A Bed of Carnations

One very hot day Genji, finding the air at the New Palace intolerably close, decided to picnic at the fishing-hut on the lake. He invited Yūgiri to come with him, and they were joined by most of the courtiers with whom Genji was on friendly terms. From the Western River on his estate at Katsura ayu had been brought, and from the nearer streams ishibushi and other fresh-water fish, and these formed the staple of their repast. Several of Tō no Chūjō’s sons had called to see Yūgiri, and hearing where he was to be found, joined the picnic. ‘How heavy and sleepy one has felt lately!’ exclaimed Genji. ‘This is certainly a great improvement.’ Wine was brought; but he sent for iced water as well. A delicious cold soup was served, and many other delicacies. Here by the lake there was a certain amount of movement in the air; but the sun blazed down out of a cloudless sky, and even when the shadows began to lengthen there was a continual buzzing of insects which was very oppressive. ‘I have never known such a day,’ said Genji. ‘It does not after all seem any better here than it was indoors. You must excuse me if I am too limp to do much in the way of entertaining you,’ and he lay back against his cushions. ‘One does not feel much inclined for music or games of any kind in such weather, and yet one badly needs something to occupy the mind. I have sometimes wondered lately whether the sun was ever going to set.... All the same, the young people on duty at the Emperor’s Palace are in a much worse position than we. Imagine not being able to loosen one’s belt and ribbons on a day like this! Here at any rate we can loll about just as we please. The only difficulty is to avoid going to sleep. Has not any of you got some startling piece of news to tell us? You need have no fear that I may have heard it already, for I am becoming quite senile; I never hear about anything till every one else has forgotten about it.’ They all began wracking their brains to think of some exciting piece of intelligence or entertaining anecdote, but without success; and presently, since their host had invited them to be at their ease, one after another of the visitors somewhat timidly took up a position with his back planted against the cool metal railings of the verandah. ‘Well,’ said Genji at last, ‘as a matter of fact, rarely though this now happens, I myself have picked up a small piece of information. It seems that his Excellency Tō no Chūjō has lately rediscovered and taken to live with him a natural daughter of whom he had lost sight for many years. Come, Kōbai,’ addressing Kashiwagi’s younger brother, ‘you will be able to tell me if there is any truth in this.’ ‘Something of the kind has happened,’ answered the young man, ‘though there is a good deal of exaggeration in many of the stories which are being put about. The facts are that last spring, in consequence of a dream, my father asked us to inquire carefully into every case we could discover of a child claiming paternity by him. My brother Kashiwagi did finally hear of a girl who seemed to possess absolute proof that she was an illegitimate child of our father’s, and we were told to call upon her and verify this, which we accordingly did. That is all I know about it; and I am sure that there is no one present who has not something a great deal more interesting than that to talk about. I am afraid what I have just told you cannot possibly be of interest to any one but the people actually concerned.’ ‘So it is true! thought Genji, wondering whether Tō no Chūjō could have been so misled as to suppose that it was Yūgao’s child whom he had rediscovered. ‘There are so many of you in the family already,’ he said to Kōbai, ‘that I wonder your father should search the sky for one stray swallow that has not managed to keep pace with the flock. I, who nurture so small a brood, might be pardoned for such conduct; but in your father it seems somewhat grasping. Unfortunately, though I should feel proud to acknowledge my children, no one shows the slightest inclination to claim me as a father. However, it is no mere accident that Tō no Chūjō is more in request than I am. The moon’s image shows dimly in waters that are troubled at the bottom. Your father’s early adventures were of a most indiscriminate character, and if you know all your brothers and sisters, you would probably realize that, taken as a whole, you are a very queer family....’ Yūgiri, who knew a mass of stories which amply confirmed Genji’s last statement, could not help showing his amusement to an extent which Kōbai and his brothers thought to be in exceedingly bad taste. ‘It is all very well for you to laugh, Yūgiri,’ continued Genji; ‘but you would be much better employed in picking up some of those stray leaves than in making trouble for yourself by pressing in where you are not wanted. In so large a garland you might surely find some other flower with which to console yourself!’ All Genji’s remarks about Tō no Chūjō wore superficially the aspect of such friendly banter as one old friend commonly indulges in concerning another. But as a matter of fact there had for some while past been a real coolness between them, which was increased by Chūjō’s scornful refusal to accept Yūgiri as his son-in-law. He realized that he had just been somewhat spiteful; but so far from being uncomfortable lest these remarks should reach his old friend’s ears, he found himself actually hoping that the boys would repeat them.

One very hot day, Genji found the air at the New Palace unbearably stuffy. He decided to have a picnic at the fishing hut on the lake. He invited Yūgiri, and most of the courtiers who were friendly with Genji joined them. ayu had been brought from the Western River on his estate at Katsura. ishibushi and other freshwater fish had come from nearby streams. These fish made up the main part of their meal. Several of Tō no Chūjō’s sons had come to see Yūgiri. When they heard where he was, they joined the picnic. ‘How sluggish and sleepy I’ve felt lately!’ Genji exclaimed. ‘This is certainly much better.’ Wine was brought, but he also sent for iced water. They were served a delicious cold soup and many other delicacies. There was some breeze by the lake, but the sun blazed down from a cloudless sky. Even as the shadows grew longer, the constant buzzing of insects was oppressive. ‘I’ve never known a day like this,’ Genji said. ‘It doesn’t seem any better here than indoors after all. You must excuse me if I’m too limp to do much to entertain you.’ He leaned back against his cushions. ‘In weather like this, one hardly feels like music or games, yet one badly needs something to occupy the mind. Lately I’ve sometimes wondered if the sun was ever going to set.... Even so, the young people on duty at the Emperor’s Palace have it much worse than we do. Imagine not being able to loosen your belt and ribbons on a day like this! At least here we can lounge about as we please. The only problem is staying awake. Hasn’t anyone got some startling news to tell us? You needn’t worry that I’ve already heard it. I’m getting quite senile. I never hear about anything until everyone else has forgotten it.’ They all tried hard to think of some exciting news or entertaining story, but none succeeded. Soon, since their host had invited them to make themselves comfortable, the visitors began to move, one after another. A little timidly, they settled with their backs against the cool metal railings of the veranda. ‘Well,’ Genji said at last, ‘although it rarely happens these days, I’ve picked up a small piece of news myself. It seems that his Excellency Tō no Chūjō has recently found a daughter born outside marriage. He had lost sight of her for many years, but has now taken her to live with him. Come, Kōbai,’ he said to Kashiwagi’s younger brother, ‘you can tell me whether there’s any truth in it.’ ‘Something like that has happened,’ the young man replied. ‘Though many of the stories going around are greatly exaggerated. The facts are these. Last spring, after a dream, my father asked us to investigate every case we could find of a child claiming he was their father. My brother Kashiwagi finally heard of a girl who seemed to have absolute proof that she was our father’s illegitimate child. We were told to visit her and verify her claim, and we did. That’s all I know about it. I’m sure everyone here has something much more interesting to talk about. I’m afraid what I’ve just told you can only interest the people actually involved.’ ‘So it is true!’ thought Genji. He wondered whether Tō no Chūjō could have been misled into thinking he had found Yūgao’s child. ‘There are already so many of you in the family,’ he said to Kōbai. ‘I’m surprised your father would search the sky for one stray swallow that hasn’t managed to keep up with the flock. I might be forgiven for doing that, since I have such a small brood. But in your father it seems a little greedy. Unfortunately, though I would be proud to acknowledge my children, no one seems at all inclined to claim me as a father. Still, it’s no accident that Tō no Chūjō is more in demand than I am. The moon’s image shows dimly in waters troubled at the bottom. Your father’s early adventures were very indiscriminate. If you knew all your brothers and sisters, you would probably realize that, taken as a whole, you’re a very odd family....’ Yūgiri knew a great many stories that fully confirmed Genji’s last remark. He could not help showing his amusement, and Kōbai and his brothers thought he did so in exceedingly bad taste. ‘It’s all very well for you to laugh, Yūgiri,’ Genji continued. ‘But you’d do much better to pick up some of those stray leaves than make trouble for yourself by pushing in where you’re not wanted. Surely, in such a large garland, you could find another flower to console you!’ On the surface, all Genji’s remarks about Tō no Chūjō sounded like the friendly teasing of one old friend about another. But in fact there had been real coolness between them for some time. Chūjō’s scornful refusal to accept Yūgiri as his son-in-law had made it worse. Genji knew he had just been rather spiteful. But he was not at all worried that his old friend might hear the remarks. In fact, he found himself hoping the boys would repeat them.

This conversation about the waif whom Tō no Chūjō had recently acknowledged and adopted, reminded Genji that it was becoming high time he should himself make a certain long-intended revelation. Tamakatsura had now lived for over a year at the New Palace; she was definitely accepted as a member of the Court circle, and there was now no fear that her father would be in any way ashamed of her. But the views of Tō no Chūjō were in some ways peculiar. He made an absolutely hard and fast distinction between the ‘right’ and the ‘wrong’ people. To those who satisfied his very exacting standards he was extraordinarily helpful and agreeable. As for the others, he ignored them with a sublime completeness that no other Grand Minister had ever equalled. Was it quite certain in which class he would place his own daughter? Then a brilliant idea occurred to Genji. He would introduce Tō no Chūjō to Tamakatsura immediately, but not reveal her identity until Chūjō had once and for all classed her as ‘possible.’

The conversation was about the waif whom Tō no Chūjō had recently acknowledged and adopted. It reminded Genji that it was high time he made a revelation he had long intended to make. Tamakatsura had now lived at the New Palace for over a year. She was fully accepted as a member of the Court circle. There was no longer any fear that her father would be ashamed of her. But Tō no Chūjō had some peculiar views. He made an absolute distinction between the ‘right’ and the ‘wrong’ people. He was extraordinarily helpful and agreeable to those who met his very exacting standards. As for the others, he ignored them with a sublime thoroughness that no other Grand Minister had ever matched. Could Genji be sure which group he would put his own daughter in? Then Genji had a brilliant idea. He would introduce Tō no Chūjō to Tamakatsura at once. But he would not reveal her identity until Chūjō had decided once and for all that she was ‘possible.’

The evening wind was by this time delightfully fresh, and it was with great regret that the young guests prepared to take their leave. ‘I should be perfectly contented to go on sitting here quietly in the cool; but I know that at your age there are many far more interesting things to be done,' and with that he set out for the Western Wing, his guests accompanying him to the door.

By now, the evening breeze was pleasantly cool, and the young guests were very sorry to leave. ‘I’d be perfectly happy to sit here quietly in the cool air. But I know that at your age, there are many more interesting things to do.’ With that, he set off for the Western Wing, and his guests accompanied him to the door.

Knowing that in an uncertain evening light all people in Court cloaks look very much alike, Genji at once summoned Tamakatsura to him and explained in a low voice why he had arrived with so large an escort. ‘I have been entertaining Tō no Chūjō’s sons,' he said, ‘Kashiwagi, Kōbai and the rest. It was obvious that they were very anxious to come on here with me, and Yūgiri is such an honest soul, it would have been unkind not to let him come too. Those poor young men, Tō no Chūjō’s sons, must really soon be told you are their sister. I am afraid they are all more or less in love with you. But even in the case of quite ordinary families the sudden arrival of some unknown young lady causes endless speculation among those who frequent the house, and though there is intense curiosity to see her, it is apparent that every one has long beforehand made up his mind to fall in love. Unfortunately, even before your arrival, my palace had an undeserved reputation for harbouring bevies of incomparable creatures. Every visitor who comes here seems to arrive primed up with compliments and fine speeches, only to discover that there is no quarter in which they could be employed without impertinence.⁵⁰⁴ But you have often asked me about those particular young men and lamented that you never get an opportunity yourself of judging whether they are as intelligent as every one makes out. So I thought you would not mind me bringing them here, and would perhaps like to have a word with one or the other of them....’

Genji knew that in the dim evening light, everyone in court cloaks looked much alike. So he immediately summoned Tamakatsura and quietly explained why he had brought such a large escort. ‘I have been entertaining Tō no Chūjō’s sons,’ he said, ‘Kashiwagi, Kōbai and the others. They were obviously eager to come here with me. And Yūgiri is such an honest soul that it would have been unkind not to let him come too. Those poor young men, Tō no Chūjō’s sons, really must soon be told that you are their sister. I’m afraid they are all more or less in love with you. ‘But even in quite ordinary families, the sudden arrival of an unknown young lady causes endless speculation among regular visitors. Everyone is intensely curious to see her. Yet it is clear that they have all long since made up their minds to fall in love. Unfortunately, even before you arrived, my palace had an undeserved reputation for housing crowds of incomparable beauties. Every visitor seems to come prepared with compliments and fine speeches. But they discover there is nowhere they can use them without being impertinent.⁵⁰⁴ You have often asked me about those particular young men, though. You have regretted never having a chance to judge for yourself whether they are as intelligent as everyone says. So I thought you would not mind my bringing them here. Perhaps you would like to have a word with one or another of them....’

While this whispered conversation was going on, the young men were standing in the garden outside. It was not planted in formal borders; but there was a great clump of carnations and a tangled hedge of tall flowering plants, both Chinese and Japanese, with great masses of blossom that stood out vividly in the fading light. True, they had come that evening hoping to pluck a very different flower; but as they sat resting in front of the house they could scarcely restrain themselves from stretching out a hand and filling their laps with these resplendent blossoms.

While this whispered conversation was going on, the young men stood outside in the garden. It had no formal flower beds, but a large clump of carnations grew there. A tangled hedge of tall Chinese and Japanese flowering plants was covered in blossoms. Their flowers stood out vividly in the fading light. The young men had come that evening hoping to pluck a very different flower. But as they sat resting in front of the house, they could hardly resist reaching out and filling their laps with these beautiful blossoms.

‘They are really very remarkable young men,’ Genji went on. ‘There is not one of them but in his way shows unmistakable signs of genius, and this is true even of Kashiwagi, who in outward manner is particularly quiet and diffident. By the way, has he written to you again? I remember we read his poem together. You cannot, of course, under the circumstances risk giving him any definite encouragement; but do not be too hard upon him.’

‘They really are remarkable young men,’ Genji went on. ‘Every one of them shows clear signs of genius in his own way. Even Kashiwagi does, though he seems especially quiet and shy. By the way, has he written to you again? I remember we read his poem together. Of course, under the circumstances, you cannot risk giving him any definite encouragement. But do not be too hard on him.’

Even amid these very exceptional young men Yūgiri looked surprisingly handsome and distinguished, and Genji, pointing to him, said to Tamakatsura in a whisper: ‘I am terribly disappointed that Tō no Chūjō should take up his present attitude about that boy. It has come to this nowadays, that those people will not look at any one who is not part and parcel of their own gang.⁵⁰⁵ A drop of other blood, even if it be that of the Royal House, seems to them a painful blemish....’ ‘That was not the way Royal Princes were regarded once upon a time,’ said Tamakatsura, and quoted the old folk-song Come to my house.⁵⁰⁶ ‘They certainly seem in no hurry to make ready a banquet for poor Yūgiri,’ admitted Genji. ‘I am extremely sorry for those two. They took a fancy to each other when they were mere children and have never got over it. I know quite well that they have suffered a great deal through this long separation. If it is merely because of Yūgiri’s low rank that Tō no Chūjō refuses his consent, he might on this occasion be content to disregard the comments of the world and leave the matter in my hands. He surely does not suppose that I intend the boy to remain in the Sixth Rank for ever....’ Again he was speaking of Tō no Chūjō with asperity and, like her brothers a few hours ago, Tamakatsura was perturbed to discover that the breach between them was widening, partly because such a state of affairs made it all the less probable that Genji would in the near future reveal her identity to Tō no Chūjō.

Even among these exceptional young men, Yūgiri looked remarkably handsome and distinguished. Genji pointed to him and whispered to Tamakatsura, ‘I am terribly disappointed by Tō no Chūjō’s attitude toward that boy. These days, his people will not consider anyone who is not part of their own circle.⁵⁰⁵ Even a drop of other blood, including royal blood, seems to them a painful blemish....’ ‘That was not how Royal Princes were regarded in the old days,’ said Tamakatsura. She quoted the old folk song Come to my house.⁵⁰⁶ ‘They certainly seem in no hurry to prepare a banquet for poor Yūgiri,’ Genji admitted. ‘I feel very sorry for those two. They fell in love as children and have never gotten over it. I know they have suffered a great deal during this long separation. If Tō no Chūjō refuses his consent merely because of Yūgiri’s low rank, he might ignore what people say this once. He could leave the matter in my hands. Surely he does not think I intend the boy to remain in the Sixth Rank forever....’ Once again, Genji was speaking bitterly of Tō no Chūjō. Like her brothers a few hours earlier, Tamakatsura was troubled to find that the rift between them was growing. This was partly because the rift made it even less likely that Genji would soon reveal her identity to Tō no Chūjō.

As there was no moon that night, the great lamp was presently brought in. ‘It is now just comfortably warm,’ said Genji, ‘and the only thing we need is a little more light.’ He sent for a servant and said to him: ‘One tray of bamboo flares! In here, please.’ When they were brought he noticed a very beautiful native zithern and drawing it towards him struck a few chords. It was tuned to the difficult ritsu mode, but with remarkable accuracy. It seemed indeed to be an exceptionally fine instrument, and when he had played on it for a little while he said to her: ‘I have all these months been doing you the injustice of supposing that you were not interested in these things. What I like is to play such an instrument as yours on a cool autumn evening, when the moon is up, sitting quite close to the window. One then plays in concert with the cicadas, purposely using their chirruping as part of the accompaniment. The result is a kind of music which is intimate, but at the same time thoroughly modern. There is, of course, a go-as-you-please, informal quality about the Japanese zithern which makes it unsuitable for use on ceremonial occasions. But when one remembers that almost all our native airs and measures originated on this instrument, one cannot help regarding it with respect. There are stray references which show that its history stretches back into the dimmest past; but to hear people talk nowadays one would think it had been specially invented for the benefit of young ladies, in whom an acquaintance with foreign arts and usages is considered unbecoming. Above all, do make a practice of playing it in concert with other instruments whenever you get the chance. This will immensely improve your command over it. For though the Japanese zithern is a far less complicated instrument than its rivals, it is by no means so easy to play as most people imagine. At the present time there is no better performer than your father, Tō no Chūjō. You would be astonished at the variety of tone he can get out of a mere succession of open strings; it is as though by some magic he were able in an instant to change his zithern into whatever instrument he pleases. And the volume of sound which he obtains from those few slender strings is unbelievable!’

There was no moon that night, so the large lamp was soon brought in. ‘It’s comfortably warm now,’ said Genji, ‘and all we need is a little more light.’ He sent for a servant and said: ‘A tray of bamboo flares! Bring it in here, please.’ When the flares arrived, he noticed a beautiful Japanese zither. He drew it toward him and played a few chords. It was tuned to the difficult ritsu mode, but with remarkable accuracy. It seemed to be an exceptionally fine instrument. After playing it for a while, he said to her: ‘All these months, I’ve been unfairly assuming you weren’t interested in such things. I like to play an instrument like yours by an open window on a cool autumn evening, when the moon is up. I play along with the cicadas, deliberately making their chirping part of the accompaniment. The result is music that is intimate and, at the same time, thoroughly modern. ‘Of course, the Japanese zither has a free, informal quality that makes it unsuitable for ceremonies. But almost all our native melodies and rhythms originated on this instrument. When you remember that, you can’t help respecting it. Scattered references show that its history reaches back into the distant past. But from the way people talk now, you’d think it had been invented especially for young ladies. They’re not supposed to know about foreign arts and customs. ‘Above all, whenever you get the chance, make a practice of playing it with other instruments. That will greatly improve your skill. The Japanese zither is much less complicated than its rivals, but it’s not nearly as easy to play as most people think. Today, no one plays it better than your father, Tō no Chūjō. You’d be amazed at the variety of tones he can produce just by playing open strings in succession. It’s as if he could magically turn his zither into any instrument he chooses in an instant. And the volume he gets from those few slender strings is unbelievable!’

Tamakatsura had reached a certain point of proficiency herself. But she knew that she had much to learn, and longed to meet with a first-rate performer. ‘Do you think I might one day be allowed to hear him?’ she asked, not very hopefully. ‘I suppose he sometimes plays when he comes here to entertainments. Even among those outlandish people on the Island there were several teachers, and I always supposed that they knew all about it. But from what you have just said I see that such playing as my father’s must be something quite different....’

Tamakatsura had become a reasonably skilled player herself. But she knew she still had much to learn and longed to meet a first-rate performer. ‘Do you think I might be allowed to hear him someday?’ she asked, without much hope. ‘I suppose he sometimes plays when he comes here for entertainments. Even among those strange people on the Island, there were several teachers. I always thought they knew everything about playing. But from what you have just said, I see that my father’s playing must be quite different....’

‘It is indeed,’ he said, ‘and you shall certainly hear him play. You know, I expect, that though it is called the Eastern zithern and is said to have come from the other side of the country, it is always played at the beginning of every Imperial concert, being solemnly carried in by the Mistress of the Rolls. As far as our country is concerned (about the history of music in other lands I know very little) it is certainly the parent of all other instruments, and that perhaps the best performer upon it who has ever lived should be your own father is certainly a great stroke of luck for you. He does, as you suggested, play here and at other people’s houses from time to time, when there is music afoot; but chiefly on other instruments. It is really very difficult to make him play on the Japanese zithern. Often he begins a tune and then, for some reason, will not go on. It is the same with all great artists. They cannot perform unless they are in the right mood, and the right mood seldom comes. But later on you will, of course, certainly be hearing him....’ So saying, he began trying over a few usual chords and runs. Already she wondered how she had managed to tolerate the clumsy twanging of the island-professors. How exciting it would be to live with a father, who, according to Genji’s own showing, played far, far better even than this! It was intolerable to feel that all the while she might have been hearing him day after day, in his own home, with nothing to disturb or interrupt him. When, oh when would this new life begin?

‘It is indeed,’ he said, ‘and you will certainly hear him play. You probably know that it is called the Eastern zither and is said to come from the other side of the country. Yet it is always played at the beginning of every Imperial concert. The Mistress of the Rolls carries it in with great ceremony. As far as our country is concerned, it is certainly the parent of all other instruments. I know very little about the history of music in other lands. Your own father is perhaps the best player of the Eastern zither who ever lived. That is certainly a great stroke of luck for you. As you suggested, he does play here and at other people’s houses from time to time, when there is music. But he mostly plays other instruments. It is really very difficult to get him to play the Japanese zither. He often begins a tune and then, for some reason, refuses to go on. It is the same with all great artists. They cannot perform unless they are in the right mood, and that mood seldom comes. But later on you will, of course, certainly hear him....’ With that, he began trying a few familiar chords and runs. Already she wondered how she had managed to put up with the clumsy twanging of the island teachers. How exciting it would be to live with a father who, according to Genji himself, played far, far better than this! It was unbearable to think that she could have been hearing him every day, all this time. In his own home, nothing would have disturbed or interrupted him. When, oh when, would this new life begin?

Among other old ballads Genji now sang ‘Not softlier pillowed is my head,’ and when he came to the line ‘O lady parted from thy kin’ he could not help catching her eye and smiling. Not only did she find his voice very agreeable, but his improvisations between verse and verse delighted her beyond measure. Suddenly he broke off, saying: ‘Now it is your turn. Do not tell me you are shy; for I am certain that you have talent, and if that is so you will forget that there is any one here, once you have become interested in what you are playing. The lady⁵⁰⁷ who was “too shy to do anything but go over the tune in her head” wanted all the time to sing the Sōfuren,⁵⁰⁸ and that is a very different matter. You must get into the habit of playing with any one who comes along, without minding what he thinks of you....’ But try as he might, he could not persuade her to begin. She was certain that her teacher on the island, an old lady of whom it was reported that she had once been in some vague way connected with the Capital and even that she was distantly related to the Imperial Family, had got everything wrong from beginning to end. If only she could persuade Genji to go on playing a little while longer, she felt sure she could pick up enough of the right method to prevent a complete catastrophe, and she sat as near as possible to the zithern, watching his fingers and listening intently. ‘Why does it not always produce such lovely sounds as that?’ she said laughing. ‘Perhaps it depends which way the wind is blowing....’ She looked very lovely as she sat leaning towards him, with the lamplight full upon her face. ‘I have sometimes known you by no means so ready to listen,’ he said, and to her disappointment pushed the zithern from him. But her gentlewomen were passing in and out of the room. Whether for this or other reasons his behaviour to-night continued to be very serious and correct. ‘I see no sign of those young men I brought with me,’ he said at last, ‘I am afraid they grew tired of gazing at every flower save the one they came to see, and went away in disgust. But it is their father’s visit to this flower-garden that I ought all the while to be arranging. I must not be dilatory, for life is full of uncertainties.... How well I remember the conversation in the course of which your father first told me how your mother had carried you away, and of his long search for you both. It does not seem long ago....’ And he told her more than he had ever done before about the rainy night’s conversation and his own first meeting with Yūgao.

Among other old ballads, Genji sang ‘My head rests on no softer pillow.’ When he came to the line ‘O lady parted from your family,’ he could not help catching her eye and smiling. She found his voice very pleasant, and his improvisations between verses delighted her beyond measure. Suddenly he stopped. ‘Now it is your turn,’ he said. ‘Do not tell me you are shy. I am sure you have talent, and if you do, you will forget anyone is here once you become absorbed in playing. The lady⁵⁰⁷ who was “too shy to do anything but go over the tune in her head” really wanted to sing the Sōfuren⁵⁰⁸ all along. That is quite different. You must get into the habit of playing with anyone who comes along, without worrying what he thinks of you....’ But however hard he tried, he could not persuade her to begin. Her teacher on the island was an old lady who was said to have had some vague connection with the Capital. She was even said to be distantly related to the Imperial Family. But the young woman was sure her teacher had taught her everything wrong, from beginning to end. If she could persuade Genji to play a little longer, she felt sure she could learn enough of the correct method to avoid a complete disaster. She sat as close to the zithern as she could, watching his fingers and listening intently. ‘Why does it not always make such lovely sounds?’ she asked, laughing. ‘Perhaps it depends on which way the wind is blowing....’ She looked very lovely as she leaned toward him, with the lamplight shining fully on her face. ‘There have been times when you were not nearly so willing to listen,’ he said. To her disappointment, he pushed the zithern away. Her gentlewomen were passing in and out of the room. Whether for that reason or another, Genji continued to behave very seriously and correctly that night. ‘I see no sign of the young men I brought with me,’ he said at last. ‘I am afraid they grew tired of looking at every flower except the one they came to see, and went away in disgust. But all this time I should have been arranging their father’s visit to this flower garden. I must not delay, because life is full of uncertainties.... I remember so well the conversation in which your father first told me how your mother had taken you away, and how long he had searched for you both. It does not seem long ago....’ He told her more than ever before about the conversation on that rainy night and his own first meeting with Yūgao.

‘Gladly would I show the world this Child-flower’s beauty, did I not fear that men would ask me where stands the hedge on which it grew.’⁵⁰⁹

‘I would gladly show the world this Child-flower’s beauty, if I did not fear that men would ask where the hedge it grew on stands.’⁵⁰⁹

‘The truth is, he loved your mother so dearly that I cannot bear the thought of telling him the whole miserable story. That is why I have kept you hidden away like a chrysalis in a cocoon. I know I ought not to have delayed....’ He paused, and she answered with the verse: ‘Who cares to question whence was first transplanted a Child-flower that from the peasant’s tattered hedge was hither brought.’ Her eyes filled with tears as in a scarcely audible voice she whispered this reply.

‘The truth is, he loved your mother so dearly that I cannot bear to tell him the whole miserable story. That is why I have kept you hidden away like a chrysalis in a cocoon. I know I should not have waited....’ He paused, and she replied with a verse: ‘Who cares to ask where a Child-flower first grew, when it was brought here from a peasant’s tattered hedge?’ Her eyes filled with tears as she whispered her reply, barely loud enough to hear.

There were times when he himself took fright at the frequency of his visits to this part of the house, and in order to make a good impression stayed away for days on end. But he always contrived to think of some point in connection with her servants or household affairs which required an endless going and coming of messengers, so that even during these brief periods of absence she was in continual communication with him. The truth is that at this period she was the only subject to which he ever gave a thought. Day and night he asked himself how he could have been so insensate as to embark upon this fatal course. If the affair was maintained upon its present footing he was faced with the prospect of such torture as he felt he could not possibly endure. If on the other hand his resolution broke down and she on her side was willing to accept him as a lover, the affair would cause a scandal which his own prestige might in time enable him to live down, but which for her would mean irreparable disaster. He cared for her very deeply; but not, as he well knew, to such an extent that he would ever dream of putting her on an equality with Murasaki, while to thrust her into a position of inferiority would do violence to his own feelings and be most unfair to her. Exceptional as was the position that he now occupied in the State, this did not mean that it was any great distinction to figure merely as a belated appendage to his household. Far better, he very well knew, to reign supreme in the affections of some wholly unremarkable Deputy Councillor! Then again there was the question whether he ought not to hand her over to his step-brother Prince Sochi or to Prince Higekuro. Even were this course in every way desirable, he gravely doubted his own capacity to pursue it. Such self-sacrifices, he knew, are easier to plan than to effect. Nevertheless, there were times when he regarded this as the plan which he had definitely adopted, and for a while he could really believe that he was on the point of carrying it out. But then would come one of his visits to her. She would be looking even more charming than usual, and lately there were these zithern lessons, which, involving as they did a great deal of leaning across and sitting shoulder to shoulder, had increased their intimacy with disquieting rapidity. All his good resolutions began to break down, while she on her side no longer regarded him with anything like the same distrust as before. He had indeed behaved with model propriety for so long that she made sure his undue tenderness towards her was a thing of the past. Gradually she became used to having him constantly about her, allowed him to say what he pleased, and answered in a manner which though discreet was by no means discouraging. Whatever resolutions he may have made before his visit, he would go away feeling that, at this point in their relations, simply to hand her over to a husband was more than the most severe moralist could expect of him. Surely there could be no harm in keeping her here a little longer, that he might enjoy the innocent pleasure of sometimes visiting her, sometimes arranging her affairs? Certainly, he could assure himself, his presence was by no means distasteful to her. Her uneasiness at the beginning was due not to hostility but to mere lack of experience. Though ‘strong the watchman at the gate’, she was beginning to take a very different view of life. Soon she would be struggling with her own as well as his desires, and then all her defences would rapidly give way....

Sometimes he was alarmed by how often he visited her part of the house. To make a good impression, he would stay away for days. But he always found some matter concerning her servants or household that required messengers to go back and forth endlessly. So even during these brief absences, she was in constant communication with him. The truth was that, at this time, she was all he ever thought about. Day and night, he asked himself how he could have been so foolish as to begin this disastrous course. If their relationship continued as it was, he faced a torment he felt he could not possibly endure. But if his resolve failed and she was willing to accept him as a lover, the affair would cause a scandal. His own prestige might eventually allow him to live it down, but for her it would mean lasting ruin. He cared for her deeply. But he knew he would never dream of placing her on an equal footing with Murasaki. Yet putting her in a lower position would go against his own feelings and be terribly unfair to her. For all his exceptional standing in the State, it was no great honor to be merely a late addition to his household. He knew it would be far better for her to have the greatest place in the affections of some entirely unremarkable Deputy Councillor. Then there was the question of whether he ought to give her in marriage to his stepbrother Prince Sochi or to Prince Higekuro. Even if that course were desirable in every way, he seriously doubted that he could follow it. He knew such sacrifices were easier to plan than to carry out. Nevertheless, at times he regarded this as the plan he had definitely chosen. For a while, he could really believe he was about to carry it out. But then he would visit her. She would be looking even more charming than usual. And lately there had been the zither lessons. These involved a great deal of leaning across each other and sitting shoulder to shoulder. As a result, their intimacy had increased with alarming speed. All his good resolutions began to give way. She, for her part, no longer distrusted him nearly as much as she once had. He had behaved so properly for so long that she was sure his excessive tenderness toward her was a thing of the past. Gradually, she grew used to having him constantly near her. She let him say whatever he pleased, and though her answers were discreet, they were by no means discouraging. Whatever resolutions he had made before a visit, he would leave feeling that their relationship had reached a certain point. Simply giving her to a husband now was more than even the strictest moralist could expect of him. Surely there could be no harm in keeping her there a little longer. He could then enjoy the innocent pleasure of visiting her from time to time and sometimes arranging her affairs. He could certainly assure himself that his presence was not at all unpleasant to her. Her uneasiness at the beginning had come not from dislike but from mere inexperience. Though ‘strong the watchman at the gate’, she was beginning to see life very differently. Soon she would be struggling with her own desires as well as his, and then all her defenses would quickly give way....

Tō no Chūjō was somewhat uneasy about his newly discovered daughter.⁵¹⁰ The members of his own household seemed to have a very poor opinion of her, and at Court he had overheard people whispering that she was not quite right in the head. His son Kōbai told him, of course, about Genji’s questions, and Tō no Chūjō laughed saying: ‘I can quite understand his interest in the matter. A year or two ago he himself took over a daughter whom he had by some peasant woman or other, and now makes an absurd fuss over her. It is very odd: Genji says nothing but nice things about every one else. But about me and every one connected with me he is careful to be as disagreeable as possible. But I suppose I ought to regard it as a sort of distinction even to be run down by him.’ ‘Father, if you mean the girl who lives in the Western Wing,’ said Kōbai, ‘I can assure you she is the most beautiful creature you can possibly imagine. Prince Sochi and many of the others have completely lost their hearts to her.... Indeed, every one agrees that she is probably one of the handsomest women at Court.’ ‘You surely do not yourself believe such stories?’ said Tō no Chūjō. ‘The same thing is always said about the daughters of men in such a position as Genji’s; and so oddly is the world made that those who spread such reports really believe in them. I do not for a moment suppose she is anything out of the ordinary. Now that Genji is Grand Minister, faced by an opposition that has dwindled to a mere speck and esteemed as few Ministers before, I fancy the one flaw in his happiness must be the lack of a daughter to lavish his care upon and bring up to be the envy and admiration of the whole Court. I can well imagine what a delight the education of such a child would be to him. But in this matter fate seems to be against him. Of course, there is the little girl who was born at Akashi. Unfortunately her mother’s parents are quite humble people and she can never play the part that would naturally have been taken by a child of my sister Lady Aoi or of his present wife, Lady Murasaki. All the same, I have reason to believe that his schemes for her subsequent career are of the most ambitious nature.

Tō no Chūjō was somewhat uneasy about the daughter he had recently discovered.⁵¹⁰ His own household seemed to think very poorly of her. At Court, he had overheard people whispering that she was not quite right in the head. His son Kōbai, of course, told him about Genji’s questions. Tō no Chūjō laughed and said: ‘I can quite understand his interest. A year or two ago, he took in a daughter he had by some peasant woman or other. Now he makes a ridiculous fuss over her. It is very odd. Genji says nothing but nice things about everyone else. But he takes care to be as unpleasant as possible about me and everyone connected with me. Still, I suppose I should consider it an honor of sorts, even to be criticized by him.’ ‘Father, if you mean the girl who lives in the Western Wing,’ said Kōbai, ‘I assure you, she is the most beautiful creature you can imagine. Prince Sochi and many others have completely lost their hearts to her.... In fact, everyone agrees that she is probably one of the most beautiful women at Court.’ ‘You surely don’t believe such stories yourself?’ said Tō no Chūjō. ‘People always say the same thing about the daughters of men in Genji’s position. And the world is so strangely made that the people who spread such reports actually believe them. I don’t suppose for a moment that she is anything out of the ordinary. Genji is now Grand Minister. His opposition has dwindled to almost nothing, and few Ministers before him have been held in such high regard. I imagine there is only one flaw in his happiness. He lacks a daughter he can lavish his care on and raise to be the envy and admiration of the whole Court. I can well imagine how much he would delight in educating such a child. But in this matter, fate seems to be against him. Of course, there is the little girl who was born at Akashi. Unfortunately, her mother’s parents are quite humble people. She can never play the part that would naturally have fallen to a child of my sister Lady Aoi or of his present wife, Lady Murasaki. All the same, I have reason to believe that his plans for her future are extremely ambitious.

‘As for this newly-imported princess, it would not surprise me to discover that she is not his child at all. You know as well as I do what Genji’s failings are.... It is far more probable that she is merely some girl whom he is keeping.’ After other somewhat damaging remarks about Genji’s habits and character, he continued: ‘However, if he continues to give out that she is his daughter, it will soon be incumbent upon him to find her a husband. I imagine his choice will fall upon Prince Sochi, with whom he has always been on particularly good terms. She would certainly be fortunate in securing such a husband; he is a most distinguished character....’

‘As for this newly arrived princess, I would not be surprised to learn that she is not his daughter at all. You know Genji’s faults as well as I do.... It is much more likely that she is just some girl he is keeping.’ After making other rather damaging remarks about Genji’s habits and character, he continued: ‘Still, if he keeps saying she is his daughter, he will soon have to find her a husband. I imagine he will choose Prince Sochi. He has always been on especially good terms with the prince. She would certainly be fortunate to have such a husband. He is a most distinguished man....’

Nothing more exasperated Tō no Chūjō at the present moment than the endless speculations concerning Lady Tamakatsura’s future which were now the staple of every conversation at Court. He was sick of hearing people ask ‘What are Prince Genji’s intentions?’ ‘Why has he changed his mind?’ and so on, while the future of his own daughter, Lady Kumoi, seemed for some reason not to arouse the slightest curiosity. Why should not a little of the energy which Genji expended in dangling this supposed daughter of his before the eyes of an expectant Court be used on Lady Kumoi’s behalf? A word whispered by Genji in the Emperor’s ear would suffice to secure her future; but that word, it was very evident, had never been spoken.

Nothing irritated Tō no Chūjō more just then than the endless speculation about Lady Tamakatsura’s future. It had become the subject of every conversation at Court. He was sick of hearing people ask, ‘What are Prince Genji’s intentions?’ ‘Why has he changed his mind?’ and so on. Yet, for some reason, no one seemed the least bit curious about the future of his own daughter, Lady Kumoi. Why couldn’t Genji spend a little of that energy helping Lady Kumoi instead? He was always showing off his supposed daughter to the eager Court. A word whispered in the Emperor’s ear would be enough to secure Lady Kumoi’s future. But it was perfectly clear that Genji had never spoken that word.

If Genji (and this seemed hardly credible) were waiting to secure Kumoi for his own son Yūgiri, let him raise the boy to a decent rank. Then, provided suitable overtures were made on Genji’s side, he was quite willing to consider the possibility of such a match. As to what the young man’s feelings in the matter might be—he did not give the question a moment’s thought, having always regarded Yūgiri merely as a nuisance.

If Genji was waiting to secure Kumoi for his own son Yūgiri, let him give the boy a decent rank. That seemed hardly believable. But if Genji made a suitable approach, he was quite willing to consider the match. He gave no thought to how the young man might feel about it. He had always regarded Yūgiri as nothing more than a nuisance.

One day when he had been reflecting upon this problem more earnestly than usual, Tō no Chūjō determined to thresh the matter out with the girl herself, and taking Kōbai with him he went straight to her room. It so happened that Kumoi had fallen asleep. She was lying, a small and fragile figure, with only a single wrap of thin diaphanous stuff thrown carelessly across her. It was certainly a pleasure on such a day to see any one looking so delightfully cool! The delicate outline of her bare limbs showed plainly beneath the light wrap which covered her. She lay pillowed on one outstretched arm, her fan still in her hand. Her loosened hair fell all about her, and though it was not remarkably thick or long, there was something particularly agreeable in its texture and in the lines it made as it hung across her face. Her gentlewomen were also reposing, but at some distance away, in the room which opened out behind her curtained daïs, so that they did not wake in time, and it was only when Tō no Chūjō himself rustled impatiently with his fan that she slowly raised her head and turned upon him a bewildered gaze. Her beauty, enhanced by the flush of sleep, could not but impress a father’s heart, and Tō no Chūjō looked at her with a pride which his subsequent words by no means betrayed. ‘I have told you often before,’ he said, ‘that even to be caught dozing in your seat is a thing a girl of your age ought to be ashamed of; and here I find you going to bed in broad daylight ... you really must be a little more careful. I cannot imagine how you could be so foolish as to allow all your gentlewomen to desert you in this way. It is extremely unsafe for a young girl to expose herself, and quite unnecessary in your case, since I have provided you with a sufficient number of attendants to mount guard on all occasions. To behave in this reckless manner is, to say the least of it, very bad form. Not that I want you to sit all day with your hands folded in front of you as though you were reciting the Spells of Fudō.⁵¹¹ I am not one of those people who think it a mark of refinement in a girl to stand on ceremony even with her everyday acquaintances and never to address a word to any one except through a barricade of curtains and screens. So far from being dignified, such a method of behaviour seems to me merely peevish and unsociable. I cannot help admiring the way in which Prince Genji is bringing up this future Empress⁵¹² of his. He takes no exaggerated precautions of any kind, nor does he force her talent in this direction or that; but at the same time he sees to it that there is no subject in which she remains wholly uninitiated. Thus she is able to choose intelligently for herself where other girls would be obliged merely to do as they were told. For the time it may seem that the energies of the mind have been somewhat diffused and extenuated, but in later life, given the best balanced and broadest system of education in the world, idiosyncrasies both of character and behaviour will inevitably reappear. At the present moment the Princess from Akashi is in the first and less interesting stage. I am very curious to see how she will develop when she arrives at Court.’ After these preliminaries he embarked at last upon the subject which he had really come to discuss. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘that I have not been very successful in my plans for your own future. But I still hope that we may be able to arrange something not too contemptible. I promise you at any rate that you shall not be made ridiculous. I am keeping my ears open and have one or two projects in mind, but for the moment it is exceedingly difficult to arrive at a decision. Meanwhile, do not be deceived by the tears and protestations of young men who have nothing better to do than amuse themselves at the expense of confiding creatures such as you. I know what I am talking about’ ... and so on, speaking more and more kindly as he went along.

One day, after thinking about the problem more seriously than usual, Tō no Chūjō decided to discuss it with the girl herself. He took Kōbai with him and went straight to her room. As it happened, Kumoi had fallen asleep. Her small, fragile figure was covered only by a single, thin, transparent wrap, carelessly thrown over her. On such a day, it was a pleasure to see anyone looking so delightfully cool! The delicate outlines of her bare limbs showed clearly beneath the light wrap. She lay with her head on an outstretched arm, her fan still in her hand. Her loosened hair fell all around her. Though it was not unusually thick or long, its texture was especially pleasing, as were the lines it made across her face. Her gentlewomen were also resting, but some distance away, in the room behind her curtained dais. So they did not wake in time. Only when Tō no Chūjō impatiently rustled his fan did Kumoi slowly raise her head and look at him in confusion. Her beauty, heightened by the flush of sleep, was bound to touch a father’s heart. Tō no Chūjō looked at her with a pride that his next words did nothing to reveal. ‘I have often told you that a girl your age should be ashamed even to be caught dozing in her seat. And here I find you going to bed in broad daylight ... you really must be more careful. I cannot imagine how you could be foolish enough to let all your gentlewomen leave you like this. It is extremely unsafe for a young girl to leave herself exposed. And there is no need for you to do so. I have provided you with enough attendants to keep watch at all times. To behave so recklessly is, to say the least, very bad form. ‘Not that I want you to sit all day with your hands folded before you, as if reciting the Spells of Fudō.⁵¹¹ I am not one of those people who think a girl is refined if she is formal even with her everyday acquaintances. Nor do I think she should speak to everyone only from behind a barricade of curtains and screens. Far from being dignified, such behavior seems to me merely bad-tempered and unsociable. ‘I cannot help admiring the way Prince Genji is bringing up his future Empress.⁵¹² He takes no excessive precautions, and he does not push her talents in one direction or another. But he also makes sure that she has some knowledge of every subject. That way, she can make informed choices for herself where other girls would simply have to do as they were told. For a time, it may seem that her mental energies have been spread too thin and weakened. But even with the best-balanced and broadest education in the world, individual traits of character and behavior will inevitably reappear later in life. At present, the Princess from Akashi is in the first and less interesting stage. I am very curious to see how she develops when she arrives at Court.’ After this introduction, he finally turned to the subject he had really come to discuss. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘that my plans for your future have not been very successful. But I still hope we can arrange something that is not too contemptible. At any rate, I promise you will not be made to look ridiculous. I am keeping my ears open and have one or two possibilities in mind. But for now, it is extremely difficult to make a decision. Meanwhile, do not be deceived by the tears and promises of young men. They have nothing better to do than amuse themselves at the expense of trusting creatures like you. I know what I am talking about’ ... and so on, speaking more and more kindly as he went along.

In old days the scoldings which she had received on account of her intimacy with Yūgiri had been the more distressing to her because she had not at that time the least idea what all this fuss was about. But now that she was a little better acquainted with such matters, she recalled with burning shame time after time when she had mentioned to her elders things which she now saw it was the wildest folly ever to have repeated. The old Princess⁵¹³ frequently complained that Kumoi never came to see her. This put the child in great embarrassment, for the truth was that she dared not go, for Tō no Chūjō would be sure to think that she was using her duty towards the old lady as a pretext for clandestine meeting with her lover.

In the past, she had been scolded for her closeness to Yūgiri. The scoldings were all the more upsetting because she had no idea what the fuss was about. But now she understood such matters a little better. Time and again, she remembered with burning shame the things she had told her elders. She now saw that she had been utterly foolish to repeat them. The old Princess⁵¹³ often complained that Kumoi never came to see her. This embarrassed the child greatly. The truth was that she dared not visit. Tō no Chūjō would surely think she was using her duty to the old lady as an excuse to meet her lover in secret.

But another question was at this time occupying a good deal of Tō no Chūjō's attention. What was to be done with this new daughter of his, the Lady from Ōmi? If, after going out of his way to track her down, he were now to send her home again merely because certain people had said disobliging things about her, he would himself figure as intolerably capricious and eccentric. To let her mix in general society was, judging by what he had heard and seen of her already, quite out of the question. But if he continued to keep her, as he had hitherto done, in the seclusion of her own rooms, it would soon be rumoured at Court that she was some paragon who, just at the right moment, would be produced with dazzling effect and carry all before her. This, too, would be very irritating. Perhaps the best that could be done under the circumstances was to put her into touch with his daughter Lady Chūjō,⁵¹⁴ who happened at the moment to be home from Court. It would then be possible to discover whether, when one got to know her better, this Lady from Ōmi were really such a monster as some people made out. He therefore said to Lady Chūjō one day: ‘I am going to send this new sister of yours to see you. It seems that her manners are rather odd, and I should be very much obliged if you would ask one of your older gentlewomen to take her in hand. Young girls are useless in such a case. They would merely lead her on to greater absurdities in order to amuse themselves. Her manner is at present, I gather, somewhat too boisterous’; and he smiled as he recollected some of the anecdotes which had already reached him. ‘I will gladly do all I can,’ answered Lady Chūjō. ‘I see no reason to suppose that the poor creature is anything like so outrageous as people are making out. It is only that Kōbai, wishing to gain credit for his discovery, tended to exaggerate her charms, and people are a little disappointed. I do not think there is any need for you to take alarm. I can quite understand that coming for the first time among surroundings such as these, she feels somewhat lost, and does not always quite do herself justice....’ She spoke very demurely. This Lady Chūjō was no great beauty; but there was about her a serene air of conscious superiority which, combined with considerable charm of manner, led most people to accept her as handsome, an impression shared at this moment by her father as he watched her lips part in a smile that reminded him of the red plum-blossom in the morning when its petals first begin to unfold. ‘I daresay you are right,’ he replied; ‘but all the same I think that Kōbai showed a lack of judgment such as I should have thought he had long ago outgrown....’ He was himself inclined to think that the Lady from Ōmi’s defects had probably been much exaggerated, and as he in any case must pass her rooms on his way back he now thought he had better go and have another look at her. Crossing the garden he noticed at once that her blinds were rolled back almost to the top of the windows. Clearly visible within were the figures of the Lady herself and of a lively young person called Gosechi, one of last year’s Winter Dancers. The two were playing Double Sixes,⁵¹⁵ and the Lady of Ōmi, perpetually clasping and unclasping her hands in her excitement, was crying out ‘Low, low! Oh, how I hope it will be low!’ at the top of her voice, which rose at every moment to a shriller and shriller scream. ‘What a creature!’ thought Tō no Chūjō, already in despair, and signalling to his attendants, who were about to enter the apartments and announce him, that for a moment he intended to watch unobserved, he stood near the double door and looked through the passage window at a point where the paper⁵¹⁶ did not quite meet the frame. The young dancer was also entirely absorbed in the game. Shouting out: ‘A twelve, a twelve. This time I know it is going to be a twelve!’ she continually twirled the dice-cup in her hand, but could not bring herself to make the throw. Somewhere there, inside that bamboo tube, the right number lurked, she saw the two little stones with six pips on each.... But how was one to know when to throw? Never were excitement and suspense more clearly marked on two young faces. The Lady of Ōmi was somewhat homely in appearance; but nobody (thought Tō no Chūjō) could possibly call her downright ugly. Indeed, she had several very good points. Her hair, for example, could alone have sufficed to make up for many shortcomings. Two serious defects, however, she certainly had; her forehead was far too narrow, and her voice was appallingly loud and harsh. In a word, she was nothing to be particularly proud of; but at the same time (and he called up before him the image of his own face as he knew it in the mirror) it would be useless to deny that there was a strong resemblance.

But another question was now taking up much of Tō no Chūjō’s attention. What should he do with his new daughter, the Lady from Ōmi? He had gone out of his way to find her. If he now sent her home just because certain people had said unkind things about her, he would seem unbearably fickle and eccentric. But, judging by what he had already heard and seen, letting her mix with society was out of the question. If he kept her secluded in her rooms, as he had done so far, another problem would arise. Soon people at Court would say she was a perfect beauty, being saved for just the right moment. Then she would be brought out to dazzle everyone and outshine all her rivals. That would be very irritating too. Perhaps the best course was to introduce her to his daughter Lady Chūjō,⁵¹⁴ who happened to be home from Court. Then they could get to know the Lady from Ōmi better and discover whether she really was the monster some people made her out to be. So one day he said to Lady Chūjō, ‘I am going to send your new sister to see you. It seems her manners are rather odd. I would be very grateful if you asked one of your older gentlewomen to take her in hand. Young girls are no use in a case like this. They would only encourage her to behave even more absurdly for their own amusement. I hear she is rather too boisterous at present.’ He smiled as he remembered some of the stories he had already heard about her. ‘I will gladly do all I can,’ Lady Chūjō answered. ‘I see no reason to think the poor creature is nearly as outrageous as people say. Kōbai wanted credit for finding her, so he exaggerated her charms, and people are a little disappointed. I do not think you need to be alarmed. I can quite understand that she feels rather lost, coming into surroundings like these for the first time. She does not always show herself at her best....’ She spoke very modestly. Lady Chūjō was no great beauty. But she had a calm air of knowing herself superior and was very charming in her manner. Together, these qualities led most people to think her beautiful. Her father thought so now, as he watched her lips part in a smile. It reminded him of red plum blossoms in the morning, when their petals first begin to open. ‘I expect you are right,’ he replied. ‘But even so, I think Kōbai showed a lack of judgment I would have thought he had outgrown long ago....’ He was inclined to think that the Lady from Ōmi’s faults had probably been greatly exaggerated. Since he had to pass her rooms on his way back anyway, he decided to take another look at her. As he crossed the garden, he noticed at once that her blinds were rolled almost to the tops of the windows. He could see the Lady herself inside, with a lively young woman named Gosechi, one of last year’s Winter Dancers. They were playing Double Sixes.⁵¹⁵ The Lady from Ōmi kept clasping and unclasping her hands in excitement. ‘Low, low! Oh, how I hope it will be low!’ she cried at the top of her voice. It rose into a shriller and shriller scream. ‘What a creature!’ thought Tō no Chūjō, already in despair. His attendants were about to enter the rooms and announce him, but he signaled that he wanted to watch unseen for a moment. He stood near the double door and looked through the passage window, where the paper⁵¹⁶ did not quite meet the frame. The young dancer was also completely absorbed in the game. ‘A twelve, a twelve. This time I know it is going to be a twelve!’ she shouted. She kept turning the dice cup in her hand, but could not bring herself to throw. Somewhere inside that bamboo tube, the right number was waiting. She could see the two little stones, each with six pips on it.... But how could she know when to throw? Never had excitement and suspense been more clearly written on two young faces. The Lady from Ōmi was rather plain, but nobody, thought Tō no Chūjō, could possibly call her downright ugly. Indeed, she had several very good features. Her hair alone, for example, could have made up for many shortcomings. But she certainly had two serious faults. Her forehead was far too narrow, and her voice was appallingly loud and harsh. In short, she was nothing to be particularly proud of. But then he remembered his own face as he knew it in the mirror. It was no use denying that the resemblance was strong.

‘How are you getting on?’ he asked on being admitted to the room. ‘I am afraid it will take you some time to get the hang of things here. I wish I could see you more often, but, as you know, my time is not my own....’ ‘Don’t you worry about that,’ she answered, screaming as usual at the top of her voice. ‘I’m here, a’nt I? And that’s quite enough for me. I haven’t had the pleasure of setting eyes on you at all for all these years.... But I’ll own that when I came here and found I shouldn’t be with you all the time, like what I’d expected, I was as vexed as though I had thrown a “double-one” at dice.’ ‘As a matter of fact,’ said Tō no Chūjō, ‘I have not any one at present to run my messages and look after me generally; I had it in mind that, when you were a little more used to things here, I might train you to help me in that way. But I am not at all sure that such a post would suit you. I do not mean that as a lady-in-waiting in some other family you would not get on very nicely. But that would be different.... There would be a lot of other young women.... People would not notice so much.... I am afraid I am not expressing myself very happily. I only mean that a daughter or sister is bound to attract attention. People who come to the house ask “Now which of them is the daughter?” “Show me which of them is your sister!” and so on. That sort of thing sometimes makes a girl feel awkward, and it may even be rather embarrassing for the parents. Of course, in your case. He broke off.

‘How are you getting on?’ he asked as he entered the room. ‘I’m afraid it will take you some time to get used to things here. I wish I could see you more often, but, as you know, my time is not my own....’ ‘Don’t you worry about that,’ she answered, shouting at the top of her voice as usual. ‘I’m here, ain’t I? And that’s quite enough for me. I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing you at all for all these years.... But I’ll admit I was upset when I got here and found I wouldn’t be with you all the time. That’s what I’d expected. I was as upset as if I’d thrown a “double-one” at dice.’ ‘Actually,’ said Tō no Chūjō, ‘I don’t have anyone right now to run my errands and generally look after me. I thought that, once you were more used to things here, I might train you to help me that way. But I’m not at all sure such a position would suit you. I don’t mean you wouldn’t do very well as a lady-in-waiting in another family. But that would be different.... There would be lots of other young women.... People wouldn’t notice so much.... I’m afraid I’m not putting this very well. I only mean that a daughter or sister is bound to attract attention. People who come to the house ask, “Now which of them is the daughter?” “Show me which of them is your sister!” and so on. That sort of thing sometimes makes a girl feel awkward. It may even be rather embarrassing for the parents. Of course, in your case.’ He broke off.

Despite all his ingenuity he was in the end saying just what he had determined on no account to say. He was merely telling her that he was ashamed of her. But fortunately she did not take it in bad part. ‘That’s quite right,’ she said. ‘If you was to put me down among all the fine ladies and gentlemen, I shouldn’t know which way to look. I’d far rather you asked me to empty their chamberpots; I think I might be able to manage that.’ ‘What odd ideas do come into your head!’ laughed Tō no Chūjō. ‘But before we go any further, I have a small request to make: if you have any filial feeling whatever towards a father whom you see so seldom, try to moderate your voice a little when you address him. Seriously, you will take years off my life if you persist in screaming at me in this way....’ How delightful to find that even a Minister could make jokes! ‘It’s no good,’ she said. ‘I’ve always been like that. I suppose I was born so. Mother was always going on at me about it ever since I can remember, and she used to say it all came of her letting an old priest from the Myōhō Temple into her bedroom when she was lying-in. He had a terrible loud voice, and all the while he was reading prayers with her, poor mother was wondering whether, when I was born, I shouldn’t take after him. And sure enough I did. But I wish for your sake I didn’t speak so loud....’ It was evident that she was sorry to distress him, and touched by this exhibition of filial affection he said to her kindly: ‘The fault, then, is evidently not yours but your mother’s for choosing her associates among the pious at so critical a moment in her existence. For it is written: “The tongue of the blasphemer shall tremble, his voice shall be silenced,” and it seems that, conversely, the voices of the pious generally tend to become more and more resonant.’

Despite all his cleverness, he ended up saying exactly what he had resolved never to say. He was simply telling her that he was ashamed of her. Fortunately, she did not take offense. ‘That’s quite right,’ she said. ‘If you was to put me among all the fine ladies and gentlemen, I wouldn’t know where to look. I’d much rather you asked me to empty their chamberpots. I think I could manage that.’ ‘What strange ideas you get!’ laughed Tō no Chūjō. ‘But before we go any further, I have a small request. If you have any affection for a father you see so rarely, try to lower your voice when you speak to him. Seriously, you’ll take years off my life if you keep screaming at me like this....’ How delightful to discover that even a Minister could make jokes! ‘It’s no good,’ she said. ‘I’ve always been like that. I suppose I was born that way. Mother was always scolding me about it, as far back as I can remember. She used to say it was because she let an old priest from the Myōhō Temple into her bedroom while she was in labor. He had a terribly loud voice. All the while he was saying prayers with her, poor Mother wondered if I would take after him when I was born. And sure enough, I did. But I wish, for your sake, I didn’t speak so loud....’ She was clearly sorry to upset him. Touched by this show of affection for her father, he said kindly: ‘Then the fault is clearly not yours, but your mother’s. She chose to spend time with a pious person at such a critical moment in her life. For it is written: “The tongue of the blasphemer shall tremble, his voice shall be silenced,” and the opposite seems to be true of the pious. Their voices generally seem to grow louder and louder.’

He himself stood somewhat in awe of his daughter Lady Chūjō. He knew that she would wonder what had induced him to import, without further enquiries so incongruous a resident into his household. He imagined, too, the pleasantries at his expense which would be exchanged among her people and soon repeated broadcast over the whole Court. He was on the verge of abandoning the plan, when he suddenly decided that it was too late to withdraw: ‘I wish you would sometimes go out and see your sister Lady Chūjō while she is staying here,’ he said. ‘I fancy she could give you one or two useful hints. It is, after all, only by mixing in the society of those who have had greater advantages than themselves, that ordinary people can hope to make any progress. I want you to bear that in mind when you are with her....’ ‘Well that will be a treat!’ she cried delightedly. ‘I never thought in my wildest dreams that, even if you one day sent for me, you would ever make me into a great lady like my sister. The best I hoped for was that I might wheedle you into letting me carry pitchers from the well....’ The last words were spoken in a tiny, squeaky voice like that of a new-fledged sparrow, for she had suddenly remembered her father’s injunctions. The effect was very absurd; but there was no use in scolding her any more, and he said good-humouredly: ‘I see no reason why you should draw water, or hew wood either. But if I send you to Lady Chūjō, you must promise me that you have made up your mind never again to model yourself on that pious personage from the Myōhō Temple.’ She took this very seriously. ‘I’ll do my best,’ she said. ‘When may I go and see her?’ Tō no Chūjō was now an important person; indeed, he was reckoned to be the most formidable enemy to the then Minister of State. But the Lady from Ōmi appeared quite unconscious of the subduing effect which his presence had upon every one else, and for her part spoke to him with the utmost confidence and composure. ‘I will enquire which day will be the best,’ he said. ‘But come to think of it, probably one day is quite as good as another. Yes, by all means go to-day ...’ and with that he hastened from the room.

He was rather afraid of his daughter Lady Chūjō. He knew she would wonder why he had brought such an unsuitable person into his household without asking more questions. He also imagined her attendants joking at his expense, and their jokes soon spreading throughout the Court. He was about to abandon the plan, but suddenly decided it was too late to back out. ‘I wish you would visit your sister Lady Chūjō from time to time while she is staying here,’ he said. ‘I think she could give you a few useful tips. After all, ordinary people can only hope to improve by spending time with those who have had greater advantages. I want you to remember that when you are with her....’ ‘Well, that will be a treat!’ she cried with delight. ‘I never dreamed that even if you sent for me one day, you would make me a great lady like my sister. The best I hoped for was to coax you into letting me carry pitchers from the well....’ She spoke the last words in a tiny, squeaky voice, like a newly fledged sparrow. She had suddenly remembered her father’s instructions. The effect was absurd, but there was no point in scolding her any more. He said good-naturedly: ‘I see no reason why you should draw water or chop wood. But if I send you to Lady Chūjō, you must promise me something. You must make up your mind never to model yourself on that pious person from the Myōhō Temple again.’ She took this very seriously. ‘I’ll do my best,’ she said. ‘When may I go and see her?’ Tō no Chūjō was now an important man. In fact, he was regarded as the most formidable enemy of the current Minister of State. But the Lady from Ōmi seemed unaware of how intimidated everyone else was by his presence. She spoke to him with complete confidence and composure. ‘I will ask which day would be best,’ he said. ‘But come to think of it, one day is probably as good as another. Yes, by all means go today ...’ With that, he hurried from the room.

She gazed after him. He was attended by officers of the fourth and fifth ranks, who made a brave show as they escorted him towards the main building. But why were they all nudging one another and laughing? ‘Well,’ she said at last, ‘I have got a fine gentleman for my papa, and no mistake. It does seem queer to think what a funny little house I was brought up in, when by rights I ought to have been in this palace all the while.’ ‘If you ask my opinion,’ said her friend the dancer, ‘I think he is far too grand for you. You’d be a great deal better off if you had been claimed by some decent hard-working sort of man, who wouldn’t be ashamed of you....’ This was too bad! ‘There you go again,’ the Lady from Ōmi cried, ‘trying to put a body down whenever she opens her mouth. But you shan’t do it any more, indeed you shan’t; for they’ve made me into a lady now, and you’ll have to wait till I choose to let you speak. So there!’

She watched him leave. Officers of the fourth and fifth ranks escorted him toward the main building, making an impressive sight. But why were they all nudging one another and laughing? ‘Well,’ she finally said, ‘I certainly have a fine gentleman for a father. It’s strange to think what a funny little house I grew up in. I should have been in this palace all along.’ ‘If you ask me,’ said her friend the dancer, ‘I think he’s much too grand for you. You’d be much better off if some decent, hardworking man had claimed you, someone who wouldn’t be ashamed of you....’ This was too much! ‘There you go again,’ cried the Lady from Ōmi, ‘putting me down whenever I open my mouth. But you won’t do it anymore, you really won’t. They’ve made me a lady now, and you’ll have to wait until I let you speak. So there!’

Her face was flushed with anger. Seen thus, showing off in the presence of one whom she now regarded as an inferior, she became suddenly handsome and almost dignified. Only her manner of speech, picked up from the absolute riff-raff among whom she had been educated, remained irredeemably vulgar.

Her face was flushed with anger. As she showed off before someone she now thought beneath her, she suddenly looked handsome and almost dignified. Only her speech remained hopelessly vulgar, picked up from the utter riff-raff among whom she had been educated.

It is indeed a strange thing that a perfectly ordinary remark, if made in a quiet, colourless voice, may seem original and interesting; for instance, in conversations about poetry, some quite commonplace piece of criticism will be accepted as very profound merely because it is made in a particular tone of voice. Or again, half a verse from the middle of some little-known poem can make, if produced in the right tone of voice, a deep impression even among people who have no notion what the words imply. Whereas if some one speaks in a disagreeable voice or uses vulgar language, no matter how important or profound are the thoughts which he expresses, nobody will believe that it can possibly be worth while to pay any attention to him. So it was with the Lady from Ōmi. She had a loud rasping voice and in general behaved with no more regard for the impression she was making on those around her than a child screaming in its nurse’s lap. She thus seemed far sillier than she really was. Indeed, her facility in stringing together poems of thirty-one syllables, of the kind in which the beginning of any one poem might just as well be the end of any other, was quite prodigious.

It is strange that a perfectly ordinary remark can seem original and interesting when spoken in a quiet, expressionless voice. In conversations about poetry, for example, a commonplace observation may be taken as profound just because of the speaker’s tone. Likewise, half a verse from the middle of an obscure poem can make a deep impression if spoken in the right tone. It can impress even people who have no idea what the words mean. But if someone has an unpleasant voice or uses vulgar language, no one will believe he is worth listening to. This is true no matter how important or profound his thoughts may be. So it was with the Lady from Ōmi. She had a loud, rasping voice. She generally cared no more about the impression she made than a child screaming in its nurse’s lap. As a result, she seemed far sillier than she really was. Indeed, she had an astonishing ability to string together thirty-one-syllable poems. They were the kind whose beginnings could just as easily have been the endings of any of the others.

‘But I must be getting ready,’ she now exclaimed. ‘My father told me I was to call on Lady Chūjō, and if I don’t go at once, her ladyship will think I don’t want to meet her. Do you know what? I think I’ll go this very night, for though I can see that my papa thinks the world of me, I shall never get on in this palace unless the ladies are on my side....’ Which again shows that she had more good sense than one would have supposed.

‘But I must get ready,’ she exclaimed. ‘My father told me to visit Lady Chūjō. If I don’t go right away, she’ll think I don’t want to meet her. Do you know what? I think I’ll go tonight. I can see that Papa thinks the world of me, but I’ll never get on in this palace unless the ladies are on my side....’ Once again, she showed more good sense than one might have expected.

She now sat down at once and addressed the following letter to Lady Chūjō: ‘Honoured Madam, though we have been living these many days past with (as the saying goes) scarce so much as a hurdle between us, I have not hitherto, as they say, ventured to tread upon your shadow, for to tell the honest truth I was in two minds whether I should not find “No Admittance” in large letters on your door. But though I hardly like to mention it, we are (in the words of the poet) both “tinged with the purple of Musashi Moor.” If I am being too bold, pray tell me so and do not take offence.’ All this was written in a rather speckly hand. On the back was the postcript: ‘By the way, I have some thoughts of inflicting myself upon you this very same evening. And please forgive these blots, which (as the saying goes) all the waters of Minasé River would not wash away, so what is the use of trying?’ In the margin was the following extraordinary poem: ‘I wonder with as big a query as How Cape on the Sea of Hitachi where the grasses are so young and green, when oh when, like the waves on the shore of Tago, shall we meet face to face?’

She sat down at once and wrote the following letter to Lady Chūjō: ‘Dear Madam, we have lived for many days with, as the saying goes, scarcely a hurdle between us. Yet, as they say, I have not dared to tread on your shadow. To tell the truth, I was unsure whether I might find “No Admittance” written in large letters on your door. But though I hardly like to mention it, we are both, in the poet’s words, “tinged with the purple of Musashi Moor.” If I am being too bold, please tell me, and do not take offence.’ The letter was written in rather blotchy handwriting. On the back was a postscript: ‘By the way, I am thinking of inflicting myself on you this very evening. Please forgive these blots. As the saying goes, all the waters of Minasé River could not wash them away, so why try?’ In the margin was this extraordinary poem: ‘My question is as big as How Cape on the Sea of Hitachi, where the grasses are so young and green. When, oh when, shall we meet face to face, like the waves on the shore of Tago?’

‘I’ll write no more,’ she added at the side of the poem, ‘for I declare I feel as flustered as the foam on the great River at Yoshino....’

‘I’ll write no more,’ she added beside the poem, ‘because I feel as flustered as the foam on the great River at Yoshino....’

It was written on a single sheet of blue poetry-paper, in a very cursive style, copiously adorned with hooks and flourishes which seemed to wander about at their own will and stand for nothing at all. The tails of her ‘shi’s were protracted to an inordinate length, and the lines slanted more and more as the letter went on, till in the end they seemed in danger of falling over sideways. But so delighted was she with her own composition that she could hardly bear to part with it. At last, however, she gave it a final look of admiration, folded it up very small and attaching it to a carnation-blossom, handed it to her favourite messenger, a little peasant-boy who did the dirty work in her part of the palace. He was a good-looking child, and though he had only been in service for a very short while, he had made himself quite at home. Sauntering into Lady Chūjō’s apartments, he found his way to the servants’ sitting-room and demanded that the note should at once be taken to her Ladyship. For a moment they surveyed him with astonishment, but presently one of the under-servants exclaimed: ‘Why, it’s the little boy from the northern wing!’, and took the letter, which ultimately reached the hands of a certain gentlewoman named Tayū no Kimi. This lady actually carried it into Lady Chūjō’s presence, unfolded it at her bidding and then held it in front of her. The great lady glanced at it, smiled, and indicated that it might now be removed. It happened that a certain Lady Chūnagon was at the moment in attendance. She caught a side view of the letter where it lay, and hoping to be allowed to read it properly, she remarked: ‘At a distance, Madam, that looks an uncommonly fashionable note.’ Lady Chūjō motioned her to take the letter: ‘I cannot make head or tail of it,’ she said; ‘you will be doing me a service if you can tell me what it is about. Perhaps I am being stupid over these cursive characters....’ And a few minutes later: ‘How are you getting on? If my answer has no connection with the contents of her letter, she will think me very discourteous. I wish you would write an answer for me, I am sure you would do it very nicely....’ The young ladies-in-waiting, though they dared not openly show their amusement, were now all tittering behind their sleeves. Some one came to say that the boy was still waiting for an answer. ‘But the letter is just one mass of stock phrases that none of them seem to have anything to do with what she is trying to say,’ exclaimed Chūnagon in despair. ‘How can I possibly answer it? Besides, I must make it seem to come from you, Madam, not from a third person, or the poor creature’s feelings will be terribly hurt.’

The letter was written on a single sheet of blue poetry paper, in a very flowing script. It was covered with hooks and flourishes that seemed to wander wherever they pleased and mean nothing at all. The tails of her ‘shi’s were absurdly long. The lines slanted more and more as the letter went on, until they seemed in danger of falling over sideways. But she was so pleased with what she had written that she could hardly bear to part with it. At last, she gave it one final, admiring look and folded it up very small. She attached it to a carnation blossom and handed it to her favorite messenger. He was a little peasant boy who did the dirty work in her part of the palace. He was a good-looking child, and though he had only recently entered service, he had made himself quite at home. He sauntered into Lady Chūjō’s apartments, found the servants’ sitting room, and demanded that the note be taken to her at once. For a moment, they stared at him in amazement. Then one of the junior servants exclaimed, ‘Why, it’s the little boy from the northern wing!’ She took the letter, which eventually reached a gentlewoman named Tayū no Kimi. Tayū no Kimi actually carried it in to Lady Chūjō, unfolded it at her request, and held it in front of her. The great lady glanced at it, smiled, and signaled for it to be taken away. Lady Chūnagon happened to be attending her at the time. She caught a sideways glimpse of the letter where it lay. Hoping to be allowed to read it properly, she remarked, ‘From a distance, Madam, that looks like an unusually fashionable note.’ Lady Chūjō motioned for her to take it. ‘I can’t make sense of it,’ she said. ‘You would be doing me a service if you could tell me what it’s about. Perhaps I’m being stupid about these cursive characters....’ A few minutes later she asked, ‘How are you getting on? If my answer has nothing to do with her letter, she’ll think me very rude. I wish you would write an answer for me. I’m sure you would do it very nicely....’ The young ladies-in-waiting did not dare show their amusement openly, but they were all giggling behind their sleeves. Someone came to say that the boy was still waiting for an answer. ‘But the letter is nothing but a mass of stock phrases!’ Chūnagon exclaimed in despair. ‘None of them seem to have anything to do with what she’s trying to say. How can I possibly answer it? Besides, I must make it seem to come from you, Madam, not from someone else. Otherwise, the poor creature’s feelings will be terribly hurt.’

‘It vexes me,’ wrote Chūnagon in her mistress’s name, ‘to think that we should have been at close quarters for so long without arranging to meet. By all means come.... And at the side she wrote the poem: ‘Upon the shore of Suma, that is on the sea of Suruga in the land of Hitachi, mount, O ye waves, to where the Headland of Hako with pine-woods is clad.’⁵¹⁷

‘It troubles me,’ wrote Chūnagon in her mistress’s name, ‘that we have been so close for so long without arranging to meet. Please do come.... And at the side she wrote the poem: ‘On the shore of Suma, on the sea of Suruga in the land of Hitachi, rise, waves, to the pine-covered Headland of Hako.’⁵¹⁷

‘I think you have gone too far,' said Lady Chūjō when she saw the letter. ‘I certainly hope she will not think it was I who wrote this ridiculous nonsense....’ 'I assure you, Madam,’ replied Chūnagon, ‘there is more sense in it than you think; quite enough at any rate to satisfy the person to whom it is addressed.’ And with that she folded the note and sent it on its way. How quickly these great ladies take one’s meaning!’ exclaimed Ōmi, as she scanned the reply. ‘Look, too, how subtly she expresses herself! Merely by mentioning those pine-trees she lets me know, as plain as could be, that she is waiting for me at this minute....’ There was no time to be lost. She scented herself by repeated exposure to the fumes of an incense which seemed to contain far too generous an admixture of honey, daubed her cheeks with a heavy rouge, and finally combed out her hair, which being, as I have said, unusually fine and abundant, really looked very nice when she took sufficient trouble about it.

‘I think you have gone too far,’ said Lady Chūjō when she saw the letter. ‘I certainly hope she won’t think I wrote this ridiculous nonsense....’ ‘I assure you, Madam,’ replied Chūnagon, ‘there is more sense in it than you think. There is certainly enough to satisfy the person it is addressed to.’ With that, she folded the note and sent it on its way. ‘How quickly these great ladies understand what one means!’ exclaimed Ōmi as she read the reply. ‘Look, too, how subtly she expresses herself! Just by mentioning those pine trees, she makes it perfectly clear that she is waiting for me right now....’ There was no time to lose. She repeatedly held herself over the fumes of an incense that seemed to contain far too much honey. She smeared heavy rouge on her cheeks and finally combed out her hair. As I have said, it was unusually fine and abundant. It really looked very nice when she took enough trouble with it.

The subsequent interview can hardly have been otherwise than extremely diverting.

The interview that followed must have been extremely entertaining.