Blue Trousers

Though both Genji and Tō no Chūjō strongly urged her to accept the post of Lady-of-the-Bedchamber, Tamakatsura still hesitated. The position did not necessarily imply that she would have personal contact with the Emperor or be in any way under his protection. But since so many people (even her supposed ‘father’) seemed to find her interesting, she now assumed, without any very good reason for doing so, that the Emperor too would doubtless become attached to her, and she foresaw endless conflicts of the most disagreeable kind with both Akikonomu and Lady Chūjō, not to mention other minor favourites. Her own rapid rise to fame and the deference with which she, a mere foundling from the hedgeside, was treated by both the Chief Ministers, had inevitably aroused hostility in many quarters; among her female acquaintances there were many (she was sure) who regarded her as a pampered upstart, and would with the greatest pleasure in the world have seen her placed in a painful and undignified position. She was old enough to be fully aware of the disadvantages and dangers of every course which lay open to her, and though she concealed her troubles from those about her, she was during all this time in a condition of great depression and perplexity.

Although Genji and Tō no Chūjō both strongly urged her to become Lady-of-the-Bedchamber, Tamakatsura still hesitated. The position did not necessarily mean she would have personal contact with the Emperor or be under his protection. But so many people found her interesting, even her supposed ‘father’. So she now assumed, without much reason, that the Emperor would surely become attached to her too. She foresaw endless, deeply unpleasant conflicts with both Akikonomu and Lady Chūjō, as well as other minor favourites. Her rapid rise to fame had inevitably stirred hostility in many quarters. So had the respect shown to her by both Chief Ministers, though she was a mere foundling from the roadside. She was sure many of her female acquaintances saw her as a pampered upstart. They would have been delighted to see her in a painful and humiliating position. She was old enough to understand fully the disadvantages and dangers of every path open to her. Though she hid her troubles from those around her, she remained deeply depressed and confused throughout this time.

Many people would not have regarded her present situation as anything to be complained of. Genji’s behaviour towards her was still beyond reproach, and in many respects her life at the New Palace was obviously a very enviable one. But she felt that their relation was equivocal, the subject for months past of many jests and speculations. She was occupying a position which was in its essence utterly distasteful to her, and longed to clear herself finally of the suspicions which were bound to hang over her as long as she stayed under this roof.

Many people would have seen nothing to complain about in her situation. Genji’s behavior toward her was still beyond reproach. In many ways, her life at the New Palace was clearly enviable. But she felt their relationship was ambiguous. For months, people had joked and speculated about it. The position she occupied was deeply distasteful to her. She longed to clear herself once and for all of the suspicions that would follow her as long as she stayed there.

Tō no Chūjō, anxious to remain on good terms with Genji, and certain that, whatever might be his friend’s professions, he could not really wish to part with the girl, made no effort to remove her from her present quarters or in any way assert his parental authority.

Tō no Chūjō was anxious to stay on good terms with Genji. He was sure that, whatever Genji said, he could not really want to part with the girl. So he made no effort to take her from where she was staying or assert his authority as her father.

The extraordinary position which she occupied, thus hung as it were precariously between two rival parents, naturally caused her name and story to become more than ever notorious in the City; and to make matters worse, just at the moment when all eyes were turned upon her, Genji began once more, as the summer drew on, to be far less discreet in his behaviour; as though, having heroically discharged his duty by informing her father of her whereabouts, he were exempt from any further obligation to play a sober and paternal part. How she longed at this time for some female confidant, mother or sister, with whom she could discuss even some small part of the difficulties which now beset her! Unfortunately, her most frequent visitors during all these months were Genji and Tō no Chūjō, precisely the two persons in whom it was least possible that she should confide.

Her unusual position, caught precariously between two rival parents, naturally made her name and story even more notorious in the City. To make matters worse, just as all eyes were on her, Genji grew much less discreet as summer approached. It was as if his heroic duty was done once he told her father where she was. He seemed to feel he no longer had to play the serious, fatherly part. How she longed for a woman to confide in, a mother or sister! She wished she could discuss even a small part of her troubles with her. Unfortunately, her most frequent visitors during those months were Genji and Tō no Chūjō. They were the very two people she could least confide in.

Tamakatsura’s mourning⁵⁴⁴ was now over; but until the end of the month,⁵⁴⁵ there could be no question of her formal affiancement. The Emperor was impatient to get the matter settled, and her various lovers pressed their claims more vehemently than ever upon those whom they imagined to be responsible for her decision. But in whatever quarter they applied, the answer was the same: nothing could be done until the tenth month had begun.

Tamakatsura’s mourning⁵⁴⁴ was now over. But there could be no formal engagement until the end of the month.⁵⁴⁵ The Emperor was impatient to settle the matter. Her various lovers pressed their claims more strongly than ever with those they believed responsible for her decision. But wherever they turned, the answer was the same: nothing could be done until the tenth month had begun.

Her new brothers⁵⁴⁶ received no encouragement to visit her. But it would be their business to look after her affairs should she take service at Court, and they were anxious to discuss with her several matters in connection with this. Kashiwagi had been much attracted by Genji’s daughter. The rapidity with which he had adjusted himself to the new situation caused a good deal of amusement. This embarrassed him, and it was only at his father’s request that he visited the New Palace. Outwardly, there was no change in the manner of his reception. When he first arrived, announcing that he had a message to deliver, he was left waiting in the garden, and as he had been instructed to perform his commission secretly, he was obliged to hide in the shadow of a laurel-tree, for a bright moon was shining. Having protested that his message was of a very private nature, he was at last allowed to address Tamakatsura through the curtains of the southern window. But in her nervousness she did not feel capable of speaking to him herself, and her replies were made through her maid Saishō. ‘When my father chose me to deliver this message, I am sure he took for granted that you would do me the honour of replying to it with your own lips. The matter will require a certain amount of further discussion, and I fear we shall find this roundabout method very inconvenient. Even though you do not consider me worth putting yourself out for in the usual way, you must remember that we are now recognized to be children of the same father. I may be old-fashioned, but I came here hoping that a brother counted with you for a good deal....’

Her new brothers⁵⁴⁶ were given no encouragement to visit her. But if she entered service at Court, they would be responsible for managing her affairs. They were anxious to discuss several related matters with her. Kashiwagi had been strongly attracted to Genji’s daughter. His quick adjustment to the new situation amused many people. This embarrassed him, and he visited the New Palace only because his father asked him to. Outwardly, there was no change in the way he was received. When he arrived and announced that he had a message, he was left waiting in the garden. He had been told to deliver it secretly, so he had to hide in the shadow of a laurel tree. The moon was shining brightly. After he insisted that his message was very private, he was finally allowed to speak to Tamakatsura through the curtains of the southern window. But she was too nervous to speak to him herself, so her maid Saishō replied for her. ‘When my father chose me to deliver this message, I am sure he expected you to honor me with a reply in person. The matter will need further discussion, and I fear this indirect way of speaking will be very inconvenient. You may not think me worth the usual effort, but remember that we are now recognized as children of the same father. I may be old-fashioned, but I came here hoping that a brother meant a great deal to you....’

She felt that she must make some concrete excuse, and said to her maid: ‘Tell him that I should very much like to thank him for all his kindness to me during the last year or so; but unfortunately I am feeling very unwell and cannot leave my couch. I should not feel justified in treating him with such informality but for the family tie which now unites us.’ This, repeated to him by the maid Saishō, sounded very stiff and unaccommodating. ‘If your mistress is unwell,’ he said, ‘would it not be better if I came and stood at her bedside? The matter is an important one, and I do not at present feel as though I were getting into touch with her at all. But I will not insist ...’ and he began in a low voice to read out his father’s message. Kashiwagi was as well turned-out as any prince at Court, and the maid by no means regretted her mistress’s obduracy. ‘I have heard nothing more from you’ (the message ran) ‘about our Palace project. It is high time that a decision were reached, and I should like to have another talk with you. But I think that, for obvious reasons, it is better for me to keep away at present. There can, however, be no objection to your sending me an occasional note, and your complete silence is somewhat perplexing.’ ‘Tell your mistress,’ Kashiwagi added on his own account, ‘that however distasteful to her my conversation may in the past have been, it cannot in our altered circumstances be of a nature to cause her the slightest offence. I am still at a loss to know why my previous advances, made in ignorance of our true relation, were so coldly and unfeelingly rejected. Still less do I understand why now, when I can no longer be suspected of coming as a lover, she should insist upon putting the whole breadth of her apartments between us. Never again shall I consent to be treated in this way. Polite society, please point out to her, will have to change a great deal before such discourtesy is tolerated....’

She felt she had to give him a definite excuse, so she said to her maid: ‘Tell him I would very much like to thank him for all his kindness over the past year or so. But unfortunately, I feel very unwell and cannot leave my couch. I would not treat him so informally if we were not now related by family.’ When the maid Saishō repeated this to him, it sounded very stiff and unwelcoming. ‘If your mistress is unwell,’ he said, ‘would it not be better if I came and stood by her bedside? The matter is important, and right now I do not feel I am getting through to her at all. But I will not insist ...’ Then he began to read his father’s message in a low voice. Kashiwagi was as well dressed as any prince at Court, and the maid was not at all sorry that her mistress had refused to see him. ‘I have heard nothing more from you,’ the message said, ‘about our Palace project. It is high time a decision was made, and I would like to talk with you again. But I think, for obvious reasons, that I had better stay away for now. There can be no objection, though, to your sending me an occasional note. Your complete silence is rather puzzling.’ ‘Tell your mistress,’ Kashiwagi added on his own behalf, ‘that however unpleasant she may have found my conversation in the past, it cannot offend her in the slightest now that our circumstances have changed. I still cannot understand why she rejected my earlier advances so coldly and without feeling. I made them without knowing how we were truly related. I understand even less why she insists on keeping the whole width of her rooms between us now. I can no longer be suspected of coming as a lover. I will never again agree to be treated this way. Please point out to her that polite society will have to change a great deal before such rudeness is tolerated....’

How was she to pacify him? ‘The change in our relationship is not generally known,’ she said in her reply; ‘moreover, I do not think that having left me to rusticate for so many years amid the savagery of Tsukushi, your family ought to expect of me the last refinements of urban demeanour.’ So she rallied him, and with complete success.

How could she calm him? ‘The change in our relationship is not widely known,’ she replied. ‘Besides, your family left me for so many years in the wilds of Tsukushi. I don’t think they should expect me to have the most polished city manners.’ Her teasing won him over completely.

‘Forgive me for intruding,’ said the maid, ‘but I think Madam’s difficulty to-day has been that she did not know whether you came as a suitor or a brother. She is extremely sensitive to what is thought of her by the world at large; that, I am sure, is the only reason she did not come and converse with you at close quarters. But such behaviour is quite unlike her, and you will find that next time you come....’ ‘No, thank you,’ he cried; ‘I fancy I might have to come a great many times and sit here a very long while before your mistress would own that my service had redeemed me from her ban.’ So saying, he left the house.

‘Forgive me for interrupting,’ said the maid, ‘but I think Madam’s difficulty today was that she did not know whether you came as a suitor or a brother. She is extremely sensitive to what people think of her. I am sure that is the only reason she did not come and speak with you more closely. But such behavior is unlike her, and you will find that next time you come....’ ‘No, thank you,’ he cried. ‘I think I might have to visit many times and sit here a very long while before your mistress would admit that my service had earned me freedom from her ban.’ With that, he left the house.

Prince Higekuro served in the same Guard Regiment as Yūgiri, and was continually seeking him out in order to have long and emotional conversations about Tamakatsura. He always hoped that Yūgiri would plead his cause with Genji. A more suitable husband for her than himself could not, Higekuro felt sure, possibly be imagined. He was amiable, good-looking, qualified by rank and birth to secure for her at Court a far higher place than that to which she had any right to aspire. What more could Genji want? But, as Yūgiri pointed out, the main difficulty was that, as things now stood, she was in a few months’ time to take service in the Palace; this was Genji’s idea, and Tō no Chūjō, convinced that it was part of some subtle plan, did not think it wise to interfere.

Prince Higekuro served in the same Guard Regiment as Yūgiri. He constantly sought him out for long, emotional conversations about Tamakatsura. He always hoped Yūgiri would speak to Genji on his behalf. Higekuro was sure no more suitable husband for her could possibly be found. He was friendly and handsome. His rank and birth would secure her a much higher position at Court than she had any right to expect. What more could Genji want? But Yūgiri pointed out the main difficulty. As things stood, Tamakatsura was to enter service at the Palace in a few months. This was Genji’s idea, and Tō no Chūjō was convinced it was part of some subtle plan. He therefore thought it unwise to interfere.

Prince Higekuro was the elder brother of the ex-Emperor Suzaku’s Consort, Lady Jōkyōden. With the exception of Genji and Tō no Chūjō, he was by far the most influential man in the country. He was now about thirty-two or three. His wife, an elder sister of Murasaki, was four years his senior. In many cases such a disparity of age would not much have mattered; but Lady Makibashira⁵⁴⁷ seemed far older than her actual years. He nicknamed her ‘granny,’ and in this there was something more than a jest, for soon her old-maidish ways began to annoy him, and they had not been together many months before he was wondering how long he should be able to go on enduring her society.

Prince Higekuro was the older brother of Lady Jōkyōden, a consort of the former Emperor Suzaku. Apart from Genji and Tō no Chūjō, he was by far the most influential man in the country. He was about thirty-two or thirty-three. His wife, an older sister of Murasaki, was four years older than he was. In many cases, such an age difference would not have mattered much. But Lady Makibashira⁵⁴⁷ seemed much older than she was. He called her ‘granny,’ and it was more than a joke. Soon her old-maidish ways began to annoy him. Within a few months, he was wondering how long he could bear her company.

It was the existence of this unfortunate entanglement that had discouraged Genji from furthering Prince Higekuro’s suit. The Prince had not, indeed, by any means the reputation of leading a disorderly or even frivolous existence. True, he was seldom at home; but apart from his courtship of Tamakatsura herself, his time seemed to be devoted entirely to practical affairs. Having heard that Tō no Chūjō thought well of him and also that the lady herself was by no means anxious for a career at the Palace, Higekuro, who had almost lost hope, again plucked up heart. Genji, he admitted to himself, was evidently against him. But every one knew why Genji was so reluctant to part with her.

This unfortunate entanglement had discouraged Genji from supporting Prince Higekuro’s suit. The Prince certainly had no reputation for living a disorderly or even frivolous life. He was seldom at home, but apart from courting Tamakatsura, he seemed to devote all his time to practical affairs. Higekuro had almost lost hope. But then he heard that Tō no Chūjō thought well of him. He also heard that Tamakatsura herself was not at all eager for a career at the Palace. So he took heart again. He admitted to himself that Genji was clearly against him. But everyone knew why Genji was so reluctant to part with her.

One morning in the ninth month, when the whole world lay glittering in the first frost of the year, messenger after messenger began to arrive with the usual fancifully decked and folded love-letters. Tamakatsura refused even to look at them, and only reluctantly consented to hear them read aloud.

One morning in the ninth month, the whole world glittered with the year’s first frost. Messenger after messenger arrived with love letters, decorated and folded in the usual elaborate way. Tamakatsura refused even to look at them and only reluctantly agreed to have them read aloud.

From Higekuro came a note in which he said: ‘The changing skies tell me that the time of my respite⁵⁴⁸ is almost spent. “Lived I in hope, so were this Month of Fasting my despair; but being what I am, I hang my life upon the weak thread of its dwindling days.”’ He seemed to assume that a decision had been reached and would irretrievably take effect at the beginning of the next month. She herself knew nothing of this.

Higekuro sent a note: ‘The changing skies tell me that my time of respite⁵⁴⁸ is almost over. “If I lived in hope, this Month of Fasting would fill me with despair. But as things are, my life hangs by the weak thread of its dwindling days.”’ He seemed to assume that a decision had been made. He also seemed to believe it would take effect irrevocably at the beginning of the next month. She herself knew nothing of this.

Another suitor. Prince Sochi, was equally despondent: ‘Why am I writing?’ he said in his letter. ‘I have lost you, and there is no more to be said. But “Though you be standing in the radiance of the Morning Sun, perchance one drop of dew may linger of those your sleeve once gathered in shadowy garden walks.” Did I but think you knew how much it costs me to lose you, I should derive some trifling comfort....’ The note containing this poem was attached to an ice-cold spray of bamboo, plucked from near the ground and carried with such care that it was still thickly covered with hoar-frost. The messenger was on this, as upon every occasion, a person whose quality matched the elegance of the letter.

Another suitor, Prince Sochi, was equally heartbroken. ‘Why am I writing?’ he asked in his letter. ‘I have lost you, and there is nothing more to say. But “Though you stand in the radiance of the Morning Sun, perhaps one drop of dew remains from those your sleeve once gathered on walks through the shadowy garden.” If only I thought you knew how much losing you hurts me, I would find some small comfort....’ The note containing this poem was attached to an ice-cold sprig of bamboo, plucked from near the ground. It had been carried so carefully that it was still thickly covered with frost. As always, the messenger was a person of a standing that matched the letter’s elegance.

Yet another suitor, whose communications were of the most pressing nature, was Prince Hyōbukyō’s son, Sahyōye. Being Murasaki’s brother, he was constantly at her apartments, and his present despondency seemed to prove that, according to the information to be gathered in that quarter, Lady Tamakatsura’s fate was already decided. His messenger now brought a letter in which Sahyōye said: ‘Even though I should at last forget you, how oh how shall I learn to support the dreariness of a life into which no thought of you may find its way?...’ And so on.

Another suitor, Prince Hyōbukyō’s son Sahyōye, sent especially urgent messages. As Murasaki’s brother, he was constantly in her apartments. His despair now seemed to show that, according to what he had learned there, Lady Tamakatsura’s fate was already decided. His messenger now brought a letter in which Sahyōye wrote: ‘Even if I finally forget you, how, oh how, will I bear the dreariness of a life without a single thought of you?...’ And so on.

These letters were a source of great interest and pleasure to Tamakatsura’s gentlewomen, who discussed with unfailing relish the colour of the paper, the style of penmanship, the various kinds of scent with which the letter was perfumed, and many kindred questions. ‘I hope Madam will not make up her mind for a long while to come,’ said one of them. ‘We shall be bored to death when this is all over.’

The letters gave Tamakatsura’s ladies-in-waiting great pleasure and plenty to talk about. They never tired of discussing the color of the paper, the handwriting, the scents used to perfume the letters, and many similar details. ‘I hope Madam won’t make up her mind for a long time,’ said one of them. ‘We’ll be bored to death when this is all over.’

Her reply to Prince Sochi was short and vague, but not altogether discouraging; for in her poem she said: ‘The sunflower, that seems so willingly of its own nature to turn towards the Light of Day, would fain enough (who knows?) have kept the bright frost glittering on its leaves.’ This could be interpreted in several ways; but Prince Sochi was very agreeably surprised by even so faint a flicker of regret. That in entering the Palace she was acting against her own will and judgment he did not at all believe, and he could only regard her reply as a sign of well-bred gratitude for his patient courtship; yet it gave him a considerable degree of pleasure.

Her reply to Prince Sochi was short and vague, but not entirely discouraging. In her poem she wrote: ‘The sunflower seems naturally eager to turn toward the light of day. Yet who knows? It might have gladly kept the bright frost glittering on its leaves.’ The poem could be understood in several ways. But even this faint hint of regret pleasantly surprised Prince Sochi. He did not believe at all that she was entering the Palace against her own wishes and judgment. He could only see her reply as a gracious expression of gratitude for his patient courtship. Yet it gave him considerable pleasure.

In the course of the morning love-lorn communications arrived from a number of less distinguished suitors. For most of them she had no special feeling one way or the other, and dealt with each of these protestations as her guardians informed her that the position of the writer required. She showed indeed throughout the whole business (as both Genji and Tō no Chūjō were forced to admit) a good sense and docility that other members of her sex might have done well to imitate.

During the morning, love letters arrived from several less distinguished suitors. She had no particular feelings for most of them. She responded to each declaration as her guardians advised, according to the writer’s social standing. Throughout the affair, she showed good sense and a willingness to obey. Both Genji and Tō no Chūjō had to admit this. Other women might have done well to follow her example.