The Wind in the Pine Trees

THE new quarters which Genji had built to the east of his palace were now ready and the lady from the Village of Falling Flowers was duly installed there. The western wing and connecting galleries of the Nijō-in had been arranged in offices for the clerks whom he employed in his capacity as Grand Minister. In the eastern wing he intended to establish the Lady of Akashi. The women’s quarters at the back of the palace he enlarged considerably, making several sets of very agreeable and comfortable apartments; these he destined for those ladies who having in the past received some mark of favour which, though fleeting, had generally been coupled with handsome promises, now looked to him for recognition and support. He kept the Grand Bedchamber of the Palace open, and though he lived chiefly in the new building, he continued to use the other from time to time and none of the necessary furniture was removed.

The new quarters Genji had built east of his palace were now ready. The lady from the Village of Falling Flowers moved in. The western wing and connecting galleries of the Nijō-in had been made into offices for his clerks as Grand Minister. He intended to house the Lady of Akashi in the eastern wing. He greatly enlarged the women’s quarters at the back of the palace, creating several pleasant, comfortable apartments. He intended these for women who now looked to him for recognition and support. In the past, he had shown them favor, which was brief but generally accompanied by generous promises. He kept the Grand Bedchamber of the Palace ready for use. Though he lived mostly in the new building, he still used the bedchamber from time to time. None of its necessary furniture was removed.

He wrote frequently to Akashi and many times begged her to come up to the Capital. But she had heard so many stories of how others had suffered at his hands,—how he had again and again toyed with the affections not only of humble creatures such as herself, but of the greatest ladies in the land, only to cast them aside a few months later with the most callous indifference. Surely it would be foolish not to take warning? If this was his conduct towards persons of rank and influence, what sort of treatment could she, a friendless girl, expect? What part could she hope to play save the humiliating one of a foil to the young princess who was Genji’s lawful bride? Suppose she accepted his offer, suppose she let him instal her in this new house, how often would he come near her? Sometimes perhaps on his way to Murasaki’s room he might look in casually for a moment; more she could not expect. She saw herself the butt of every lewd wit in his palace. No; she would never consent.

He wrote often to Akashi and begged her many times to come to the Capital. But she had heard many stories about how others had suffered because of him. Again and again, he had played with the feelings of women as humble as herself. He had done the same to the greatest ladies in the land. After a few months, he had cast them aside with cold indifference. Surely she would be foolish to ignore these warnings? If he treated women of rank and influence this way, what could she, a girl without friends, expect? What role could she hope to play except the humiliating one of making Genji’s lawful bride, the young princess, look better by comparison? Suppose she accepted his offer and let him install her in this new house. How often would he visit her? Perhaps he might casually stop in for a moment on his way to Murasaki’s room. She could expect no more than that. She imagined every person in his palace with a dirty wit making her the target of their jokes. No, she would never agree.

But there were other considerations. Should she continue to bring up her baby daughter in this sequestered spot, how could the child ever hope to take its place among the princes and princesses of the Blood? Little as she trusted Genji, she must not cut off her child from all possibility of an ultimate transference to the Capital. Her parents too realized with dismay that her prospect at the City was none too bright; but on the whole they inclined towards a move.

But there were other things to consider. If she continued to raise her baby daughter in this secluded place, how could the child ever take her place among the royal princes and princesses? Though she had little trust in Genji, she must not rule out the possibility of her daughter eventually moving to the Capital. Her parents, too, realized with dismay that her prospects in the City were not very bright. But on the whole, they favored a move.

There was a certain estate near the Ōi River³¹⁴ which her mother had inherited (it had belonged to Nakatsukasa no Miya, the mother’s paternal grandfather). Successive heirs failed to claim it and for two years the place had been falling into decay. A fresh plan had occurred to the old recluse and his wife. They summoned the caretaker of the place, a descendant of the man whom Nakatsukasa had originally left in charge and said to him: ‘We had intended to quit the world forever and end our earthly days in this inaccessible retreat. But certain unexpected events in our family have made it necessary that we should again seek a residence within easy reach of the Capital. After our long absence from the Court we should feel utterly lost and bewildered were we to plunge straight into the bustle of the town, and it occurred to us that while we are looking for some quiet, old house to live in permanently, it might be a good thing to use this place at Ōi which you have been looking after for us!’ ‘I am afraid you will be very disappointed when you see it,’ said the man. ‘For years past no one has been in possession and everything is tumbling to pieces. I have been making shift myself to live in a room which has indeed a kind of ceiling, but no roof! And since the spring they have been building this new hermitage for Prince Genji close by, and this has changed the whole character of the district. The place is crowded with workmen; for the hermitage, by what I can make out, is going to be a very grand affair. If what you are looking for is a quiet, unfrequented spot you will certainly be badly disappointed.’ His remarks had the opposite effect to that which he had intended. To learn that at Ōi they would be living as it were under Genji’s very wing was an astonishing piece of news. He ordered the man to put the large repairs in hand at once; what wanted setting to rights indoors they could see to at leisure later on. This did not at all suit the caretaker. ‘If you want to know,’ he said sulkily, ‘I reckon this place belongs to me as much as to anyone. I have been living there quietly all these years and this is the first I have heard of anybody putting in a claim to it. When I first took things in hand the pastures and rice-fields were all running to waste, and his lordship Mimbu no Tayū told me before he died that I could have them for my very own and do what I could with them as payment of certain sums which he then owed me.’ What he was really frightened of was that, if the family came into residence, they would lay claim to some of the live stock and grain that their land had produced. He had suddenly grown very red in the face, his voice quivered with anger and his whole aspect was so grim and even menacing that the old recluse hastened to reassure him: ‘I am not in any way interested in the farm or its produce,’ he said; ‘with regard to them please go on just as before. As a matter of fact I have got the title-deeds somewhere here, but it is a long time since I attended to business matters of any kind and it might take me a long while to find these papers. I will remember to look into the question and see how it stands....’ The steward soon cooled down. He noted that the old priest was evidently on friendly terms with Genji. This decided him to be civil. And after all, even if the presence of his masters might for the moment be rather inconvenient, he would later on have plenty of opportunities for reimbursing himself. Mollified by these reflections he set the repairs in hand at once.

There was an estate near the Ōi River³¹⁴ that her mother had inherited. It had belonged to Nakatsukasa no Miya, her mother’s paternal grandfather. Successive heirs had failed to claim it, and for two years the place had been falling into decay. A new plan had occurred to the old recluse and his wife. They summoned the caretaker, a descendant of the man Nakatsukasa had originally put in charge. They said to him: ‘We had intended to leave the world forever and spend our last days in this remote retreat. But unexpected events in our family have made it necessary to find a home within easy reach of the Capital again. After so long away from the Court, we would feel utterly lost if we plunged straight into the bustle of town. So we thought we might use the place at Ōi that you have been looking after for us. We could stay there while we look for a quiet old house to live in permanently!’ ‘I’m afraid you’ll be very disappointed when you see it,’ said the man. ‘No one has occupied it for years, and everything is falling apart. I’ve managed to live in a room that has a kind of ceiling, but no roof! And since spring, they’ve been building a new hermitage for Prince Genji nearby. That has changed the whole character of the district. The place is crowded with workmen, because, as far as I can tell, the hermitage will be very grand. If you’re looking for a quiet place where few people go, you’ll certainly be badly disappointed.’ His remarks had the opposite effect from the one he intended. It was astonishing news that, at Ōi, they would be living almost under Genji’s wing. The old recluse ordered the man to begin the major repairs at once. They could attend to whatever needed fixing inside later, at their leisure. This did not suit the caretaker at all. ‘If you want to know,’ he said sulkily, ‘I reckon this place belongs to me as much as anyone. I’ve been living there quietly all these years, and this is the first I’ve heard of anyone claiming it. When I first took charge, the pastures and rice-fields were all going to waste. Before he died, his lordship Mimbu no Tayū told me I could have them for my own. He said I could do what I could with them as payment for certain sums he owed me.’ What he really feared was that, if the family came to live there, they would claim some of the livestock and grain their land had produced. His face had suddenly turned very red, and his voice shook with anger. He looked so grim, even threatening, that the old recluse hurried to reassure him. ‘I have no interest in the farm or its produce,’ he said. ‘Please carry on with them just as before. As a matter of fact, I do have the title deeds somewhere here. But I haven’t attended to any business matters for a long time, and finding the papers might take me a while. I’ll remember to look into the question and see how things stand....’ The steward soon calmed down. He noticed that the old priest was evidently on friendly terms with Genji, and decided to be civil. Besides, even if his masters’ presence might be inconvenient for the moment, he would have plenty of chances to repay himself later. Comforted by these thoughts, he set the repairs in motion at once.

Genji meanwhile had no notion of what was afoot and could not understand why, after all his entreaties, the Lady of Akashi still hung back. He did not at all like the idea of their child being brought up amid such uncivilized surroundings. Moreover, if the story afterwards became known, it would certainly seem as though he had been reluctant to acknowledge the child and had behaved with great heartlessness in making no proper provision for it or for the mother.

Meanwhile, Genji had no idea what was happening. Despite all his pleas, he could not understand why the Lady of Akashi still hesitated. He did not like the thought of their child growing up in such uncivilized surroundings. Moreover, if the story became known later, it would certainly seem that he had been reluctant to acknowledge the child. It would also seem that he had been heartless in failing to provide properly for the child or its mother.

But at last the house at Ōi was ready and a letter came from Akashi describing how, with no idea that he was building in the district, they had suddenly remembered the existence of the place and were making plans for living there. He understood quite well the object of this move. The Lady of Akashi was determined that if their intercourse was to be resumed it must be in a place where she would not be subjected to a humiliating contact with her rivals. To avoid this she was evidently prepared to make every conceivable sacrifice. He was curious to know more about her future plan of retreat and sent Koremitsu, who was always employed in confidential missions of this kind, to investigate the place a little and let him know if there was anything he could do to assist the new-comers at Ōi. Koremitsu reported that the house was in a very agreeable situation which somehow reminded one of the seaside. ‘It sounds just the place for her,’ said Genji. The hermitage which he was building was to the south of Daikakuji, which temple, in the beauty of its groves and cascades, it even bid fair to rival. The house where the family from Akashi was coming to live was right on the river, among the most delightful pine-woods, and the unpretentious way in which it was planned, in one long building without galleries or side-wings, gave it rather the air of a farmhouse than of a gentleman’s mansion. As regards furniture Koremitsu told him what was most needed and he saw to it that these wants were supplied.

At last the house at Ōi was ready. A letter came from Akashi explaining how the family had suddenly remembered the place and made plans to live there. They had no idea that Genji was building in the district. He understood perfectly well why they were moving. The Lady of Akashi was determined that if their relationship resumed, it would be somewhere she would not face humiliating encounters with her rivals. She was clearly prepared to make any sacrifice to avoid that. Genji was curious to know more about her future retreat. He sent Koremitsu, whom he always entrusted with confidential missions like this, to look over the place. He also asked Koremitsu to find out whether he could do anything to help the newcomers at Ōi. Koremitsu reported that the house stood in a very pleasant spot that somehow reminded him of the seaside. ‘It sounds just the place for her,’ said Genji. The hermitage Genji was building stood south of Daikakuji. Its groves and waterfalls seemed likely to rival even those of the temple. The house where the family from Akashi would live stood beside the river, among delightful pine woods. It was a simple, long building, with no galleries or side wings. It looked more like a farmhouse than a gentleman’s mansion. Koremitsu told Genji what furniture the family needed most, and Genji made sure it was supplied.

A member of Genji’s personal servants now arrived at Akashi to assist the family in their removal. When she found herself actually faced with the prospect of leaving these shores and inlets, near which so great a part of her life had been spent, the Lady of Akashi was filled with consternation. The present plan was that her father should stay on at Akashi alone, and the idea of leaving him made her very unhappy. Looking back over the whole affair, with all its consequences, she was amazed to think that she had ever drifted into this miserable union, which had brought nothing but trouble and confusion upon herself and those for whom she cared. She found herself envying those whose fortune it had been never to cross this prince’s path. Her father, seeing the house full of the servants and retainers whom Genji had sent from the Capital, could not deny to himself that here indeed was the fulfilment of his every dream and prayer. He had secured his daughter’s future. But what about his own? How would his life be endurable without her? He brooded on this night and day, but never showed what was passing in his mind, save for saying once or twice to his wife: ‘Do you think even if I went with you I should see much of the little girl³¹⁵?’ The mother was also much distressed. For years past her husband had slept in his little hermitage and had lived an entirely separate life, engrossed in his meditations and devotions. There was little reason to suppose that, even should she stay behind, he would give her very much of his society, and virtually she would be living without any companionship or support. But though he was a spectator of their lives rather than a participator in them, his casual exits and entrances had become the rock in which her whole existence was rooted; the prospect of separation appalled her. He was a strange creature; but she had long ago given up expecting him to play in any sense a husband’s part. His odd appearance, his eccentric opinions, their lonely life,—all these she had learnt to tolerate in the belief that this at any rate was the last stage of her disillusionment, the final and unalterable ordeal which death alone would end. Suddenly she found herself face to face with this undreamed-of parting, and her heart shrank. The wet-nurse and other young persons whom at the time of the child’s birth Genji had sent from the Capital were beginning to become very restive and the prospect of the coming journey delighted them. Yet even the most frivolous among them could not leave these creeks and sandy bays without a pang; and there were some who, knowing that it might never be their lot to visit such scenes again, came near to adding the salt of tears to sleeves already splashed by the breakers of the rising tide.

One of Genji’s personal servants now arrived at Akashi to help the family move. The Lady of Akashi had spent much of her life near these shores and inlets. Now that she actually faced leaving them, she was dismayed. The plan was for her father to remain alone at Akashi, and leaving him made her deeply unhappy. She looked back over the whole affair and all its consequences. She could hardly believe she had drifted into this miserable union. It had brought only trouble and confusion to her and those she cared about. She envied those who had never crossed the prince’s path. Her father saw the house filled with servants and attendants Genji had sent from the Capital. He could not deny that all his dreams and prayers had come true. He had secured his daughter’s future. But what about his own? How could he bear to live without her? He thought about this night and day but never revealed what was on his mind. Only once or twice did he say to his wife, ‘Do you think even if I went with you I would see much of the little girl³¹⁵?’ Her mother was also deeply distressed. For years her husband had slept in his little hermitage and lived an entirely separate life. He had been absorbed in meditation and religious devotion. Even if she stayed behind, there was little reason to think he would spend much time with her. She would be living virtually without companionship or support. Yet, though he watched their lives rather than taking part in them, his occasional comings and goings had become the rock on which her whole life rested. The thought of separation appalled her. He was a strange man, but she had long ago stopped expecting him to act like a husband. She had learned to tolerate his odd appearance, his eccentric opinions, and their lonely life. She believed that this, at least, was the last stage of her disillusionment. It was the final ordeal, one that could never change and that only death would end. Now she suddenly faced a parting she had never imagined, and her heart sank. The wet nurse and the other young people Genji had sent from the Capital when the child was born were growing restless. They were delighted at the prospect of the journey. Yet even the most frivolous among them felt a pang at leaving these creeks and sandy bays. Some knew they might never see such places again. They came close to adding salty tears to sleeves already splashed by the breaking waves of the rising tide.

Autumn had begun and the country was at its loveliest. At dawn upon the day fixed for their departure a chill wind was blowing and insects filled the air with their interminable cry. The Lady of Akashi, already awake, kept going to her window and looking out across the sea. Her father had returned early from celebrating the night service in his chapel; it was with trembling lips that he had performed the familiar ceremonies. But now that the day of parting had come no words of sorrow or ill-omen must be spoken. So each was determined, but it was no easy matter to keep things going. The child was brought in, its infant beauty shining like a jewel in the greyness of the dawn. The grandfather never wearied of holding it in his arms and, young as it was, an understanding seemed to have grown up between them. He was indeed astonished by the readiness with which the child accepted a companion whose appearance and manners, so different from those of its regular attendants, might have been expected to have alarmed it in the highest degree. Moreover there seemed something inappropriate, almost sinister in their alliance. Yet for long he had scarcely let it be a minute out of his sight. How should he live without it? He did not want to spoil the journey by an outburst of unrestrained grief; yet utterly silent he could not remain, and reciting the verse: ‘While for good speed upon their road and happiness to come I pray, one thing the travellers will not deny me, an old man’s right to shed a foolish tear or two,’ he tried to hide his tears with his sleeve, exclaiming: ‘No, I ought not to; I should not do it!’

Autumn had begun, and the countryside was at its most beautiful. At dawn on the day set for their departure, a cold wind blew. Insects filled the air with their endless cries. The Lady of Akashi was already awake. She kept going to her window and looking out over the sea. Her father had returned early from the night service in his chapel. His lips had trembled as he performed the familiar ceremonies. But now that the day of parting had come, no words of sorrow or bad fortune could be spoken. Each was determined to avoid them, but keeping the conversation going was not easy. The child was brought in, its infant beauty shining like a jewel in the gray dawn. The grandfather never tired of holding it in his arms. Though the child was so young, an understanding seemed to have grown between them. He was astonished at how readily the child accepted him as a companion. His appearance and manners were so different from those of its usual attendants. He might have expected them to alarm the child greatly. There also seemed something inappropriate, almost sinister, about their bond. Yet for a long time, he had hardly let the child out of his sight for a minute. How could he live without it? He did not want to spoil the journey with an outburst of uncontrolled grief. Yet he could not remain completely silent. He recited the verse: ‘As I pray for a safe journey and happiness to come, the travelers will not deny me one thing. An old man has the right to shed a foolish tear or two.’ He tried to hide his tears with his sleeve, exclaiming: ‘No, I ought not to. I should not do it!’

His wife stood weeping at his side; there was one thing that she could not disguise from herself: after long years both of his life and her own that had been spent in an unceasing protest against the pleasures and frivolities of the world, it was to those same frivolities and in pursuit of the most worldly ambitions that her husband was sending her away from him: ‘Together we left the city,’ she cried; ‘how all alone shall I re-find the paths down which you led me over heath and hill?’ The Lady of Akashi also recited a poem in which she said that even to those who seem to have parted forever, life with its turns and chances brings strange reunions to pass. She besought her father to come at least part of the way with them; but he seemed to regard it as utterly impossible that he should venture away from his seaside retreat, and it was evident that he regarded the negotiation even of the short road down to the sea as the most venturesome and nerve-racking business.

His wife stood beside him, weeping. She could not hide one truth from herself. For many years, both she and her husband had lived in constant opposition to the world’s pleasures and frivolities. Yet now he was sending her away to pursue those same frivolities and the most worldly ambitions. ‘We left the city together,’ she cried. ‘How can I find my way alone along the paths where you led me over hills and wild land?’ The Lady of Akashi also recited a poem. In it, she said that life’s twists and turns bring strange reunions, even to those who seem parted forever. She begged her father to come at least part of the way with them. But he seemed to think it utterly impossible to leave his seaside retreat. Even the short road down to the sea was clearly, in his view, a daring and nerve-racking journey.

‘When I first put worldly ambitions aside,’ said the old man, ‘and contented myself with a mere provincial post, I made up my mind that, come what might, you, my dear daughter, should not suffer from my having sacrificed my own prospects; and how best, despite the remoteness of our home, to fit you for the station of life to which you properly belonged became my one thought and care. But my experience as Governor taught me much; I realized my incapacity for public affairs, and knew that if I returned to the City it would only be to play the wretched part of ex-Governor. My resources were much diminished and were I to set up house again at the Capital it would be on a very different scale from before. I knew that I should be regarded as a failure both in my private and public life, a disgrace to the memory of my father who occupied the highest station in the State; moreover my acceptance of a provincial governorship had everywhere been regarded as the end of my career, and as for myself, I could not but think that it was indeed best it should be so. But you were now growing up and your future had to be thought of. How could I allow you to waste your beauty in this far corner of the earth like a brocade that is never taken from the drawer? But no better prospect seemed to present itself, and in my despair I called upon Buddha and all the gods to help me. That, living as we did, any fresh acquaintances should ever be formed by us seemed out of the question. Yet all the time I believed that some strange chance would one day befall us. And what indeed could have been more utterly unforeseen than the circumstance which at last brought so distinguished a guest to our home? In this I could not but see the hand of Heaven, and my only anxiety was lest too great an inequality of rank should divide you. But since the birth of this child, that fear has not so much troubled me, for I feel that your union is fated to be a lasting one. A child of Royal Blood cannot, we must allow, pass all its days in a village by the sea, and though this parting costs me dear I am determined never again to tamper with the world that I have renounced. Princes are the lamps that light this world, and though they may for a time be destined to cast confusion upon the quiet of rusticity, soon they must perforce return to their true firmament; while those whom they have left smile back, as I do now, into the lowly Sphere³¹⁶ from whence they sprang. Should you hear that I am dead, do not tease yourselves concerning the welfare of my soul, and above all, while less than death divides us, do not worry over what may be befalling me.’ Thus he poured out all that was passing through his mind and at last he added in conclusion: ‘You may be sure that each of the six times of Prayer, till the day when the smoke rises from my pyre, I shall pray with all my heart for the happiness of the little princess....’

‘When I first gave up worldly ambitions,’ said the old man, ‘I settled for a minor provincial post. I was determined that, whatever happened, you, my dear daughter, should not suffer because I had sacrificed my own prospects. Our home was remote, but my only concern was how best to prepare you for your rightful place in life. ‘But my experience as Governor taught me much. I realized that I was incapable of handling public affairs. I knew that if I returned to the City, I would only be a miserable former Governor. My resources had greatly diminished. If I set up house again at the Capital, it would be on a very different scale from before. I knew I would be seen as a failure in both my private and public life. I would bring disgrace to the memory of my father, who had held the highest position in the State. Besides, everyone had seen my acceptance of a provincial governorship as the end of my career. I, too, could not help thinking it was best for my career to end there. ‘But you were growing up, and your future had to be considered. How could I let your beauty go to waste in this remote corner of the earth, like brocade never taken from its drawer? Yet no better prospect seemed to offer itself. In my despair, I called on Buddha and all the gods for help. Given the way we lived, it seemed impossible that we would ever make new acquaintances. Yet all the while, I believed that some strange chance would come our way one day. ‘And what could have been more unexpected than the event that finally brought such a distinguished guest to our home? I could not help seeing the hand of Heaven in it. My only worry was that the difference in your ranks might be too great. But since this child was born, that fear has troubled me less. I feel that your union is destined to last. ‘We must admit that a child of Royal Blood cannot spend all her days in a village by the sea. Though this parting is painful for me, I am determined never again to meddle in the world I have renounced. Princes are the lamps that light this world. Though they may be destined for a time to disturb the peace of country life, they must soon return to their true place in the heavens. Those they leave behind smile back, as I do now, at the humble Sphere³¹⁶ from which they came. ‘If you hear that I have died, do not trouble yourselves about the welfare of my soul. Above all, while I am still alive, do not worry about what may be happening to me.’ He poured out everything that was on his mind. At last he added: ‘You may be sure that at each of the six times of Prayer, until the day smoke rises from my pyre, I shall pray with all my heart for the happiness of the little princess....’

Hitherto he had spoken with great self-possession; but now his face began to pucker.

Until now, he had spoken with great composure. But his face began to pucker.

There was so much baggage to be transported that a vast quantity of wagons would have been required had the whole party proceeded by road. To send some of the stuff by road and the rest by sea was in many ways inconvenient; moreover Genji’s retainers did not wish to be recognized on the journey, and for all these reasons it seemed best that the whole party should proceed by water. They set sail at the hour of the Dragon, and soon their ship, like that of the old poet’s story,³¹⁷ was lost amid the morning mists far out across the bay. The old priest stood gazing after it lost in a bewildered trance of grief from which it seemed as though he would never awake. The wind was fresh and favourable, and they arrived at the City punctually at the hour they had announced. Wishing to attract no notice they left their large baggage on board and travelled inland as quickly as possible. The house at Ōi at once took their fancy and was, as Koremitsu had noticed, in some curious way very reminiscent of the seaside, so that they soon felt quite at home. The mother had known this place as a girl and moving recollections crowded to her mind at every turn. By Genji’s orders a covered gallery had been added to the house, which was a great improvement, and the course of the stream had also been very successfully altered. Much still remained to be done, but for the most part only such small jobs as could easily be finished off later on, when they had got things straight and settled in. On their arrival they found that entertainment had been prepared for them at Genji’s command by one of his confidential servants. He intended to come himself at the earliest opportunity, but many days passed before he could contrive an excuse for slipping away. The Lady of Akashi had made sure that he would be there to welcome her. She therefore spent the first days at Ōi in the deepest depression, regretting her old home and quite at a loss how to occupy her time. At last she took out the zithern which Genji had given to her at Akashi. She was feeling at the moment particularly desperate, and as she had the part of the house where she was sitting entirely to herself she gave vent to her feelings in a somewhat wild improvisation, which soon startled her mother from the couch where she was lying and brought her to the player’s side. With the music of the zithern was blended the sighing of the wind in the great pine-woods that lay behind the house. ‘An altered and a lonely woman to this my native village I return. But still unchanged the wind blows music through the trees.’ So the mother sang, and the daughter: ‘Far off is now the dear companion of my happier days, and none is here who comprehends the broken language of my lute.’

There was so much baggage that the whole party would have needed a great many wagons to travel by road. Sending some baggage by road and the rest by sea was inconvenient in many ways. Also, Genji’s attendants did not want to be recognized on the journey. For all these reasons, it seemed best for everyone to travel by water. They set sail at the hour of the Dragon. Soon their ship was lost in the morning mist far out across the bay, like the ship in the old poet’s story.³¹⁷ The old priest stood gazing after it, dazed with grief, as if he would never awaken from it. The wind was fresh and favorable, and they reached the City at the time they had announced. To avoid attracting attention, they left their larger baggage on board and traveled inland as quickly as possible. They liked the house at Ōi at once. As Koremitsu had noticed, it was strangely reminiscent of the seaside, so they soon felt at home. The mother had known the place as a girl, and at every turn memories stirred her. On Genji’s orders, a covered gallery had been added to the house, greatly improving it. The course of the stream had also been changed with great success. Much remained to be done. But most of the work was minor and could easily be finished later, once they had put things in order and settled in. When they arrived, they found that one of Genji’s trusted servants had prepared entertainment for them at his command. Genji meant to come himself at the first opportunity. But many days passed before he could find an excuse to slip away. The Lady of Akashi had been sure he would be there to welcome her. So she spent her first days at Ōi deeply depressed. She missed her old home and had no idea how to occupy her time. At last she took out the zithern Genji had given her at Akashi. She was feeling especially desperate. Since she had that part of the house to herself, she poured out her feelings in a somewhat wild improvisation. The music soon startled her mother from the couch where she lay and brought her to her daughter’s side. The sound of the zithern mingled with the sighing of the wind in the great pine woods behind the house. The mother sang, ‘I return to my native village, changed and lonely. But the wind still makes the same music in the trees.’ And the daughter sang, ‘The dear companion of my happier days is far away now, and no one here understands the broken language of my lute.’

While things were going thus dismally at Ōi, Genji was feeling very uneasy. To have established the people from Akashi so close to the Capital and then neglect them entirely was indeed a monstrous way to behave; but circumstances made it very difficult for him to escape unobserved. He had not said anything to Murasaki about the move to Ōi, but such things have a way of getting round, and he decided that it would be better not to explain his absence in a note. He therefore wrote to her one morning as follows: ‘There are various matters at Katsura³¹⁸ which I ought to have looked into a long while ago; but I did not at all want the bother of going there and have kept on putting it off. Some people whom I promised to visit have settled near by and I am afraid I shall have to go and see them too. Then I ought to go over to my hermitage at Saga and see the Buddha there before it is painted. So I am afraid I shall have to be away for two or three days.’

While things were going so badly at Ōi, Genji felt very uneasy. He had brought the people from Akashi so close to the Capital. To neglect them entirely now was a terrible way to behave. But circumstances made it very difficult for him to slip away unnoticed. He had not told Murasaki about their move to Ōi. Still, news of such things had a way of spreading, so he decided not to explain his absence in a note. Instead, he wrote to her one morning: ‘There are several matters at Katsura³¹⁸ that I should have looked into long ago. But I did not want the bother of going there, so I kept putting it off. Some people I promised to visit have settled nearby, and I am afraid I must see them too. Then I ought to go to my hermitage at Saga and see the Buddha before it is painted. So I am afraid I will have to be away for two or three days.’

Some faint echo of the business at Ōi had reached her, but in a very garbled form. She heard that Genji was hurriedly building a large new mansion on his estate at Katsura. This was of course quite untrue. Murasaki at once concluded that the mansion at Katsura was intended for the Lady of Akashi and depressed by this she wrote in answer: ‘Do you know the story of the woodman³¹⁹ who waited so long that leaves sprouted from the handle of his axe? Do not imagine that I shall be quite so patient as that....’ It was evident that she was out of humour with him! ‘How crotchety you are!’ he said. ‘In the past you did indeed have some excuse; but now I have entirely changed my habits. Anyone who knows me would tell you as much.’ It took the whole morning to coax her back into a reasonable frame of mind. At last very secretly, with no outriders of any kind save for a few intimate personal attendants, and taking every precaution lest he should be spied on or followed, he set out for Ōi and arrived there just as it was growing dark. Even when dressed in the plain hunting clothes that he wore at Akashi he had seemed to the Lady of the Shore a figure of unimaginable brilliance; and now when he appeared in full Court dress (he had indeed made himself as splendid as possible for the occasion) she was completely overwhelmed by his magnificence and soon, in contemplating this dazzling spectacle, the whole household recovered from the gloom into which they had been plunged. The little princess had of course to be fetched and it was naturally with considerable emotion that he now saw his child for the first time. It was indeed a pity that he should make its acquaintance in this belated manner. What nonsense people talk about children, he thought. Every one used to make such a fuss about Yūgiri, Princess Aoi’s child, and pretend it was so remarkably handsome. Such people were mere time-servers and flatterers. If it had not been the Prime Minister’s grandchild no one would have seen anything remarkable about it at all. But here was a very different story. If this little creature did not grow up into a woman of quite exceptional beauty, he was indeed very much mistaken. The child smiled at him with such innocent surprise and had such a perfect little face and air that he at once took an immense fancy to it. The nurse who when he had first sent her to Akashi was already losing her looks, had now grown quite middle-aged. He asked her many questions about her experiences in these last months, to which she replied frankly and without any shyness. He felt sorry that he had sent her to waste the last hours of her vanishing youth in so dull a place and now said sympathetically: ‘Here too you are a long way from everything and it is not at all easy for me to come over. I wish you would persuade your mistress to make use of the apartments I originally offered her....’ ‘We must see how we get on,’ the Lady of Akashi interposed.

A faint rumor about the affair at Ōi had reached her, but it was badly distorted. She heard that Genji was hurriedly building a large new mansion on his estate at Katsura. This was, of course, completely untrue. Murasaki immediately concluded that the mansion was intended for the Lady of Akashi. Upset by this, she wrote back: ‘Do you know the story of the woodman³¹⁹ who waited so long that leaves sprouted from the handle of his axe? Don’t imagine that I’ll be quite so patient....’ Clearly, she was annoyed with him! ‘How difficult you are!’ he said. ‘You did have some excuse in the past, but now I’ve completely changed my ways. Anyone who knows me would tell you so.’ It took him the whole morning to coax her into a more reasonable mood. At last he set out for Ōi in great secrecy. He took only a few close personal attendants, with no outriders, and took every precaution against being watched or followed. He arrived just as it was getting dark. Even in the plain hunting clothes he had worn at Akashi, he had seemed dazzling beyond imagination to the Lady of the Shore. Now he appeared in full Court dress, having made himself as splendid as possible for the occasion. She was completely overwhelmed by his magnificence. As the whole household gazed at this dazzling sight, they soon recovered from their gloom. Of course, the little princess had to be brought to him. Naturally, he was deeply moved to see his child for the first time. It was a pity that he had met her so late. What nonsense people talked about children, he thought. Everyone had made such a fuss about Yūgiri, Princess Aoi’s child, pretending he was remarkably handsome. Such people were mere opportunists and flatterers. If Yūgiri had not been the Prime Minister’s grandchild, no one would have seen anything remarkable about him. But this was a very different matter. If this little creature did not grow up to be a woman of exceptional beauty, he was very much mistaken. She smiled at him with such innocent surprise, and her little face and manner were so perfect, that he immediately grew very fond of her. The nurse had already been losing her looks when he first sent her to Akashi. Now she had grown quite middle-aged. He asked her many questions about her experiences over the past few months. She answered openly, without any shyness. He regretted sending her to waste the last hours of her fading youth in such a dull place. Now he said sympathetically: ‘You’re a long way from everything here too, and it isn’t easy for me to visit. I wish you’d persuade your mistress to use the apartments I originally offered her....’ ‘We must see how we get on,’ the Lady of Akashi interrupted.

That night at least she had no reason to complain of neglect and day came only too swiftly. During the morning he gave fresh instructions to the retainers who were responsible for the redecoration of the house, and presently a number of people who farmed on and around his Katsura estate came to pay their respects, having heard beforehand that he was about to visit his properties in this neighbourhood. As they were there, he thought he had better make them useful and set them to work repairing some places in the Lodge where the shrubs had been trodden down. ‘I see,’ he said, ‘that some of the artificial rocks have rolled over and almost disappeared under the grass. I must get my people to hoist them up again into some position in which they will not look quite so pointless. However this is not the kind of garden that looks the better for too much trouble being taken with it; and you may not be staying here very long. It will not do to make everything here too nice or it will soon be as hard to go away from here as it was to leave Akashi.’ Soon they fell to talking of those old days, now laughing, now weeping, but all the time divinely happy. Once her mother came and peeped at them as they sat talking and the sight of their happiness made her forget that she herself was old, was wretched. Wreathed in smiles she hobbled away from the room. A little later she was watching him standing in his shirt-sleeves instructing the workmen how to utilize the little spring of water that issued near the gallery of the eastern wing. He had no idea that he was being watched, till happening to come across a tray for flower-offerings and other religious gear lying about the house, he suddenly thought of the pious old lady and said to his companion: ‘By the way, did your mother come with you? I had quite forgotten she might be here or I should not be going about the house dressed in this fashion.’ He sent for his cloak and going up to the curtain-of-state behind which he was told the old lady would probably be sitting, he said in a gentle tone: ‘Madam, I have come to thank you; for it is your doing that the little girl thrives so well. Your prayers and devotions it is that have lightened the load of her karma and caused her to grow up so fine and healthy a child. I know well enough what it must have cost you to leave the house which had become your sanctuary and mingle once more with the follies of this transitory world. I know too what anxiety you must be in, concerning the husband whom you have left.... For this and much else, Madam, I have come to thank you....’ ‘That you should guess how dear it cost me to come back to the turmoil of the world, and that in these kind words you should tell me my exertions have not been made in vain, is in itself sufficient reward for all that I have endured, and justifies a life drawn out beyond the allotted span.’ So the pious old lady spoke and then continued, weeping: ‘I have been in great anxiety concerning this ‘twin-leaved pine,’³²⁰ and while we dwelt under the shadow of those wild cliffs I scarce dared hope that it would at last find room to spread and grow. But now I pray more confidently,—though still afraid that from roots³²¹ so lowly no valiant stem can ever spring....’

That night, at least, she had no reason to feel neglected, and morning came all too soon. He gave fresh instructions to the retainers overseeing the house’s redecoration. Soon, several people who farmed on and around his Katsura estate came to pay their respects. They had heard that he was about to visit his properties in the area. Since they were there, he decided to put them to work. He had them repair places at the Lodge where the shrubs had been trampled. ‘I see,’ he said, ‘that some of the artificial rocks have fallen over and almost disappeared beneath the grass. I must have my people lift them into positions where they will not look quite so pointless. Still, this is not the sort of garden that looks better for too much attention. And you may not be staying here very long. We must not make everything too nice. Otherwise, leaving here will soon be as hard as leaving Akashi.’ Soon they were talking about those old days, laughing one moment and weeping the next. But all the while, they were divinely happy. Her mother came and peeked at them as they talked. Their happiness made her forget that she was old and miserable. Smiling broadly, she hobbled away from the room. A little later, she watched him standing in his shirt-sleeves, directing the workmen. He was showing them how to use the little spring near the gallery of the eastern wing. He had no idea she was watching. Then he came across a tray for flower-offerings and other religious items lying about the house. He suddenly thought of the pious old lady and said to his companion, ‘By the way, did your mother come with you? I had quite forgotten she might be here. Otherwise, I would not be going about the house dressed like this.’ He sent for his cloak and went to the curtain-of-state. He had been told that the old lady would probably be sitting behind it. In a gentle voice, he said, ‘Madam, I have come to thank you. It is thanks to you that the little girl is doing so well. Your prayers and devotions have lightened the burden of her karma. They have helped her grow into such a fine, healthy child. I know how hard it must have been to leave the house that had become your sanctuary. It must have been hard to return to the follies of this passing world. I also know how anxious you must be about the husband you have left.... For this and much else, Madam, I have come to thank you....’ ‘You understand how much it cost me to return to the turmoil of the world. And your kind words tell me that my efforts have not been in vain. That alone is enough reward for all I have endured. It makes a life that has lasted beyond its allotted span worthwhile.’ So the pious old lady spoke. Then, weeping, she continued: ‘I have been very anxious about this ‘twin-leaved pine,’³²⁰ and while we lived in the shadow of those wild cliffs, I hardly dared hope it would find room to spread and grow. But now I pray with more confidence, though I still fear that such humble roots³²¹ can never produce a strong stem....’

There was in her speech and bearing a courtly dignity which pleased him, and he led her on to talk of the time when her grandfather, the old Prince, was living at the house. While she spoke the sound of running water reached them. It came from the buried spring near the eastern wall of the house; the workmen had just finished clearing it. It seemed like the voice of one suddenly aroused from lethargy by the mention of old familiar names. ‘I, that was mistress here, scarce know the way from room to room; only this crystal spring remembers still and meditates the ancient secrets of the house.’ She murmured this poem softly to herself and did not know that he had heard what she said. But it had not escaped him; indeed, he thought it by no means lacking in beauty and power of expression.

Her speech and manner had a courtly dignity that pleased him. He encouraged her to talk about the time her grandfather, the old Prince, lived at the house. As she spoke, they heard running water. It came from the buried spring near the eastern wall of the house. The workers had just finished clearing it. The sound was like the voice of someone suddenly awakened from a stupor by the mention of familiar old names. ‘I was once the mistress here, yet I hardly know my way from room to room. Only this crystal spring still remembers and reflects on the house’s ancient secrets.’ She murmured this poem softly to herself, not knowing that he had heard her. But he had heard it, and he thought it was beautiful and powerfully expressed.

As he stood looking down at her, full of interest and compassion, the aged lady thought him more beautiful than anything she could have ever dreamed would exist in the world. He now drove over to his hermitage at Saga and arranged for the Reading of the Samantabhadra Sūtra and the meditations on Amitābha and Shākyamuni to take place every month on the fourteenth, fifteenth and last days respectively, together with other rituals for which he now made the final arrangements. The decoration of the Buddha Hall and the provision of the necessary altars and furniture was then discussed and various duties assigned to those in charge of the place. He returned to Ōi by moonlight. It was strangely like those nights of old when he used to visit her at the house on the hill. It seemed natural enough that, as in those days, she should bring out a zithern (it was indeed his own, which he had given her), and soon, stirred by his presence and the beauty of the night, she began to finger the instrument. He noticed at once that true to her promise she had not altered the tuning since that last night at Akashi, and it seemed as though all that had happened since were obliterated and he were still listening to that farewell tune.

As he stood looking down at her with interest and compassion, the old lady thought him more beautiful than anything she had ever dreamed could exist. He then traveled to his hermitage at Saga. He arranged for the Samantabhadra Sūtra to be read on the fourteenth of every month. Meditations on Amitābha and Shākyamuni would take place on the fifteenth and last days, respectively. He also made final arrangements for other rituals. He discussed how to decorate the Buddha Hall and provide the necessary altars and furnishings. Then he assigned various duties to the people in charge. He returned to Ōi by moonlight. It was strangely like those nights long ago when he used to visit her at the house on the hill. As in those days, it seemed natural for her to bring out a zither. It was his own instrument, which he had given her. Soon, moved by his presence and the beauty of the night, she began to play. He noticed at once that she had kept her promise. She had not changed the tuning since their last night at Akashi. It seemed as though everything that had happened since had been erased, and he was still listening to that farewell tune.

He was conscious of no inequality between herself and him. Despite her mixed descent and rustic upbringing there was about her an air of personal distinction which made ample amends for her lack of breeding and worldly experience. Her looks had indeed greatly improved since he knew her, and as he gazed, now at her, now at the lovely child, he felt that both of them were destined to occupy henceforward a very large share of his attention. But what was he to do? It would indeed be a great pity that the child should grow up in an obscure country-house. Most people would no doubt think him perfectly justified in taking it away with him to the Nijō-in and bringing it up in whatever way he chose. But he knew that this would be a terrible blow to the mother and could not bring himself to suggest it. He sat watching the two of them with tears in his eyes. The little creature had at first been rather shy with him. But now it was quite at its ease, prattled and laughed in his face and in fact showed every sign of wanting to make friends with him. The infant in this expansive mood seemed to him more entrancing than ever. He took it up in his arms, and watching the tenderness with which he held it the mother felt that its fortunes were indeed secure. Next day he was to return to the Capital. He therefore returned to rest for a while; but the news that he was shortly to leave this house spread with disconcerting rapidity to his tenants at Katsura and the anterooms were soon full of visitors waiting to escort him on his journey. A number of courtiers had also discovered his whereabouts and were waiting to pay their respects. While he was being dressed, Genji said petulantly: ‘This is intolerable. If I am being tracked down even to such a place as this, where can I ever hope to hide my head?’ And with a mob of visitors pressing round him he was swept away to his carriage. At a window by which they had to pass, stationed there as though by accident, was the child’s nurse with the infant in her arms. Stroking its face tenderly as he passed, Genji said to her: ‘I should have been sorry not to see this child. But it has all been so hurried.... Better than nothing perhaps.... But “your village is so far away”....’³²² ‘We shall expect rather more from your Highness than we did in the old days when we really were a long way off,’ the nurse replied. The little princess stretched out her hand as though trying to hold him back. Pausing for a while he turned and said: ‘It is terrible to have such a sentimental disposition as mine. I cannot bear to part from those I am fond of even if it be only for a single day. But where is your mistress? Why did not she too come to bid me good-bye? Tell her that it is barbarous....’ The nurse smiled and withdrawing into the house delivered the message. But so far from being unconcerned at his departure, the Lady of Akashi was so much agitated that she had sunk helpless upon her bed, and it was some while before she could muster enough strength to rise. At last, after Genji, not knowing what was amiss, had in his heart passed severe censure upon her coyness, she arrived in the front-room supported by her ladies and sank into a seat where, though she was partly hidden by a curtain, he got a fair view of her face. Such delicacy of feature, such distinction, such grace would not he thought have done discredit to an Emperor’s daughter. He went up to the window, pulled aside the curtain and whispered a few words of farewell. Then he hastened to rejoin his companions; but looking back for an instant over his shoulder he saw that, though all this time she had remained motionless and silent, she was following him intently with her eyes. He had in old days been somewhat too slender for his height; now he had filled out a little and she found this slightly robuster air very becoming. He must indeed have expended considerable thought upon his appearance, every detail down to the elegantly adjusted billowing of his wide, puffy trousers being calculated with the nicest eye for effect. Such at any rate was her impression as he passed out of sight that morning,—a view perhaps somewhat coloured by partiality.

He felt there was no difference in rank between them. Despite her mixed descent and country upbringing, she had a natural distinction. It more than made up for her lack of refinement and experience of the world. Her looks had greatly improved since he had known her. As he looked from her to the lovely child, he felt that both would claim much of his attention from now on. But what was he to do? It would be a great pity if the child grew up in an obscure country house. Most people would surely think him justified in taking the child to the Nijō-in and raising her however he chose. But he knew this would be a terrible blow to her mother, and he could not bring himself to suggest it. He sat watching the two of them, with tears in his eyes. At first, the little girl had been rather shy with him. But now she was quite at ease. She babbled and laughed in his face and showed every sign of wanting to be friends. In this outgoing mood, the child seemed more enchanting to him than ever. He took her in his arms. Watching how tenderly he held her, the mother felt that her child’s future was secure. He was to return to the Capital the next day, so he went to rest for a while. But word that he would soon leave the house spread with unsettling speed among his tenants at Katsura. The anterooms were soon full of visitors waiting to escort him on his journey. A number of courtiers had also discovered where he was and were waiting to pay their respects. As he was being dressed, Genji said irritably, ‘This is unbearable. If they can track me down even in a place like this, where can I ever hope to hide?’ Surrounded by a crowd of visitors, he was swept away to his carriage. The child’s nurse stood at a window he had to pass, holding the baby, as if she happened to be there. As Genji passed, he gently stroked the child’s face and said to the nurse, ‘I would have been sorry to miss seeing this child. But it has all been so rushed.... Better than nothing, perhaps.... But “your village is so far away”....’³²² ‘We shall expect rather more from your Highness than we did in the old days, when we really were far away,’ the nurse replied. The little princess stretched out her hand as if trying to hold him back. He paused, turned, and said, ‘It is terrible to be as sentimental as I am. I cannot bear to part from those I love, even for a single day. But where is your mistress? Why didn’t she come to say goodbye too? Tell her it is cruel....’ The nurse smiled, withdrew into the house, and delivered the message. But the Lady of Akashi was far from indifferent to his departure. She was so upset that she had collapsed helplessly on her bed. It was some time before she could gather the strength to rise. Genji did not know what was wrong, and he silently reproached her for being so coy. At last, supported by her ladies, she came into the front room and sank into a seat. A curtain partly hid her, but he could see her face quite well. Her features were so delicate, and she was so distinguished and graceful, that she would have done credit to an Emperor’s daughter. He went to the window, pulled aside the curtain, and whispered a few words of farewell. Then he hurried to rejoin his companions. But he glanced back over his shoulder and saw that she was watching him intently. All this time, she had remained still and silent. In the old days, he had been a little too slender for his height. Now he had filled out somewhat, and she thought he looked very attractive with his slightly sturdier figure. He must have given considerable thought to his appearance. Every detail, down to the elegant folds of his wide, billowing trousers, had been arranged with the finest eye for effect. That, at least, was her impression as he passed out of sight that morning. Her affection for him may have colored her view.

Ukon, the brother of Ki no Kami, had relinquished his office of Treasurer, and having been appointed Quiver-bearer to His Majesty had this year been formally invested as an officer of the 5th rank. He now came to relieve Genji of his sword, and looking in the direction from which his master had come saw the Lady of Akashi’s form dimly outlined at the window. He had himself formed some slight acquaintance with her during the period of Genji’s exile and wished to discover whether she still had a liking for him. He therefore drew one of her maids-of-honour aside and said: ‘I have not forgotten those hours of pleasant intercourse, but fear to give offence. Sometimes when, waking before the dawn, I hear the rustling of the wind among the trees, I think for a moment that I am back at Akashi, or listening again to the waves that beat upon the shore. At such moments I long to break the silence with some message or token; but till now no proper means has come to hand....’ He purposely spoke in such a way that she might not understand him unless she were already aware of his feelings towards her mistress. ‘The clouds that hang eight-fold about this lonely hillside screen us from the world no less securely than the mist-wreaths of that sequestered bay. I for my part thought that of my friends in those days “none save the ancient pine-tree”³²³ remembered me, and it is good news indeed to hear that by you at least....’ She could not have been wider of the mark!³²⁴ He was now very sorry that he had in old days so scrupulously avoided all reference to this attachment. He would have explained himself further, but Genji was waiting; and calling out with an assumed cheerfulness ‘Let us talk of this another time,’ he hastened to rejoin his master. Already the outriders were clearing intruders from the road and amid great clatter and bustle the procession started on its way. Two officious gentlemen, the Captain of the Guard and a certain Hyoye no Kami, rode at the back of Genji’s coach. ‘I object to being tracked down like this,’ said Genji wearily, ‘when I go to pay a quiet visit to private friends.’ ‘The moonlight was so exquisite last night,’ they said in self-defence, ‘that we could not bear having been left behind, and this morning we groped our way through the early mist to find you. The maple-leaves in the Capital are not yet quite at their best; but in the open country the colours are marvellous. We should have been here sooner, had we not become involved in a hawking party that one of the chamberlains has got up.’ ‘I must go back to Katsura first,’ said Genji; and accordingly the party set out in that direction. It was no easy matter on the spur of the moment to provide entertainment for so large a number of persons. However, the cormorant-fishers who ply their trade on the Katsura river were hastily sent for, and promised to secure food enough for the whole party. Their strange, clipped talk reminded Genji of the fishermen at Suma and greatly diverted him. The falconers, who had decided to camp in the open country, sent a present of small snipe, each bird tied to a bunch of sedge-leaves. They played at the game³²⁵ of floating wine-cups down the stream. So many times were the cups set afloat and so steep were the banks of the stream that the game proved somewhat dangerous. But the wine made them reckless and they were still shouting out their couplets long after it grew dark. At last the moon rose and it was time for the music to begin. The most skilful performers on zithern, lute, wagon, and various wind instruments were called upon and were soon playing such tunes as were best suited to the place and hour. A gentle breeze blew down the stream blending its whisperings with the music of pipe and string. Higher and higher the moon rose above them; never had night been so radiant and still. It was already very late when a band of four or five courtiers made their appearance. They had come straight from the Palace where the Emperor had been giving a concert. ‘This is the first of the Six Fast Days,’ His Majesty had suddenly exclaimed. ‘I expected that Genji would be here. What has become of him?’ Some one then informed His Majesty of Genji’s present whereabouts and messengers were at once despatched to Katsura bearing a letter in which the Emperor declared himself envious of the pleasant excursion in which his Minister had found time to indulge. With this letter was the poem: ‘How pleasantly the shadow of the laurel-tree must fall upon the waters in the village beyond the stream!’³²⁶ Genji answered with due humility and respect. The messengers found this moonlight concert even more agreeable than the one which they had left and had soon settled down to drink and listen for the second time that night. When at last they rose it was proper that they should not be sent away empty-handed. As there was nothing here to give to them Genji sent a note to Ōi: ‘Have you anything that would do to give to some messengers from the Court?’ After looking round for a little they sent such objects as they could lay hands on. There were two boxes full of clothes. For the chief messenger, who was now anxious to return to the Palace, he selected a lady’s dress of very handsome stuff.

Ukon, the brother of Ki no Kami, had given up his office as Treasurer. He had been appointed Quiver-bearer to His Majesty and formally invested that year as an officer of the 5th rank. He now came to take Genji’s sword. Looking back the way his master had come, he saw the Lady of Akashi’s figure dimly outlined at the window. He had become slightly acquainted with her during Genji’s exile and wanted to find out whether she still liked him. He drew one of her maids-of-honour aside and said: ‘I have not forgotten those pleasant hours we spent together, but I am afraid of causing offence. Sometimes I wake before dawn and hear the wind rustling in the trees. For a moment I think I am back at Akashi, listening again to the waves beating on the shore. At such moments I long to break the silence with a message or token. But until now I have had no proper way to send one....’ He deliberately spoke so that she would understand him only if she already knew of his feelings for her mistress. ‘The clouds hanging eight-fold over this lonely hillside hide us from the world as surely as the mists of that secluded bay. For my part, I thought that of my friends from those days “none save the ancient pine-tree”³²³ remembered me. It is good news indeed to hear that you, at least....’ She could not have been more mistaken!³²⁴ Ukon now regretted how carefully he had avoided mentioning his attachment in the old days. He would have explained further, but Genji was waiting. ‘Let us talk about this another time,’ he called out, pretending to be cheerful, and hurried back to his master. The outriders were already clearing people from the road. The procession set off amid great noise and bustle. Two officious gentlemen, the Captain of the Guard and a certain Hyoye no Kami, rode behind Genji’s coach. ‘I don’t like being tracked down like this,’ Genji said wearily, ‘when I go to pay a quiet visit to private friends.’ ‘The moonlight was so exquisite last night,’ they said in their defence, ‘that we could not bear being left behind. This morning we found our way through the early mist to you. The maple leaves in the Capital are not quite at their best yet, but the colours in the countryside are marvellous. We would have been here sooner, but we got caught up in a hawking party arranged by one of the chamberlains.’ ‘I must go back to Katsura first,’ said Genji, and the party set off in that direction. It was not easy to entertain so many people at such short notice. But the cormorant fishers who worked on the Katsura river were quickly sent for. They promised to provide enough food for the whole party. Their strange, clipped speech reminded Genji of the fishermen at Suma and greatly amused him. The falconers had decided to camp in the countryside. They sent a gift of small snipe, each bird tied to a bunch of sedge leaves. They played the game³²⁵ of floating wine cups down the stream. The cups were set afloat so many times, and the banks were so steep, that the game became rather dangerous. But the wine made them reckless, and they were still shouting their couplets long after dark. At last the moon rose, and it was time for music. The most skilled players of zithern, lute, wagon, and various wind instruments were called upon. Soon they were playing tunes suited to the place and the hour. A gentle breeze blew down the stream, mingling its whispers with the pipes and strings. The moon rose higher and higher above them. Never had a night been so radiant and still. It was already very late when four or five courtiers appeared. They had come straight from the Palace, where the Emperor had been giving a concert. ‘This is the first of the Six Fast Days,’ His Majesty had suddenly exclaimed. ‘I expected Genji to be here. What has become of him?’ Someone told His Majesty where Genji was, and messengers were sent at once to Katsura. They carried a letter in which the Emperor said he envied the pleasant excursion his Minister had found time to enjoy. With the letter was the poem: ‘How pleasantly the shadow of the laurel-tree must fall upon the waters in the village beyond the stream!’³²⁶ Genji answered with proper humility and respect. The messengers found this moonlight concert even more agreeable than the one they had left. They soon settled down to drink and listen to music for the second time that night. When they finally rose to leave, it was only proper to give them gifts. Since there was nothing suitable at hand, Genji sent a note to Ōi: ‘Have you anything that would do to give to some messengers from the Court?’ After looking around for a while, they sent what they could find. There were two boxes full of clothes. For the chief messenger, who was anxious to return to the Palace, Genji chose a lady’s dress made of very handsome fabric.

The company now became extremely animated. Poem followed poem in a swift exchange, and even Genji’s conversation, usually equable and restrained, began to take so extravagant a turn that his hearers would gladly have kept him talking thus till the end of the time. As for things at home, he reflected,—the harm was already done. The rishi’s axe must by now have blossomed, aye, and withered too. Why not one more day? But no; that would never do; and the party broke up hastily.

The gathering grew lively. Poems followed one another in rapid exchange. Even Genji, usually calm and restrained in conversation, began to speak so extravagantly that his listeners wished he would go on forever. As for matters at home, he thought, the harm was already done. By now, the rishi’s axe must have blossomed and even withered. Why not stay one more day? But no, that would never do. The party broke up in a hurry.

They set out for the Capital, each wearing on his head the bright-coloured scarf with which, according to his rank and station, he had been presented the night before and with these gay patches that bobbed up here and there in the morning mist blended the colours of the flowers in the gardens through which they passed.

They set out for the Capital, each wearing a brightly colored scarf on his head. Each had received his scarf the night before, according to his rank and station. The bright patches bobbed here and there in the morning mist, blending with the flowers in the gardens they passed through.

There was with them a certain member of the Night Watch famous for his singing of ancient ballads, and to cheer the company he now sang with great spirit the ballad ‘Ho, my pony’; whereupon his companions doffed their scarves and wound them round the singer’s head. The wind fluttered through the many-coloured ends that dangled about his shoulders, weaving as gay a brocade as that with which the storms of autumn carpet a forest floor.

Among them was a member of the Night Watch who was famous for singing ancient ballads. To cheer the company, he sang the ballad ‘Ho, my pony’ with great spirit. His companions took off their scarves and wrapped them around the singer’s head. The wind fluttered through the multicolored ends hanging around his shoulders. They made a brocade as bright as the carpet of leaves that autumn storms spread across a forest floor.

The news of his swift return or at least some faint echo of it reached the Lady of Akashi in her chamber, making her feel more than ever desolate. To Genji it suddenly occurred that he had never written the customary³²⁷ letter. Other things had indeed been occupying his attention; but he wished he had remembered.

News of his swift return, or at least a faint hint of it, reached the Lady of Akashi in her room. It made her feel more alone than ever. Genji suddenly realized that he had never written the customary³²⁷ letter. Other things had been on his mind, but he wished he had remembered.

On his return to the Nijō-in he rested for a little while and then went to tell Murasaki about his country visit ‘I am very sorry that I was away longer than I led you to expect,’ he said; ‘those wretched fellows hounded me down and, try as I might, I could not get rid of them. I am very tired this morning. I think, if you will excuse me, I must get some more sleep,’ and so saying he retired to his own room. When they met later he saw that things were not going well, but for a time pretended not to notice. At last she became so tiresome that he said somewhat sharply: ‘This is ridiculous. You know quite well that there can never be any comparison between her position and yours. Surely you had better drop this absurd affectation and make the best of me now I am here.’

When he returned to the Nijō-in, he rested for a while. Then he went to tell Murasaki about his visit to the country. ‘I’m very sorry I was away longer than I said I would be,’ he said. ‘Those wretched fellows pursued me, and no matter how I tried, I couldn’t get rid of them. I’m very tired this morning. If you’ll excuse me, I think I need some more sleep.’ With that, he went to his own room. When they met later, he saw that things were not going well, but for a while he pretended not to notice. At last she became so tiresome that he said rather sharply: ‘This is ridiculous. You know perfectly well that her position can never compare with yours. Surely you’d better stop pretending like this and make the best of me now that I’m here.’

He had promised to be at the Palace before nightfall, and now rose to go. But before he left the room she saw him go into a corner and scribble a hasty note. She guessed at once to whom it was addressed. What a long time it was taking! He seemed to have a great deal to say. Her women saw him giving it to a messenger with many whispered instructions and they were duly indignant.

He had promised to be at the Palace before nightfall, and now he got up to leave. But before he left the room, she saw him go to a corner and quickly write a note. She guessed at once who it was for. How long he was taking! He seemed to have a great deal to say. Her women saw him give the note to a messenger, along with many whispered instructions. They were indignant, as expected.

He was supposed to be on duty all night at the Palace. But he was impatient to put matters right, and though it was very late indeed before he could get away he hurried back to Murasaki at the first opportunity of escape. While he was with her, the messenger returned from Ōi with an answer in his hand. Genji read it without any attempt at concealment, and finding it to be of the most harmless description, he handed it to her saying: ‘Please tear it up when you have read it, and do not leave the pieces lying about; pieces make such a bad impression! In my position one has to be so careful.’

He was supposed to be on duty at the Palace all night. But he was eager to put matters right. Though it was very late before he could get away, he hurried back to Murasaki at the first opportunity. While he was with her, the messenger returned from Ōi with a reply. Genji read it openly. Seeing that it was completely harmless, he handed it to Murasaki and said: ‘Please tear it up when you have read it, and don’t leave the pieces lying around. Pieces make such a bad impression! In my position, one has to be so careful.’

He came and sat by her couch; but he was thinking all the time of the Lady at Ōi and wishing he could be with her. For a long while he sat gazing into the lamp and did not speak a word.

He came and sat beside her couch. But all the while, he was thinking of the Lady at Ōi and wishing he could be with her. For a long time, he sat staring into the lamp without saying a word.

The letter which he had handed to Murasaki was spread open before her; but she was not reading it. ‘I am sure you have been peeping,’ he said at last. ‘That way of reading letters is very tiring,’ and he smiled at her with such evident affection that the tears welled to her eyes. ‘There is something I want to talk to you about,’ he said, bending over her; ‘I have seen the little girl and, as a matter of fact, taken a great fancy to her. I naturally want to do as well for her as I can, but under the circumstances that is far from easy, and I am rather worried about it. I want you to think about the matter a little, and see if you cannot help me. What can be done? For example, would you be willing to have her here and bring her up as your own child? She is almost three years old, and at that age they are so pretty and innocent that it is very hard indeed to harden one’s heart against them. It is getting to be time that she came out of her long clothes. Would you be very much upset if I asked you to take charge of the ceremony?’³²⁸ ‘I was cross just now,’ she said; ‘but I knew you were thinking all the while about other things, and there seemed to be no use in pretending we were friends if we were not. I should love to look after the little girl. She is just the age I like best.’ She laughed with joy at the thought of having such a creature in her arms, for she was passionately fond of children. Should he try to secure the child? Genji was still very doubtful. Visits to Ōi were very difficult to arrange, and he seldom contrived to get there except on the two days in each month when he went over to hear the service at his chapel near Saga.

The letter he had given Murasaki lay open before her, but she was not reading it. ‘I’m sure you’ve been peeking,’ he said at last. ‘Reading letters that way is very tiring.’ He smiled at her with such obvious affection that tears came to her eyes. ‘There’s something I want to talk to you about,’ he said, bending over her. ‘I’ve seen the little girl and have become very fond of her. Naturally, I want to do the best I can for her. But under the circumstances, that’s far from easy, and I’m rather worried about it. I want you to think about it and see if you can help me. What can we do? For example, would you be willing to have her here and raise her as your own child? She’s almost three, and children that age are so pretty and innocent. It’s very hard to harden your heart against them. It’s nearly time for her to leave off her long clothes. Would you be very upset if I asked you to take charge of the ceremony?’³²⁸ ‘I was cross just now,’ she said. ‘But I knew you were thinking about other things all the while. It seemed pointless to pretend we were friends if we weren’t. I’d love to look after the little girl. She’s just the age I like best.’ She laughed with joy at the thought of holding such a little creature in her arms. She was passionately fond of children. Should he try to get the child? Genji was still very doubtful. Visits to Ōi were very difficult to arrange. He seldom managed to get there except on the two days each month when he attended the service at his chapel near Saga.

Thus though the Lady of Akashi fared considerably better than the Weaving Lady³²⁹ in the story and though her expectations were of the most moderate description, it would have been strange had these hurried visits contented her.

The Lady of Akashi was much better off than the Weaving Lady³²⁹ in the story. She also expected very little. Even so, it would have been strange if these hurried visits had satisfied her.