Asagao

The death of Prince Momozono meant, of course, the return to Court of the Kamo Vestal, Lady Asagao; and Genji followed up his letter of welcome by numerous other notes and messages. For it was, as I have said before, a peculiarity of his character that if he had once become fond of any one, neither separation nor lapse of time could ever obliterate his affection. But Asagao remembered only too well the difficulty that she had before experienced in keeping him at arm’s length, and she was careful to answer in the most formal and guarded terms. He found these decorous replies exceedingly irritating. In the ninth month he heard that she had moved into her father’s old residence, the Momozono Palace, which was at that time occupied by Princess Nyogo, a younger sister of the old Emperor.³⁶⁸ Here was an opening; for it was perfectly natural and proper that Genji should visit this princess, who had been his father’s favourite sister and with whom he had himself always remained on excellent terms. He found that the two ladies were living in opposite wings of the Palace, separated by the great central hall. Though old Prince Momozono had so recently passed away the place had already assumed a rather decayed and depressing air. Princess Nyogo received him immediately. He noticed at once that she had aged very rapidly since he last saw her. She was indeed quite decrepit, and it was difficult to believe that she was really younger than Aoi’s mother, who seemed to him never to have changed since he had known her; whereas in the quavering accents and palsied gait of the aged lady who now greeted him it was well nigh impossible to recognize the princess of former days.

The death of Prince Momozono meant, of course, that Lady Asagao, the Kamo Vestal, returned to Court. Genji sent her a letter of welcome, followed by many other notes and messages. For, as I have said before, he had a particular trait. Once he had grown fond of someone, neither separation nor time could ever erase his affection. But Asagao remembered only too well how hard it had been to keep him at a distance before. She was careful to reply in the most formal and guarded terms. He found her proper replies extremely irritating. In the ninth month, he heard that she had moved into her father’s old home, the Momozono Palace. Princess Nyogo, a younger sister of the old Emperor, was living there at the time.³⁶⁸ This gave him an opening. It was perfectly natural and proper for Genji to visit the princess. She had been his father’s favorite sister, and Genji himself had always been on excellent terms with her. He found that the two ladies lived in opposite wings of the Palace, separated by the great central hall. Although old Prince Momozono had died so recently, the place already had a rather neglected and depressing air. Princess Nyogo received him at once. He immediately noticed how quickly she had aged since he last saw her. She was very frail, and he could hardly believe she was younger than Aoi’s mother. Aoi’s mother seemed never to have changed in all the time he had known her. But the elderly lady who now greeted him had a trembling voice and an unsteady walk. It was almost impossible to recognize her as the princess he had once known.

‘Everything has been in a wretched way since the old Emperor, your poor father, was taken from us, and as the years go by the outlook seems to grow blacker and blacker; I confess, I never have an easy moment. And now even my brother Prince Momozono has left me! I go on, I go on; but it hardly seems like being alive, except when I get a visit like yours to-day, and then I forget all my troubles....’ ‘Poor thing,’ thought Genji, ‘how terribly she has gone to pieces!’ But he answered very politely: ‘For me too the world has been in many ways a different place since my father died. First, as you know, came this unexpected attack upon me, followed by my exile to a remote district. Then came my restoration to rank and privilege, bringing with it all manner of ties and distractions. All this time I have been longing to have a talk with you, and regret immensely that there has never before been an opportunity....’ ‘Oh, the changes, the changes,’ she broke in; ‘such terrible destruction I have seen on every side. Nothing seems safe from it, and often I feel as though I would give anything to have died before all this began. But I do assure you I am glad I have lived long enough to witness your return. To die while you were still in such trouble, not knowing how it was all going to end—that would indeed have been a melancholy business.’ She paused for a while and then went on in her quavering, thin voice: ‘You know, you have grown to be a very handsome man. But I remember that the first time I saw you, when you were only a little boy, I was astonished at you, really I was. I could never have believed that such loveliness would be seen shining in the face of any mortal child! And every time I see you I always feel just as I did then. They say that his present Majesty, the Emperor Ryōzen, is the image of you; but I don’t believe a word of it. He may be just a little like; but no one is going to persuade me that he is half as handsome as you.’ So she rambled on. Coming from any one else such flattery would have very much embarrassed him. But at this strange old lady’s out-pourings one could only be amused. ‘Since my exile I have quite lost whatever good looks I may once have possessed,’ he said; ‘one cannot live for years on end under those depressing conditions without its changing one very much. As for the Emperor, I assure you that his is a beauty of an altogether different order. I should doubt if a better-looking young man has ever existed, and to assert that he is less handsome than me is, if you will forgive my saying so, quite ridiculous.’ ‘If only you came to see me every day I believe I should go on living for ever,’ she burst out. ‘I am suddenly beginning to feel quite young, and I am not at all sure that the world is half so bad a place as I made out just now.’ Nevertheless it was not long before she was again wailing and weeping. ‘How I envy my sister Princess Ōmiya,’³⁶⁹ she cried; ‘no doubt, being your mother-in-law, she sees a great deal of you. I only wish I were in that position. You know, I expect, that my poor brother often talked of affiancing his daughter to you and was very sorry afterwards that he did not do so.’ At this Genji pricked up his ears. ‘I desired nothing better,’ said he, ‘than to be connected on close terms with your family, and it would still give me great pleasure to be on a more intimate footing in this house. But I cannot say that I have hitherto received much encouragement....’ He was vexed that he had not discovered this at the time. He looked towards the other wing of the house. The garden under the younger princess’s windows was carefully tended. He scanned those borders of late autumn flowers, and then the rooms behind; he pictured her sitting not far from the window, her eyes fixed upon these same swiftly-fading petals. Yes, he must certainly contrive to see her; and bowing to Princess Nyogo he said: ‘I naturally intend to pay my respects to your niece to-day; indeed, I should not like her to regard my visit as a mere afterthought, and for that reason I shall, with your permission, approach her apartments by way of the garden instead of going along the corridor and through the hall.’ Skirting the side of the house he came at length to her window. Although it was now almost dark, he could see, behind grey curtains, the outline of a black screen-of-state. He was soon observed, and Asagao’s servants, scandalized that he should have been left standing even for a moment in the verandah, hurried him into the guest-room at the back of the house. Here a gentlewoman came to enquire what was his pleasure, and he handed to her the following note: ‘How this carries me back to the days of our youth—this sending in of notes and waiting in ante-chambers! I had hoped, I confess, that my reticence during the years of your sacred calling would have won for me, still your ardent admirer, the right to a somewhat less formal reception.’ It would be hard indeed if she gave him no more encouragement than this! Her answer was brought by word of mouth: ‘To come back to this house and find my father no longer here, is so strange an experience that it is difficult to believe those old days were not a mere dream from which I now awake to a fleeting prospect of the most comfortless realities. But in a world where all is change, it would, I confess, be ungracious not to cherish and encourage a devotion so undeviating as that which you have described.’

‘Everything has been miserable since the old Emperor, your poor father, was taken from us. As the years pass, things seem to grow darker and darker. I confess, I never have a moment’s peace. And now even my brother Prince Momozono has left me! I go on living, but it hardly feels like living at all. Only when someone like you visits me, as you have today, do I forget all my troubles....’ ‘Poor thing,’ thought Genji, ‘how terribly she has declined!’ But he answered very politely: ‘For me too, the world has been different in many ways since my father died. First, as you know, came the unexpected attack on me, followed by my exile to a distant district. Then I was restored to my rank and privileges, which brought all kinds of obligations and distractions. All this time I have longed to talk with you. I deeply regret that there has been no opportunity until now....’ ‘Oh, the changes, the changes,’ she interrupted. ‘I have seen such terrible destruction on every side. Nothing seems safe from it. Often I feel I would give anything to have died before it all began. But I assure you, I am glad I have lived long enough to see you return. It would have been terribly sad to die while you were still in such trouble, not knowing how it would end.’ She paused for a while, then went on in her thin, trembling voice: ‘You know, you have grown into a very handsome man. But I remember the first time I saw you, when you were only a little boy. I was astonished, I really was. I could never have believed that such beauty could shine from the face of any mortal child! And every time I see you, I feel just as I did then. They say that his present Majesty, the Emperor Ryōzen, looks just like you. But I don’t believe a word of it. He may look a little like you, but no one will persuade me that he is half as handsome.’ She rambled on. Such flattery from anyone else would have embarrassed him greatly. But he could only be amused by this strange old lady’s outpourings. ‘Since my exile, I have quite lost whatever good looks I may once have had,’ he said. ‘One cannot live for years under such depressing conditions without being greatly changed. As for the Emperor, I assure you that his beauty is of an entirely different order. I doubt that a better-looking young man has ever existed. Forgive me for saying so, but to claim that he is less handsome than I am is quite ridiculous.’ ‘If only you came to see me every day, I believe I would live forever,’ she burst out. ‘I suddenly feel quite young. And I’m not at all sure the world is half as bad as I said just now.’ Nevertheless, it was not long before she was wailing and weeping again. ‘How I envy my sister Princess Ōmiya,’³⁶⁹ she cried. ‘Since she is your mother-in-law, she must see a great deal of you. I only wish I were in her position. You probably know that my poor brother often talked of betrothing his daughter to you. He was very sorry afterward that he had not done so.’ At this, Genji grew attentive. ‘I wanted nothing more than a close connection with your family,’ he said. ‘And it would still give me great pleasure to be more closely connected with this house. But I cannot say that I have received much encouragement so far....’ He was annoyed that he had not learned this at the time. He looked toward the other wing of the house. The garden beneath the younger princess’s windows was carefully tended. He studied the borders of late autumn flowers, then the rooms behind them. He imagined her sitting near the window, her eyes fixed on those same quickly fading petals. Yes, he must find a way to see her. He bowed to Princess Nyogo and said: ‘Of course, I intend to pay my respects to your niece today. I would not want her to think my visit was an afterthought. So, with your permission, I will approach her rooms through the garden, rather than by the corridor and hall.’ He went around the side of the house and finally reached her window. Though it was almost dark, he could see the outline of a black screen-of-state behind gray curtains. He was soon noticed. Asagao’s servants were shocked that he had been left standing on the veranda even for a moment. They hurried him into the guest room at the back of the house. There a gentlewoman came to ask what he wanted, and he gave her this note: ‘This sending in notes and waiting in antechambers takes me back to the days of our youth! I confess, I had hoped for a somewhat less formal welcome. During the years of your sacred calling, I held back, and I hoped that would earn me that right. I am still your devoted admirer.’ It would be hard indeed if she gave him no more encouragement than this! Her answer was delivered by word of mouth: ‘It is so strange to come back to this house and find my father no longer here. I can hardly believe those old days were not merely a dream. It is as if I had awakened from it to a fleeting view of the bleakest realities. But in a world where everything changes, it would be ungracious, I confess, not to cherish and encourage such unwavering devotion as you have described.’

She need not, he thought, remind him of life’s uncertainties. For who had in every circumstance great and small more grievously experienced them than he? In reply he sent the poem: ‘Have I not manfully held back and kept cold silence year on year, till the Gods gave me leave?’ ‘Madam,’ he added, ‘you are a Vestal no longer and cannot plead that any sanctity now hedges you about. Since last we met I have experienced many strange vicissitudes. If you would but let me tell you a little part of all that I have seen and suffered....’ The gentlewoman who took his answer noticed that his badges and decorations were somewhat more dazzling than in old days; but though he was now a good deal older, his honours still far out-stripped his years.

She did not need to remind him, he thought, that life was uncertain. Who had suffered more from its uncertainties, in matters great and small, than he had? In reply, he sent the poem: ‘Have I not bravely held back and kept a cold silence year after year, until the Gods gave me leave?’ ‘Madam,’ he added, ‘you are no longer a Vestal and cannot claim that any sacred status protects you now. Since we last met, I have been through many strange changes. If only you would let me tell you a little of all I have seen and suffered....’ The gentlewoman who brought him the message noticed that his badges and decorations were somewhat more dazzling than before. Though he was now much older, his honors still far exceeded what one would expect for his age.

‘Though it were but to tell me of your trials and sorrows that you have made this visit, yet even such tidings the Gods, my masters till of late, forbid me to receive.’ This was too bad! ‘Tell your lady,’ he cried peevishly, ‘that I have long ago cast my offence³⁷⁰ of old days to the winds of Shinado; or does she think perhaps that the Gods did not accept my vows?’³⁷¹ The messenger saw that though he sought to turn off the matter with these allusions and jests he was in reality very much put about, and she was vexed on his behalf. She had for years past been watching her mistress become more and more aloof from the common interests and distractions of life, and it had long distressed her to see Prince Genji’s letters so often left unanswered. ‘I did ill to call at so late an hour,’ he said; ‘I can see that the purpose of my visit has been wholly misunderstood.’ And sighing heavily he turned to go, saying as he did so: ‘This is the way one is treated when one begins to grow old.... It is useless, I know, after what has passed, even to suggest that her Highness should come to the window for a moment to see me start ...’ and with that he left the house, watched by a bevy of ladies who made all the usual comments and appraisements. Not only was it delightful weather, but at this moment the wind was making a most agreeable music in the neighbouring trees, and these ladies soon fell to talking of the old days when Prince Momozono was alive; particularly of Genji’s visits long ago and the many signs he had given of a deep and unaltering attachment to their mistress.

‘Even if you came only to tell me of your troubles and sorrows, the Gods forbid me to hear them. Until recently, I served them as my masters.’ This was too much! ‘Tell your lady,’ he cried irritably, ‘that I long ago cast my old offence³⁷⁰ to the winds of Shinado. Or does she perhaps think the Gods did not accept my vows?’³⁷¹ The messenger saw that, despite his playful references and jokes, he was really very upset. She felt sorry for him. For years, she had watched her mistress grow more and more distant from everyday interests and distractions. It had long troubled her to see Prince Genji’s letters so often go unanswered. ‘I was wrong to call so late,’ he said. ‘I can see that the purpose of my visit has been completely misunderstood.’ He sighed heavily and turned to leave. ‘This is how one is treated when one begins to grow old.... After what has happened, I know it’s useless even to suggest that her Highness come to the window. She might have watched me leave for a moment ...’ With that, he left the house. A group of ladies watched him and made all the usual comments and judgments. The weather was lovely, and just then the wind was making a pleasing music in the nearby trees. The ladies soon began talking about the old days when Prince Momozono was alive. They spoke especially of Genji’s visits long ago. They also recalled the many signs he had given of his deep and lasting attachment to their mistress.

After his return from this unsuccessful expedition, Genji felt in no mood for sleep, and soon he jumped up and threw open his casement. The morning mist lay thick over the garden of flowers, which, at the season’s close, looked very battered and wan. Among them, its blossoms shimmering vaguely, was here and there a Morning Glory,³⁷² growing mixed in among the other flowers. Choosing one that was even more wilted and autumnal than the rest, he sent it to the Momozono palace, with the note: ‘The poor reception which you gave me last night has left a most humiliating and painful impression upon me. Indeed, I can only imagine it was with feelings of relief that you so soon saw my back turned upon your house, though I am loth to think that things can even now have come to such a pass: “Can it be that the Morning Glory, once seen by me and ever since remembered in its beauty, is now a dry and withered flower?” Does it count with you for nothing that I have admired you unrequited, year in year out, for so great a stretch of time? That at least might be put to my credit....’ She could not leave so mannerly an appeal quite unheeded, and when her people pressed round her with ink-stone and brush, she yielded to their persuasion so far as to write the poem: ‘Autumn is over, and now with ghostly flower the Morning Glory withers on the mist-bound hedge.’ ‘Your comparison,’ she added, ‘is so just that the arrival of your note has brought fresh dewdrops to the petals of the flower to whom this reminder was addressed.’ That was all, and it was in truth not very interesting or ingenious. But for some reason he read the poem many times over, and during the course of the day found himself continually looking at it. Perhaps what fascinated him was the effect of her faint, sinuous ink-strokes on the blue-grey writing-paper which her mourning dictated. For it often happens that a letter, its value enhanced to us either by the quality of the writer or by the beauty of the penmanship, appears at the time to be faultless. But when it is copied out and put into a book something seems to have gone wrong.... Efforts are made to improve the sense or style, and in the end the original effect is altogether lost.

After returning from his unsuccessful expedition, Genji was in no mood to sleep. He soon got up and threw open his window. Thick morning mist lay over the flower garden. The flowers looked battered and faded as the season drew to a close. Here and there, a Morning Glory³⁷² grew among them, its blossoms shimmering faintly. He chose one that was even more wilted and autumnal than the rest. He sent it to the Momozono palace with a note: ‘The cold welcome you gave me last night left me feeling deeply humiliated and hurt. I can only imagine you were relieved to see me leave your house so soon. Yet I am reluctant to believe things have come to this: “Can it be that the Morning Glory, whose beauty I saw once and have remembered ever since, is now a dry and withered flower?” Does it mean nothing to you that I have admired you without return, year after year, for so long? Surely I deserve some credit for that....’ She could not leave such a courteous appeal unanswered. Her attendants gathered around her with an ink-stone and brush, urging her to reply. She gave in and wrote this poem: ‘Autumn is over, and now the Morning Glory withers on the mist-bound hedge, its flower pale as a ghost.’ ‘Your comparison,’ she added, ‘is so apt that your note has brought fresh dewdrops to the petals of the flower to whom you sent this reminder.’ That was all, and it was not really very interesting or clever. But for some reason, he read the poem many times. Throughout the day, he found himself looking at it again and again. Perhaps he was fascinated by her faint, flowing ink strokes on the blue-grey paper she used while in mourning. A letter often seems perfect at the time because we value its writer or admire the handwriting. But when it is copied out and put into a book, something seems to have gone wrong.... People try to improve the meaning or style, and in the end the original effect is completely lost.

He realized the impropriety of the letters with which he had in old days assailed her and did not intend to return to so unrestrained a method of address. His new style had indeed met with a certain measure of success; for whereas she had formerly seldom vouchsafed any answer at all, he had now received a not unfriendly reply. But even this reply was far from being such as to satisfy him, and he was unable to resist the temptation of trying to improve upon so meagre a success. He wrote again, this time in much less cautious terms, and posting himself in the eastern wing³⁷³ of his palace he sent a carriage to fetch one of Asagao’s ladies, and presently sent her back again with the letter. Her gentlewomen would themselves never have dreamed of discouraging far less distinguished attentions, let alone those of such a personage as Prince Genji, and they now urged his claims upon their mistress as one ‘for whose sake a little virtue was surely worth sacrificing.’ But after all her efforts in the past to keep free of such an entanglement, this was hardly the moment to give in; for she felt that both he and she had now reached an age when such things are best put aside. She feared that even her inevitable allusions to the flowers and trees of the season might easily be misinterpreted, and even if Genji himself was under no misapprehension, there are always those who made a business of getting hold of such things and turning them to mischief, and in consequence she was careful to avoid the slightest hint of anything intimate or sentimental. About this time a rumour ran through the Court to the effect that Genji was in active correspondence with the former Vestal, abetted and encouraged by Princess Nyogo and the lady’s other relatives. The pair seemed very well suited to one another and no one expressed any surprise at the existence of such an attachment. The story eventually reached Murasaki’s ears. At first she refused to credit it, making sure that if he were indeed carrying on any such intrigue it would be scarcely possible for him to conceal it from her. But observing him with this tale in her mind she thought that he seemed unusually abstracted and depressed. What if this affair, which he had always passed off as a mere joke between himself and his cousin, were to turn out after all to be something important—the beginning of what she dreaded day and night? In rank and in accomplishments perhaps there was little to choose between Asagao and herself. But he had begun to admire and court this princess long, long ago; and if an affection grounded so far back in the past were now to resume its sway over him, Murasaki knew that she must be prepared for the worst. It was not easy to face what she now believed to threaten her. For years past she had held, beyond challenge or doubt, the first place in Genji’s affections—had been the centre of all his plans and contrivings. To see herself ousted by a stranger from a place which long use had taught her to regard as her own by inalienable right—such was the ordeal for which she now began silently to prepare herself. He would not, of course, abandon her altogether; of that she was sure. But the very fact that they had for so many years lived together on terms of daily intimacy and shared so many trifling experiences made her, she felt, in a way less interesting to him. So she speculated, sometimes thinking that all was indeed lost, sometimes that the whole thing was her fancy and nothing whatever was amiss. In his general conduct towards her there was not anything of which she could reasonably complain. But there were from time to time certain vague indications that he was not in the best of tempers, and these were enough whenever they occurred to convince her that she was undone for good and all,—though she showed no outward sign of the despair which had now settled upon her. Genji, meanwhile, spent much of his time in the front³⁷⁴ of the house and was also frequently at the Emperor’s Palace. His leisure was employed in writing endless letters. Murasaki wondered how she could have ever doubted the rumours that were now rampant throughout the Court. If only he would tell, give even the slightest hint of what was in these days passing through his mind!

He realized how improper his old letters to her had been and did not intend to write so freely again. His new approach had met with some success. Before, she had rarely bothered to reply at all, but now he had received a not unfriendly answer. Even so, her reply was far from satisfying him. He could not resist trying to build on such modest success. He wrote again, this time in much less cautious terms. He stationed himself in the eastern wing³⁷³ of his palace and sent a carriage for one of Asagao’s ladies. Soon afterward, he sent her back with the letter. Her ladies would never have dreamed of discouraging attention from a far less distinguished admirer, let alone Prince Genji. Now they urged their mistress to accept him, saying he was someone ‘for whose sake a little virtue was surely worth sacrificing.’ But after all her past efforts to avoid such an entanglement, this was hardly the moment to give in. She felt that both she and Genji had reached an age when such things were best put aside. She feared that even her inevitable references to seasonal flowers and trees might easily be misunderstood. And even if Genji himself understood them, others were always ready to get hold of such things and make trouble. So she took care to avoid the slightest hint of intimacy or sentiment. About this time, a rumor spread through the Court that Genji was exchanging many letters with the former Vestal. Princess Nyogo and the lady’s other relatives were said to be helping and encouraging him. The pair seemed well suited to each other, and no one expressed surprise at such an attachment. The story eventually reached Murasaki. At first she refused to believe it. She was sure that if he were having such an affair, he could hardly conceal it from her. But with the story in mind, she watched him and thought he seemed unusually distracted and depressed. What if this affair turned out to be something important? He had always dismissed it as a mere joke between himself and his cousin. What if it was the beginning of what she dreaded day and night? Perhaps there was little to choose between Asagao and herself in rank or accomplishments. But he had begun to admire and court the princess long, long ago. If a love rooted so far back in the past now took hold of him again, Murasaki knew she must prepare for the worst. It was not easy to face what she now believed threatened her. For years, she had held first place in Genji’s affections, beyond challenge or doubt. She had been at the center of all his plans and schemes. Now she began silently to prepare for the ordeal of seeing a stranger take her place. Long habit had taught her to regard it as hers by a right no one could take away. She was sure he would not abandon her altogether. But they had lived closely together every day for so many years and shared so many small experiences. She felt that this very familiarity made her, in a way, less interesting to him. So she went over it in her mind. Sometimes she thought all was indeed lost. At other times she thought she had imagined the whole thing and nothing was wrong. In his general conduct toward her, there was nothing she could reasonably complain of. But from time to time there were vague signs that he was not in the best of moods. Whenever she noticed them, they were enough to convince her that she was ruined for good. Yet she showed no outward sign of the despair that had now settled over her. Genji, meanwhile, spent much of his time in the front³⁷⁴ of the house. He was also frequently at the Emperor’s Palace. In his leisure time, he wrote endless letters. Murasaki wondered how she could ever have doubted the rumors now spreading throughout the Court. If only he would tell her, or give her the slightest hint of what was on his mind these days!

Winter drew on, and at last the eleventh month came round. But this year there were none of the usual religious festivals and processions³⁷⁵ to distract him, and Genji became more and more restless. One evening when the delicate twilight was sprinkled with a few thin flakes of snow, he determined to set out for the Momozono palace. All day he had been more than usually preoccupied with thoughts of its occupant, and somehow he could not help feeling that she too would on this occasion prove less unyielding. Before starting, he came to take leave of Murasaki in the western wing. ‘I am sorry to say Princess Nyogo is very unwell,’ he said; ‘I must go and offer her my sympathy.’ She did not even look round, but went on playing with her little foster-child as though determined not to be interrupted. Evidently there was going to be trouble. ‘There has been something very strange in your manner lately,’ he said. ‘I am not conscious of having done anything to offend you. I thought we understood one another well enough for me to be able to spend a day or two now and then at the Emperor’s Palace without your taking offence. But perhaps it is something else?’ ‘I certainly understand you well enough,’ she answered, ‘to know that I must expect to put up with a great deal of suffering ...’ and she sank back upon the divan, her face turned away from him. He could never bear to leave her thus, and knew he would be wretched every step of the way to Princess Nyogo’s house. But the hour was already late, and as he had promised beforehand that he would call there that evening, it was impossible to defer his departure.

Winter wore on, and at last the eleventh month came. But this year, there were no usual religious festivals and processions³⁷⁵ to distract Genji. He grew more and more restless. One evening, as a few light snowflakes drifted through the soft twilight, he decided to visit the Momozono palace. He had spent the day thinking about its occupant even more than usual. Somehow, he could not help feeling that she too would be less resistant this time. Before leaving, he went to say goodbye to Murasaki in the western wing. ‘I am sorry to say Princess Nyogo is very ill,’ he said. ‘I must go and offer her my sympathy.’ Murasaki did not even turn around. She went on playing with her little foster-child, as if determined not to be interrupted. Clearly, there was going to be trouble. ‘You have been acting very strangely lately,’ he said. ‘I don’t know of anything I’ve done to offend you. I thought we understood each other well enough for me to spend a day or two at the Emperor’s Palace now and then without upsetting you. But perhaps it’s something else?’ ‘I certainly understand you well enough,’ she answered, ‘to know that I must expect to endure a great deal of suffering ...’ She sank back on the divan and turned her face away from him. He could never bear to leave her like that. He knew he would be miserable all the way to Princess Nyogo’s house. But it was already late, and he had promised in advance to visit her that evening. He could not put off leaving.

Murasaki meanwhile lay on her couch, continually debating within herself whether this affair might not really have been going on for years past—perhaps ever since his return—without her having any suspicion of it. She went to the window. He was still dressed chiefly in grey; but the few touches of colour which his mourning permitted showed up all the more brightly, and as she watched his handsome figure moving against a background of glittering snow, the thought that she might be losing him, that soon, very soon perhaps, he would vanish never to return, was more than she could endure. His cortège consisted only of a few favourite outriders, to whom he said: ‘I am not feeling inclined just now to go about paying calls; indeed, you will have noticed that apart from a few necessary visits to Court, I have hardly left home at all. But my friends at the Momozono palace are passing through a very trying time. Her Highness has for years relied upon her brother’s aid and, now that he is taken from her, the least I can do is to help her occasionally with a little encouragement and advice....’ But his gentlemen were not so easily deceived and whispered among themselves as they rode along: ‘Come, come, that will not do. Unless he has very much changed his ways it is not to chatter with old ladies that his Highness sets out at this hour of a winter night. There is more here than meets the eye,’ and they shook their heads over his incurable frivolity.

Meanwhile, Murasaki lay on her couch, wondering whether the affair had been going on for years without her suspecting it. Perhaps it had begun as soon as he returned. She went to the window. He was still dressed mostly in gray. But the few touches of color his mourning allowed stood out all the more brightly. She watched his handsome figure moving against the glittering snow. She could not bear the thought that she might be losing him, or that he might soon, very soon perhaps, vanish and never return. Only a few of his favorite outriders accompanied him. He said to them, ‘I do not feel like paying calls just now. Indeed, you will have noticed that I have hardly left home, except for a few necessary visits to Court. But my friends at the Momozono palace are going through a very difficult time. Her Highness relied on her brother’s help for years, and now he has been taken from her. The least I can do is offer her a little encouragement and advice now and then....’ But his gentlemen were not so easily fooled. As they rode along, they whispered among themselves, ‘Come, come, that will not do. Unless his Highness has greatly changed his ways, he is not going out at this hour on a winter night to chat with old ladies. There is more to this than meets the eye.’ And they shook their heads over his incurable frivolity.

The main gate of the palace was on the north side; but here there was usually a great deal of traffic, and not wishing to attract attention he drove up to a side-entrance, the one which Prince Momozono himself commonly used, and sent in a servant to announce his arrival. As he had promised to appear at a much earlier hour Princess Nyogo had by now quite given up expecting him, and, much put about by this untimely visit, she bade her people send the porter to the western gate. The man made his appearance a moment later, looking wretchedly pinched and cold as he hastened through the snow with the key in his hand. Unfortunately the lock would not work, and when he went back to look for help no other manservant could anywhere be found. ‘It’s very rusty,’ said the old porter dolefully, fumbling all the while with the lock, that grated with an unpleasant sound but would not turn. ‘There’s nothing else wrong with it, but it’s terribly rusty. No one uses this gate now.’

The palace’s main gate was on the north side, but it was usually very busy. Not wanting to attract attention, he drove to a side entrance, the one Prince Momozono himself usually used. He sent a servant inside to announce his arrival. He had promised to come much earlier, so Princess Nyogo had given up expecting him. Flustered by his visit at such an inconvenient hour, she told her people to send the porter to the western gate. A moment later, the porter hurried through the snow with the key in his hand, looking miserable and cold. Unfortunately, the lock would not work. He went back to look for help, but no other manservant could be found. ‘It’s very rusty,’ the old porter said sadly, still fumbling with the lock. It grated unpleasantly but would not turn. ‘There’s nothing else wrong with it, but it’s terribly rusty. No one uses this gate now.’

The words, ordinary enough in themselves, filled Genji with an unaccountable depression. How swiftly the locks rust, the hinges grow stiff on doors that close behind us! ‘I am more than thirty,’ he thought; and it seemed to him impossible to go on doing things just as though they would last ... as though people would remember. ‘And yet,’ he said to himself, ‘I know that even at this moment the sight of something very beautiful, were it only some common flower or tree, might in an instant make life again seem full of meaning and reality.’

The words were ordinary enough, but they filled Genji with a sadness he could not explain. How quickly the locks rust and the hinges stiffen on doors that close behind us! ‘I am over thirty,’ he thought. It seemed impossible to keep doing things as if they would last ... as if people would remember. ‘And yet,’ he said to himself, ‘I know that even now, the sight of something beautiful could change everything. Even an ordinary flower or tree could make life seem full of meaning and real again in an instant.’

At last the key turned and with a great deal of pushing and pulling the gate was gradually forced open. Soon he was in the Princess’s room, listening to her usual discourses and lamentations. She began telling a series of very involved and rambling stories about things all of which seemed to have happened a great while ago. His attention began to wander; it was all he could do to keep awake. Before very long the Princess herself broke off and said with a yawn: ‘It’s no good; I can’t tell things properly at this time of night, it all gets mixed up....’

At last the key turned. After a lot of pushing and pulling, the gate slowly opened. Soon he was in the Princess’s room, listening to her usual speeches and complaints. She began telling a series of complicated, rambling stories. Everything in them seemed to have happened a long time ago. His attention wandered, and he could hardly stay awake. Before long, the Princess herself stopped and said with a yawn: ‘It’s no use. I can’t tell stories properly at this time of night. It all gets mixed up....’

Then suddenly he heard a loud and peculiar noise. Where did it come from? What could it be? His eye fell upon the Princess. Yes; it was from her that these strange sounds proceeded; for she was now fast asleep and snoring with a resonance such as he would never have conceived to be possible.

Then suddenly he heard a loud, strange noise. Where did it come from? What could it be? He looked at the Princess. Yes, the strange sounds were coming from her. She was fast asleep and snoring more loudly than he would ever have thought possible.

Delighted at this opportunity of escape he was just about to slip out of the room when he heard a loud ‘Ahem,’ also uttered in a very aged and husky voice, and perceived that some one had just entered the room. ‘There! What a shame! I’ve startled you. And I made sure you heard me come in. But I see you don’t know who in the world I am. Well, your poor father, the old Emperor, who loved his joke, used to call me the Grandam. Perhaps that will help you to remember....’ Could this be.... Yes, surely it was that same elderly Lady of the Bedchamber who had flirted with him so outrageously years ago, at the time of the Feast of Red Leaves.³⁷⁶ He seemed to remember hearing that she had joined some lay order and become a pensioner in the late prince’s household. But it had not occurred to him that she could possibly still be in existence, and this sudden encounter was something of a shock. ‘I am distressed to find,’ he answered, ‘that those old days are becoming very dim in my mind, and anything that recalls them to me is therefore very precious. I am delighted to hear your voice again. Pray remember that, like the traveller whom Prince Shōtoku³⁷⁷ found lying at the wayside, I have ‘no parent to succour me’ and must therefore look to old friends such as you for shelter from the world’s unkindness.’ It was extraordinary how little she had changed in appearance, and her manner was certainly as arch and coquettish as ever. Her utterance, indeed, suggested that she now had very few teeth left in her head; but she still managed to impart to her words the same insinuating and caressing tone as of old. It amused him that she spoke of herself as though she had been a mere girl when they first met and that she continually apologized for the changes which he must now be noticing in her. He was amused, but also saddened. For he could not help thinking that of all the gentlewomen who had been this lady’s rivals scarce one was now left at Court. Most were dead; others had fallen into disgrace and were eking out a miserable existence no one knew where. Or again, that a creature such as Lady Fujitsubo should vanish so soon, while this absurd grandam, even in her younger days totally devoid of charm or intelligence, should be left behind! And judging by her appearance, there was every prospect that she would go on happily pottering about and telling her rosary for another twenty years. No; there was no sense, no purpose in all this.

Delighted by this chance to escape, he was about to slip out of the room when he heard a loud ‘Ahem.’ It came from a very old, husky voice, and he saw that someone had just entered. ‘There! What a shame! I’ve startled you. And I was sure you heard me come in. But I can see you haven’t the faintest idea who I am. Well, your poor father, the old Emperor, loved a joke and used to call me the Grandam. Perhaps that will help you remember....’ Could this be.... Yes, surely it was the same elderly Lady of the Bedchamber. She had flirted with him so outrageously years ago, at the Feast of Red Leaves.³⁷⁶ He seemed to remember hearing that she had joined a lay religious order. She had also become a pensioner in the late prince’s household. But it had never occurred to him that she could still be alive. The sudden encounter came as something of a shock. ‘I’m sorry to find,’ he replied, ‘that those old days are growing very dim in my memory. So anything that reminds me of them is precious to me. I’m delighted to hear your voice again. Please remember that I am like the traveller Prince Shōtoku³⁷⁷ found lying by the roadside. I have “no parent to succour me” and must look to old friends like you for shelter from the world’s unkindness.’ It was extraordinary how little her appearance had changed. Her manner was certainly as teasing and flirtatious as ever. The way she spoke suggested that she had very few teeth left. But she still gave her words the same suggestive, caressing tone as before. It amused him that she spoke as if she had been a mere girl when they first met. She also kept apologizing for the changes he must be noticing in her. He was amused, but also saddened. He could not help thinking that hardly any of the gentlewomen who had rivaled her remained at Court. Most were dead. Others had fallen into disgrace and were barely surviving, no one knew where. And how could someone like Lady Fujitsubo have vanished so soon, while this absurd grandam was left behind? Even in her younger days, she had possessed no charm or intelligence at all. Judging by her appearance, she would probably go on happily pottering about and saying her rosary for another twenty years. No, there was no sense or purpose in any of it.

She saw that thoughts which moved him deeply were passing through his mind and at once assumed that he was recalling the details of what she was pleased to think of as their ‘love affair’; and now in her most playful voice she recited the poem: ‘Though your father called me Granny, I am not so old but that you and I were sweethearts long ago.’ He felt somewhat embarrassed but he answered kindly: ‘Such motherly care as yours not in this life only but in all lives to come none save a scapegrace would forget.’ ‘We must meet again at a more convenient time and have a good talk,’ he said; and with that he hastened towards the western wing. The blinds were drawn and everything was shut up for the night, save that at one window she³⁷⁸ had left a lattice half unclosed, feeling that to show no light at all on the evening of his visit would be too pointedly uncivil. The moon had risen and its rays blended with the glitter of the newly-fallen snow. It was indeed a most charming night. ‘An old woman in love and the moon at mid-winter’: he remembered the saying that these are the two most dismal things in the world; but to-night he felt this collocation to be very unjust. He sent in an urgent letter: if despite her scruples she intended ever to admit him for a few moments to her presence, why not take advantage of this excellent opportunity and not subject him to the irritation of purposeless delays?

She saw that he was lost in thoughts that deeply moved him. At once, she assumed he was remembering the details of what she liked to call their ‘love affair’. In her most playful voice, she recited the poem: ‘Though your father called me Granny, I am not so old that you and I were not sweethearts long ago.’ He felt a little embarrassed, but answered kindly: ‘Only a rascal would forget motherly care like yours, in this life or any life to come.’ ‘We must meet again at a more convenient time and have a good talk,’ he said. Then he hurried toward the western wing. The blinds were drawn, and everything was closed up for the night. But she³⁷⁸ had left a lattice half open at one window. She felt it would be pointedly rude to leave no light showing on the evening of his visit. The moon had risen, and its rays mingled with the sparkle of the freshly fallen snow. It was indeed a lovely night. ‘An old woman in love and the moon in midwinter’: he remembered the saying that these were the two most dismal things in the world. But tonight he felt it was very unfair to pair them. He sent in an urgent letter. If, despite her doubts, she ever meant to see him for a few moments, why not seize this excellent opportunity? Why irritate him with pointless delays?

She did not doubt the reality of his feelings; but if at a time when they were both young enough to be forgiven a few indiscretions, when moreover her father was actually seeking to promote an alliance between them, she had without a moment’s hesitation refused to yield herself to him—what sense could there be, now that they were both past the age to which such irresponsible gallantries by right belong, what sense (she asked herself) could there be in parleying with him, indeed, in admitting him into her presence at all? He saw that she was absolutely unmoved by his appeal, and was both astonished and hurt. She meanwhile disliked intensely this frigid interchange of messages and notes, but for the moment saw no way of bringing it to a close. It was now getting late, a fierce wind had begun to blow and Genji, feeling a very real disappointment and distress, was about to make his way homeward, flinging out as he did so the parting verse:

She did not doubt that his feelings were real. But when they were both young enough to be forgiven a few indiscretions, she had refused him without hesitation. Even then, her father had been trying to arrange a match between them. Now they were both past the age for such reckless flirtations. So what sense was there, she asked herself, in talking with him, or even allowing him to see her? He saw that his appeal had not moved her at all, and he was both astonished and hurt. She deeply disliked the cold exchange of messages and notes, but for the moment saw no way to end it. It was getting late, and a fierce wind had begun to blow. Genji, feeling genuinely disappointed and distressed, was about to make his way home. As he left, he flung out this parting verse:

‘No penance can your hard heart find save such as you long since have taught me to endure.’ As usual her gentlewomen insisted that she must send a reply, and reluctantly she wrote the verse; ‘Is it for me to change, for me who hear on every wind some tale that proves you, though the years go by, not other than you were?’

‘Your hard heart can find no punishment except what you taught me to endure long ago.’ As usual, her ladies insisted that she must reply. Reluctantly, she wrote this verse: ‘Am I the one who should change? On every wind I hear a tale proving that, though the years pass, you have not changed.’

He burst into a great rage when he received her note, but a moment afterwards felt that he was behaving very childishly, and said to the gentlewoman who had brought it: ‘I would not for the world have any one know how I have been treated to-night. Promise me, I beg of you, that you will speak of it to no one; stay, you had best even deny that I was here at all....’ He whispered this in a very low voice; but some servants who were hanging about near by noticed the aside, and one of them said to another: ‘Look at that now! Poor gentleman! You can see she has sent him a very stinging reply. Even if she does not fancy him, she might at least treat him with common civility. For he does not look at all the kind of gentleman who would take advantage of a little kindness....’

He flew into a rage when he received her note. But a moment later, he felt he was behaving childishly. He said to the gentlewoman who had brought it: ‘I would not want anyone to know how I was treated tonight. Please promise me you will tell no one. In fact, you had better even deny that I was here at all....’ He whispered this very softly. But some servants lingering nearby noticed him speaking to her. One said to another: ‘Look at that! Poor gentleman! You can see she has sent him a very stinging reply. Even if she does not like him, she could at least treat him with ordinary courtesy. He does not look like the kind of gentleman who would take advantage of a little kindness....’

As a matter of fact, she had no distaste for him whatever. His beauty delighted her and she was sure that she would have found him a most charming companion. But she was convinced that from the moment she betrayed this liking he would class her among the common ruck of his admirers and imagine that she would put up with such treatment as they were apparently content to endure. A position so humiliating she knew that she could never tolerate. She was resolute, therefore, in her determination never to allow the slightest intimacy to grow up between them. But at the same time she was now careful always to answer his letters fully and courteously, and she allowed him to converse with her at second hand whenever he felt inclined. It was hardly conceivable that, submitted to this treatment, he would not soon grow weary of the whole affair. For her part she wished to devote herself to the expiation of the many offences against her own religion³⁷⁹ that her residence at Kamo had involved. Ultimately she meant to take orders; but any sudden step of that kind would certainly be attributed to an unfortunate love-affair and so give colour to the rumours which already connected her name with his. Indeed, she had seen enough of the world to know that in few people is discretion stronger than the desire to tell a good story, and she therefore took no one into her confidence, not even the gentlewoman who waited daily upon her. Meanwhile she devoted herself more and more ardently to preparation for the mode of life which she hoped soon to embrace.

In fact, she had no dislike of him at all. His beauty delighted her, and she was sure he would have been a charming companion. But she was convinced that if she showed her liking, he would place her among his ordinary admirers. He would imagine that she would put up with the treatment they apparently accepted. She knew she could never tolerate such a humiliating position. So she resolved never to let the slightest intimacy develop between them. At the same time, she took care to answer his letters fully and politely. She also allowed him to speak with her through others whenever he wished. It seemed hardly possible that he would not soon grow tired of the whole affair. For her part, she wanted to devote herself to making amends for the many offenses against her own religion³⁷⁹ that living at Kamo had involved. She intended to take religious orders eventually. But if she did so suddenly, people would surely blame an unhappy love affair. This would lend weight to the rumors already linking her name with his. She had seen enough of the world to know that few people valued discretion more than telling a good story. So she confided in no one, not even the gentlewoman who attended her daily. Meanwhile, she devoted herself more and more eagerly to preparing for the life she hoped soon to embrace.

She had several brothers; but they were the children of Prince Zembō’s first wife³⁸⁰ and she knew very little of them. Other visitors at the Momozono palace became increasingly rare; but the fact that no less a person than Genji was known to be Princess Asagao’s admirer aroused a widespread curiosity concerning her.

She had several brothers, but they were the children of Prince Zembō’s first wife³⁸⁰, and she barely knew them. Other visitors to the Momozono palace grew increasingly rare. But it was known that someone as important as Genji admired Princess Asagao, and this made people widely curious about her.

As a matter of fact, he was not very desperately in love with her; but her apparent indifference had piqued him and he was determined to go on till he had gained his point. He had recently gathered from several sources of information, including persons of every rank in society, but all of them in a position to know what they were talking about, that his own reputation now stood very high in the country. He felt indeed that his insight into affairs had very greatly improved since old days, and it would certainly be a pity if a scandal once more deprived him of popular confidence. Nevertheless, if gossip were to concern itself with the matter at all, he could not help feeling he should prefer to figure in the story as having succeeded than as having been ignominiously repulsed.

In fact, he was not desperately in love with her. But her apparent indifference had wounded his pride, and he was determined to keep trying until he succeeded. He had recently heard from several sources that his reputation throughout the country was now very high. These sources included people of every social rank, all of whom were in a position to know. He felt that his understanding of affairs had improved greatly over the years. It would certainly be a pity if another scandal cost him the public’s confidence. Still, if people were going to gossip about the matter at all, he could not help preferring to be known for succeeding rather than for being shamefully rejected.

Meanwhile his frequent absences from the Nijō-in had already convinced Murasaki that the affair was as serious as it could possibly be. She tried to conceal her agitation, but there were times when it was evident that she had been secretly weeping, and Genji said to her one day: ‘What has come over you lately? I cannot imagine any reason why you should be so depressed’; and as he gently stroked the hair back from her forehead they looked such a pair as you might put straight into a picture.

Meanwhile, Genji’s frequent absences from Nijō-in had already convinced Murasaki that the affair was as serious as it could be. She tried to hide her distress, but sometimes it was clear she had been crying in secret. One day, Genji said to her, ‘What has come over you lately? I can’t imagine why you’re so unhappy.’ As he gently brushed the hair back from her forehead, they looked like a couple in a painting.

‘Since his mother’s death,’ Genji went on presently, ‘the Emperor Ryōzen has been in very low spirits and I have felt bound to spend a good deal of time at the Palace. But that is not the only thing which takes up my time in these days; you must remember that I have now to attend personally to a mass of business which the old Minister of the Left used formerly to take off my hands. I am as sorry as you are that we see so much less of one another; but I do my best, and you must really try henceforward to bear with me more patiently. You are no longer a child; yet you make as little effort to enter into my feelings and see my point of view as if you were still in the nursery.’ And with that, just as though she were indeed a small child, he put back in its place a lock of her hair that had become disordered while she was weeping.

‘Since his mother’s death,’ Genji continued after a while, ‘the Emperor Ryōzen has been very unhappy. I have felt obliged to spend a great deal of time at the Palace. But that is not the only thing taking up my time these days. You must remember that I now have to handle a great deal of business myself. The old Minister of the Left used to take care of it for me. I am as sorry as you are that we see so much less of each other. But I do my best, and you really must try to be more patient with me from now on. You are no longer a child. Yet you make no more effort to understand my feelings and see my point of view than a small child would.’ Then, just as if she really were a small child, he smoothed a lock of her hair that had come loose while she was weeping.

But still she turned away from him and would not speak a word. ‘This is quite new,’ he said; ‘who has been teaching you these pettish airs and graces?’ He spoke lightly; but how long, he wondered, was this going to last, how much time were they going to spend in this dismal fashion, while at any moment one of those countless horrors that life perpetually holds over us might suddenly descend upon them and reconciliation be no longer possible? Determined to bring the matter to a head, he said at last: ‘I think you have perhaps been misled by very foolish rumours concerning my friendship with the former Vestal. As a matter of fact, it is of the most distant kind, as in the end you will yourself probably realize. She has always, since I first got to know her years ago, treated me with an exaggerated coldness. This hurts me, and I have more than once remonstrated with her on the subject. As very little now goes on at the Momozono palace, she has a good deal of time on her hands and it amuses her to keep up a desultory correspondence. This is all that has happened between us; and even you will surely admit that is not worth crying about! If it is really this affair that has been on your mind, I assure you that there is no cause whatever for anxiety....’ He spent the whole day in trying to win back her confidence, and his patience was at last rewarded.

But she still turned away from him and would not say a word. ‘This is new,’ he said. ‘Who has been teaching you to behave so petulantly?’ He spoke lightly, but he wondered how long this would last. How much time would they spend in this miserable way? At any moment, one of the countless horrors that life constantly holds over us might descend on them. Then it would be too late to make peace. Determined to settle the matter, he finally said: ‘I think you may have been misled by some very foolish rumors about my friendship with the former Vestal. In fact, we are not at all close, as you will probably realize in time. Ever since I first met her years ago, she has treated me with exaggerated coldness. This hurts me, and I have complained to her about it more than once. Very little happens at the Momozono palace these days, so she has a good deal of time on her hands. She amuses herself by exchanging occasional letters with me. That is all that has happened between us. Surely even you will admit it is not worth crying about! If this affair really is what has been troubling you, I assure you there is no reason at all to worry....’ He spent the whole day trying to win back her confidence, and at last his patience was rewarded.

By this time the snow was lying very deep, and it was still falling, though now very lightly. So far from obliterating the shapes of pine-tree and bamboo, the heavy covering of snow seemed only to accentuate their varying forms, which stood out with strange distinctness in the evening light. ‘We decided the other day,’ said Genji to Murasaki, ‘that Lady Akikonomu’s season is Autumn, and yours Spring. This evening I am more sure than ever that mine is Winter. What could be more lovely than a winter night such as this, when the moon shines out of a cloudless sky upon the glittering, fresh-fallen snow? Beauty without colour seems somehow to belong to another world. At any rate, I find such a scene as this infinitely more lovely and moving than any other in the whole year. How little do I agree with the proverb that calls the moon in winter a dismal sight!’ So saying he raised the window-blind, and they looked out. The moon was now fully risen, covering the whole garden with its steady, even light. The withered flower-beds showed, in these cold rays, with painful clearness the ravages of wind and frost. And look, the river was half-choked with ice, while the pond, frozen all over, was unutterably strange and lonesome under its coat of snow. Near it some children had been allowed to make a monster snow-ball. They looked very pretty as they tripped about in the moonlight. Several of the older girls had taken off their coats and set to in a very business-like way, showing all sorts of strange under-garments; while their brothers, coming straight from their tasks as page-boys and what not, had merely loosened their belts, and there was now a sight of smart coat-tails flapping and long hair falling forwards till its ends brushed the white garden floor—an effect both singular and delightful. Some of the very little ones were quite wild with joy and rushed about dropping all their fans and other belongings in their mad excitement.

By now the snow lay very deep, and it was still falling, though only lightly. The heavy snow did not hide the shapes of the pines and bamboo. Instead, it seemed to bring out their different forms, which stood out with strange clarity in the evening light. ‘The other day,’ Genji said to Murasaki, ‘we decided that Lady Akikonomu’s season is Autumn, and yours is Spring. This evening I am more sure than ever that mine is Winter. What could be lovelier than a winter night like this? The moon shines from a cloudless sky onto the glittering, fresh snow. Beauty without color seems somehow to belong to another world. At any rate, I find a scene like this infinitely more beautiful and moving than any other all year. How little I agree with the proverb that calls the winter moon a dismal sight!’ As he spoke, he raised the window blind, and they looked out. The moon had now fully risen, covering the whole garden with its steady, even light. In its cold rays, the withered flower beds showed the damage of wind and frost with painful clarity. And look, the river was half blocked with ice. The pond was frozen over, and beneath its coat of snow it looked indescribably strange and lonely. Nearby, some children had been allowed to make a giant snowball. They looked very pretty as they hurried about in the moonlight. Several of the older girls had taken off their coats and set to work in a very businesslike way. They showed all sorts of strange undergarments. Their brothers had come straight from their work as pageboys and other duties, and had only loosened their belts. Now their smart coat tails flapped as their long hair fell forward, its ends brushing the white garden floor. It was a strange and delightful sight. Some of the smallest children were wild with joy. They rushed about, dropping their fans and other belongings in their mad excitement.

The glee imprinted on these small faces was charming to behold. The children made so big a snow-ball that when it came to rolling it along the ground they could not make it budge an inch, and the sight of their frantic endeavours to get it moving provoked much jeering and laughter from another party of children which had just made its appearance at the eastern door.

The joy on their little faces was charming to see. The children had made a snowball so big that they could not budge it when they tried to roll it. Another group of children had just appeared at the eastern door. They jeered and laughed as they watched the children struggle frantically to get the snowball moving.

‘I remember,’ said Genji, ‘that one year Lady Fujitsubo had a snow-mountain built in front of her palace. It is a common enough amusement in winter time; but she had the art of making the most ordinary things striking and interesting. What countless reasons I have to regret her at every moment! I was during the greater part of her life not at all intimate with her and had little opportunity of studying her at close quarters. But during her residence at the Palace, she often allowed me to be of service to her in various small ways, and I frequently had occasion to use her good offices. In this way we were constantly discussing one piece of business or another, and I discovered that though she had no obvious or showy talents, she had the most extraordinary capacity for carrying through even quite unimportant and trivial affairs with a perfection of taste and management that has surely never been equalled. At the same time she was of a rather timid disposition and often took things too much to heart. Though you and she both spring from the same stem and necessarily have much in common, I have noticed that you are a good deal less even in temperament than she.

‘I remember,’ said Genji, ‘that one year Lady Fujitsubo had a snow mountain built in front of her palace. It was a common winter amusement, but she could make the most ordinary things striking and interesting. I have countless reasons to miss her at every moment! For most of her life, I was not at all close to her. I had little opportunity to observe her closely. But while she lived at the Palace, she often let me help her in small ways. I also frequently had reason to seek her help. So we were constantly discussing one matter or another. I discovered that she had no obvious or showy talents. Yet she handled even the most trivial matters with a perfection of taste and skill that has surely never been equalled. At the same time, she was rather timid and often took things too much to heart. Though you and she come from the same family and necessarily have much in common, I have noticed one difference. You are much less even in temperament than she was.

‘Lady Asagao, now, has a quite different nature. If in an idle moment I address to her some trifling fancy she replies with such spirit that I have hard work not to be left lagging. I know no one else at Court to compare with her in this respect.’

‘Lady Asagao, on the other hand, has a very different nature. If I share some passing fancy with her in an idle moment, she replies so spiritedly that I struggle to keep up. I know no one else at Court who compares with her in this respect.’

‘I have always heard,’ said Murasaki, ‘that Lady Oborozuki is extremely accomplished and quick-witted. I should have thought, too, from all I know of her that she was very sensible and discreet; and that makes me all the more surprised at certain stories that I have heard repeated....’

‘I have always heard,’ said Murasaki, ‘that Lady Oborozuki is extremely talented and quick-witted. From all I know of her, I would also have thought her very sensible and discreet. That makes me even more surprised by certain stories I have heard about her....’

‘You are quite right,’ said Genji. ‘Among all the ladies now at Court she is the one I should pick out both for liveliness and beauty. As to the rumours you speak of—I know quite well what you are referring to. I bitterly regret what happened; as indeed I regret much else that belongs to that part of my life. And what quantities of things most people must begin to repent of, as the years go by! For compared with almost any of my friends, I have led a very quiet and decorous life.’ He paused for a moment; the mention of Oborozuki seemed to have moved him deeply. Presently he continued: ‘I have a feeling that you look down upon country people such as the Lady of Akashi. I assure you that, unlike most women in that station of life, she is extremely cultivated and intelligent; though of course people of her class are bound in many ways to be very different from us, and I admit she has certain strained and exaggerated ideas, of which I cannot approve.

‘You are quite right,’ said Genji. ‘Of all the ladies at Court now, I would choose her for both liveliness and beauty. As for the rumors you mention, I know exactly what you mean. I bitterly regret what happened, as I do much else from that part of my life. And how many things most people must come to regret as the years pass! For I have led a very quiet and proper life compared with almost any of my friends.’ He paused for a moment. The mention of Oborozuki seemed to have moved him deeply. Soon he continued: ‘I feel that you look down on country people like the Lady of Akashi. I assure you, unlike most women of her station, she is extremely cultured and intelligent. Of course, people of her class are bound to be very different from us in many ways. And I admit that she has certain strained and exaggerated ideas that I cannot approve of.

‘About women of the common sort I know nothing; but among our own people it has always seemed to me that few indeed were in any way remarkable or interesting. An exception however is our guest in the new wing³⁸¹; she remains charming as ever. But though such beauty and intelligence are very rare, she has never cared to parade them; and since the time when I first realized her gifts and hastened to make her acquaintance, she has always continued to show the same indifference to the worldly conquests which she might so easily have secured. We have now been friends for so long that I do not think we are ever likely to part; I at any rate should be very sorry if she were to leave my house.’ While he thus talked of one thing and another, it grew very late. The moon shone brighter and brighter, and a stillness now reigned that, after the recent wintry storms, was very agreeable. Murasaki recited the verse: ‘The frozen waters are at rest; but now with waves of light the moon-beam ebbs and flows.’ She was looking out at the window, her head a little to one side, and both the expression of her face and the way her hair fell reminded him, as so often before, of her whom he had lost. Suddenly his affections, which for many weeks past had to some small extent been divided, were once more hers, and hers alone.

‘I know nothing about ordinary women. But among our own people, it has always seemed to me that very few are remarkable or interesting. Our guest in the new wing³⁸¹ is an exception. She is as charming as ever. But though such beauty and intelligence are very rare, she has never cared to show them off. When I first recognized her gifts, I hurried to make her acquaintance. Ever since then, she has shown the same indifference to the worldly triumphs she could so easily have won. We have been friends for so long now that I do not think we are ever likely to part. I, for one, would be very sorry if she left my house.’ As he talked about one thing and another, it grew very late. The moon shone brighter and brighter. After the recent winter storms, the stillness was very pleasant. Murasaki recited the verse: ‘The frozen waters are still. But now the moonlight ebbs and flows in waves of light.’ She was looking out the window, her head tilted slightly to one side. As so often before, her expression and the way her hair fell reminded him of the woman he had lost. For many weeks, his affections had been divided to some small extent. Now, suddenly, they belonged to Murasaki once more, and to her alone.

Just then a love-bird³⁸² cried, and he recited the verse: ‘Does it not move you strangely, the love-bird’s cry, to-night when, like the drifting snow, memory piles up on memory?’ Long after he and Murasaki had retired to rest, recollections of Lady Fujitsubo continued to crowd into his mind, and when at last he fell asleep, a vision of her at once appeared to him, saying in tones of deep reproach: ‘It may be that you on earth have kept our secret; but in the land of the dead shame cannot be hid, and I am paying dearly for what you made me do....’ He tried to answer, but fear choked his voice, and Murasaki, hearing him suddenly give a strange muffled cry, said rather peevishly: ‘What are you doing that for? You frightened me!’ The sound of her voice roused him. He woke in a terrible state of grief and agitation, his eyes full of tears which he at once made violent efforts to control. But soon he was weeping bitterly, to the bewilderment of Murasaki, who nevertheless lay all the time stock still at his side. He was now too miserable and distracted to think of sleep, and slipping out of bed presently began writing notes to various temples in the district, directing that certain texts and spells should be recited; he did not however dare to state on whose behalf these things were to be done.

Just then a love-bird³⁸² cried, and he recited a verse: ‘Does the love-bird’s cry not move you strangely tonight, when memories pile up like drifting snow?’ Long after he and Murasaki had gone to bed, memories of Lady Fujitsubo kept crowding into his mind. When he finally fell asleep, she appeared to him at once in a vision. In a deeply reproachful voice, she said: ‘You may have kept our secret on earth, but shame cannot be hidden in the land of the dead. I am paying dearly for what you made me do....’ He tried to answer, but fear choked his voice. Murasaki heard him give a strange, muffled cry and said rather irritably: ‘Why are you doing that? You frightened me!’ Her voice roused him. He woke grief-stricken and deeply agitated, his eyes full of tears. He immediately struggled to control them, but soon he was weeping bitterly. Murasaki was bewildered, but she lay perfectly still beside him. He was too miserable and distracted to think of sleep. Soon he slipped out of bed and began writing notes to various temples in the district, asking them to recite certain texts and spells. But he did not dare say for whom they were to be recited.

Small wonder that in the dream she turned upon him so bitter and reproachful a gaze, feeling (as by her words he judged she did) that this one sin had robbed her of salvation. He remembered her constant devotions; never since that fatal day had she omitted one single prayer, penance or charity that might serve as atonement for her guilt. Yet all had been in vain, and even in the world beyond, this one crime clung to her like a stain that could not be washed away. In the past he had never thought clearly about such things; but now they lived in his mind with a terrible vividness and certainty. Were there but some spell, some magic that could enable him to seek her out in the obscure region where her soul was dwelling, and suffer in her stead the penalties of his own offence! Yet the truth was that he could not so much as have a few poor Masses said for her soul; for, had he named her, the suspicions of the Court would at once have been aroused.

No wonder she had looked at him so bitterly and reproachfully in the dream. From her words, he understood that she felt this one sin had robbed her of salvation. He remembered her constant devotions. Since that fatal day, she had never missed a prayer, penance, or act of charity that might atone for her guilt. Yet all of it had been in vain. Even in the world beyond, her one crime clung to her like a stain that could not be washed away. In the past, he had never thought clearly about such things. But now they filled his mind with terrible vividness and certainty. If only there were some spell or magic that would let him find her in the dark realm where her soul dwelled. Then he could suffer in her place the punishment for his own offense. Yet in truth, he could not even have a few humble Masses said for her soul. If he named her, the Court would immediately grow suspicious.

Concerning the Emperor, too, Genji’s conscience was very uneasy; for had Ryōzen indeed discovered the true story of his birth, he must now be living in a state of continual apprehension. It was at about this time that Genji put himself under the especial protection of Amida, Buddha of Boundless Light, beseeching the Blessed One that in due time his soul and that of the lady whom he had undone might spring from the same lotus in His holy Paradise. But of such an issue he had little hope, and often he would disconsolately recite the verse: ‘Fain would I follow her, could I but hope to thread my way among the sunless Rivers of the World Below.’³⁸³

Genji’s conscience was also troubled about the Emperor. For if Ryōzen had indeed discovered the truth about his birth, he must now be living in constant fear. Around this time, Genji placed himself under the special protection of Amida, Buddha of Boundless Light. He begged the Blessed One that, in time, his soul and the soul of the lady he had ruined might spring from the same lotus in his holy Paradise. But he had little hope of this, and he often recited this verse in despair: ‘I would gladly follow her, if only I could hope to find my way among the sunless Rivers of the World Below.’³⁸³