitachi Palace gave the place a certain glamour. Visitors began to arrive, and soon the once deserted hills were busy and lively. One reason the house had been so depressing was that bushes and trees completely enclosed it. Genji now ordered the overgrowth cut back to a reasonable size. He had the ponds cleared and pleasant streams made to flow among the flower beds. All this work was done remarkably quickly. Even the lowest laborers and serfs knew it was in their interest to please the lady. For whatever reason, she was clearly held in high regard by Genji.

She lived for two years more in the old palace, at the end of which time she moved into the new Eastern Wing that Prince Genji had been building. He did not spend much time in her company, but she was well content merely to feel that they inhabited the same domain, and whenever he had occasion to visit that part of the house he would look in upon her for a few minutes, that she might not feel she was wholly neglected. Her aunt’s astonishment when in due time she returned to the Capital—Jijū’s delight at her mistress’s good fortune and shame at the thought that she had not held out a little longer in the princess’s service—all this remains yet to be told. I would indeed have been glad to carry my story a little further, but at this moment my head is aching and I am feeling very tired and depressed. Provided a favourable opportunity presents itself and I do not forget to, I promise I will tell you all about it on some future occasion.

She lived in the old palace for two more years. Then she moved into the new Eastern Wing that Prince Genji had been building. He did not spend much time with her, but she was happy just to live under the same roof. Whenever he visited that part of the house, he would stop in for a few minutes. He did this so she would not feel completely neglected. There is still more to tell. Her aunt was astonished when she eventually returned to the Capital. Jijū was delighted by her mistress’s good fortune, but ashamed that she had not stayed in the princess’s service a little longer. I would have been glad to tell you more, but my head aches, and I feel very tired and depressed. If a good opportunity comes and I do not forget, I promise to tell you all about it another time.