Wakana (‘Young Shoots’) Part 1

FOR years past the ex-Emperor Suzaku had been ailing, though it was hard to say exactly what was wrong with him. Soon after his visit to Genji’s palace he became much worse, and began preparing himself for admission to the priesthood. He would indeed long ago have entered a monastery, had not his mother Lady Kōkiden, masterful as ever in her extreme old age, obstinately opposed such a step. But now she was dead, and the only remaining difficulty was the question of his family.

For years, the former Emperor Suzaku had been ill, though it was hard to say exactly what was wrong. Soon after visiting Genji’s palace, he grew much worse and began preparing to become a priest. He would have entered a monastery long ago, but his mother, Lady Kōkiden, had stubbornly opposed it. Even in extreme old age, she had been as domineering as ever. Now she was dead, and his family was the only remaining obstacle.

Oborozuki remained childless; but Lady Jōkyōden had borne him four children: one boy (the present Heir Apparent) and three girls. But he had another daughter, born to him by a certain Princess Wistaria, a younger sister of Lady Fujitsubo. Suzaku was extremely fond of this princess, and their daughter, Princess Nyosan, was undoubtedly his favourite child. But under the influence of Kōkiden, who had subsequently thrust Oborozuki upon him, he kept Nyosan’s mother very much in the background. After his abdication her life became more than ever dull and purposeless. In a short while she pined away and died.

Oborozuki had no children, but Lady Jōkyōden had given him four: one boy (the current Heir Apparent) and three girls. But he had another daughter with Princess Wistaria, a younger sister of Lady Fujitsubo. Suzaku was extremely fond of Princess Wistaria, and their daughter, Princess Nyosan, was undoubtedly his favorite child. But Kōkiden later pushed Oborozuki on him, and under her influence he kept Nyosan’s mother in the background. After he abdicated, Princess Wistaria’s life became even duller and more purposeless. Before long, she pined away and died.

Nyosan was, at the point we have reached in our story, about thirteen years old. Already the retreat that Suzaku had built for himself on the Western Hills was nearing completion; soon he would be immured for ever, and his one anxiety was to get this child started in life before he disappeared. The first consideration was her Initiation, which could not any longer be delayed. When Suzaku gave his children toys, it was always Nyosan who had the first choice, the others never getting the smallest trinket unless she had first refused it. You may imagine then with what care he now ransacked his treasury for rare and costly objects that might add splendour to the coming celebration.

At this point in our story, Nyosan was about thirteen years old. The retreat Suzaku had built for himself in the Western Hills was already nearing completion. Soon he would be shut away there forever. His only worry was to get Nyosan started in life before he disappeared. First, her Initiation could no longer be delayed. Whenever Suzaku gave his children toys, Nyosan always had first choice. The others never received even the smallest trinket unless she had refused it first. You can imagine, then, how carefully he searched his treasury for rare and costly objects to make the coming celebration splendid.

Hearing that Suzaku was on the point of departure from the City, his son the Heir Apparent, accompanied by Lady Jōkyōden, came to pay him a farewell visit. Suzaku had never cared much for this Lady Jōkyōden, who had indeed been imposed upon him solely out of political considerations; but as mother of the future sovereign she was a person of great consequence at Court, and there were now many matters that he was glad to talk over with her. Having discussed his son’s future, about which he felt no forebodings, he said to his visitors: ‘It is the girls that I am worried about. I cannot imagine what will become of them. I have so often seen this sort of thing happen before. It is torture to foresee in every detail how they will be taken advantage of and insulted. When I say “they,” of course all this does not really apply to your children, you will no doubt see to it that they get properly settled. It is about Nyosan that I am chiefly troubled. I wish you would undertake to look after her....’ But this was asking a good deal. Nyosan’s mother, for whom the Emperor cared far more than for Jōkyōden, had behaved very disagreeably to her when their rivalry was at its height, and though Jōkyōden had no intention of avenging herself upon a defenceless orphan, she saw no reason why she of all people should be expected to assume responsibility in the matter.

When he heard that Suzaku was about to leave the City, his son the Heir Apparent came to say goodbye. Lady Jōkyōden accompanied him. Suzaku had never cared much for her. She had been imposed on him solely for political reasons. But as the mother of the future sovereign, she was a very important person at Court. There were now many things he was glad to discuss with her. After discussing his son’s future, about which he had no fears, he said to his visitors: ‘It is the girls I worry about. I cannot imagine what will become of them. I have seen this sort of thing happen so often before. It is torture to know exactly how they will be taken advantage of and insulted. When I say “they,” of course, none of this really applies to your children. You will no doubt see that they are properly settled. It is Nyosan I am most worried about. I wish you would take responsibility for looking after her....’ But this was a great deal to ask. The Emperor cared far more for Nyosan’s mother than for Jōkyōden. At the height of their rivalry, Nyosan’s mother had treated Jōkyōden very badly. Jōkyōden had no intention of taking revenge on a defenceless orphan. But she saw no reason why she, of all people, should be expected to take responsibility for Nyosan.

Day and night Suzaku brooded over the future of this favourite child. Meanwhile his weakness steadily increased and by the end of the year he was no longer able to leave his bed. To visitor after visitor he poured out the same tale of perplexity, and received much sympathy, though nothing in the way of practical suggestions. Genji sent frequently to enquire and even promised to come in person, but ultimately sent his son Yūgiri instead. ‘I am afraid your father has a grudge against me,’ said Suzaku. ‘I have myself always regarded him with the utmost affection; but at one time the powers arrayed against him were very strong, and I allowed certain measures to be taken.... People are always coming here and warning me to be on my guard.... “Some day he will find a way of getting even with you,” they say. “Many a man has waited far longer than this to settle an old score,” and so on. But I am bound to say nothing comes of it. I cannot remember a single occasion on which Genji has shown me the slightest trace of ill-will. It is of course to him that I should most naturally turn for help in my present difficulties. But I know how trying people are when they talk about their own children; and so I have ended by discussing the matter with all and sundry, rather than with Genji, whose sympathy I was particularly anxious not to lose. But my visit to his palace this autumn made me feel how unfortunate it is that I see him so seldom. I wish you could persuade him to come here one day....’ ‘I am sure he would be delighted to come,’ answered Yūgiri. ‘Of course I know nothing of what happened between you in the past. But lately he has frequently discussed political affairs with me, and I have never heard him mention you in a way to suggest that he bears you ill-will for what happened in the past....’ While Yūgiri spoke, a new idea entered the ex-Emperor’s head. How would it be to confide to this competent and agreeable young man the care of the daughter whose future was causing him so much anxiety? ‘I hear you have now got a house of your own,’ he said to Yūgiri. ‘I have known for a long time past of your difficulties over this matter and was extremely sorry for you. However, now your troubles have all ended in a manner completely satisfactory to you, I suppose. But what I feel about it is that really, after all that happened, Tō no Chūjō hardly deserves you as his son-in-law. Indeed, I must confess, in that respect I feel somewhat jealous of him....’ For a moment Yūgiri was mystified; but then he remembered having heard that Suzaku was in a great state about one of his daughters.... However, he was shy of letting it be seen that he understood this hint, and only answered: ‘I am sure you need not be jealous of anything that concerns me. As you know well enough, I am a very insignificant person....’

Day and night, Suzaku worried about the future of this favorite child. Meanwhile, he grew steadily weaker. By the end of the year, he could no longer leave his bed. He told visitor after visitor about his dilemma. They all sympathized, but none offered any practical suggestions. Genji often sent someone to ask after him and even promised to visit in person. In the end, though, he sent his son Yūgiri instead. ‘I’m afraid your father holds a grudge against me,’ Suzaku said. ‘I have always felt the greatest affection for him. But at one time his enemies were very powerful, and I allowed certain measures to be taken.... People are always coming here and warning me to be careful.... “Some day he’ll find a way to get even with you,” they say. “Many a man has waited much longer to settle an old score,” and so on. But I have to say, nothing ever comes of it. I can’t remember a single time Genji has shown me the slightest ill will. Naturally, he is the person I should turn to for help with my present troubles. But I know how tiresome people can be when they talk about their own children. So I have discussed the matter with everyone except Genji. I was especially anxious not to lose his sympathy. But my visit to his palace this autumn made me realize how unfortunate it is that I see him so rarely. I wish you could persuade him to come here one day....’ ‘I’m sure he would be delighted to come,’ Yūgiri answered. ‘Of course, I know nothing about what happened between you in the past. But lately he has often discussed politics with me. I have never heard him say anything about you that suggests he holds a grudge over the past....’ As Yūgiri spoke, the former Emperor had a new idea. Could he entrust his daughter’s care to this capable and pleasant young man? Her future was causing him so much anxiety. ‘I hear you now have a house of your own,’ he said to Yūgiri. ‘I have known about your difficulties with this for a long time, and I felt very sorry for you. But now, I suppose, your troubles have ended to your complete satisfaction. Still, after all that happened, I feel that Tō no Chūjō hardly deserves you as his son-in-law. I must confess that I am somewhat jealous of him in that respect....’ For a moment, Yūgiri was puzzled. Then he remembered hearing that Suzaku was deeply worried about one of his daughters.... But he was reluctant to show that he understood the hint. He only answered, ‘I’m sure you have no need to be jealous of anything to do with me. As you know very well, I am a very insignificant person....’

That was the end of the conversation. Some of the gentlewomen who had caught a glimpse of Yūgiri as he passed were loud in their admiration of his costume and person. But an older lady-in-waiting croaked out indignantly: ‘Nothing to what his father was at that age! You don’t see such men nowadays. He really was a handsome young gentleman.’ ‘She is quite right,’ said Suzaku, overhearing this outburst. ‘There will never be any one like Genji. He has aged, of course; but I think that the extraordinary vividness and radiance of his expression—the quality which in his infancy won for him the name of Hikaru⁶⁰⁸—has if anything increased as time goes by. His face when in repose has now a nobility and dignity that in his younger and more irresponsible days were lacking; but I still think that he is never so attractive as when laughing and talking sheer nonsense. Then he is the real Genji whose like has never been seen in the world before.’

That was the end of the conversation. Some of the ladies who had glimpsed Yūgiri as he passed praised his clothes and his appearance loudly. But an older lady-in-waiting croaked indignantly: ‘He’s nothing compared to his father at that age! You don’t see men like that nowadays. He really was a handsome young gentleman.’ ‘She is quite right,’ said Suzaku, who had overheard her. ‘There will never be anyone like Genji. He has grown older, of course. But I think the extraordinary vividness and radiance of his expression have, if anything, increased over time. That radiance earned him the name Hikaru⁶⁰⁸ as a baby. His face at rest now has a nobility and dignity it lacked in his younger, more irresponsible days. But I still think he is most attractive when he is laughing and talking sheer nonsense. Then he is the real Genji, whose equal has never been seen in the world before.’

One day when the little princess had been brought to his bedside, seeing her so childlike and helpless, the ex-Emperor exclaimed: ‘What I should really like would be for some one to take a fancy to her and bring her up privately, with a view to making her his wife later on. Then I should feel that both her education and her subsequent career were safely provided for....’ He called the head nurse to him, and having discussed one or two matters connected with Nyosan’s Initiation, he said to her presently: ‘You have probably heard the story of Lady Murasaki’s upbringing. I wish I could find some one who would adopt my little girl in that fashion. Outside the Imperial Family it is difficult to think of any one suitable; and in the Palace, Akikonomu has everything so much her own way that the other ladies of the Household come off very badly. If Nyosan had strong backing at Court, I might risk it; but as things are ... I wish, by the way, I had thought of approaching this young Yūgiri while he was still available. I feel certain that he has a great future before him.’ ‘You would have had to think of this a very long time ago if you wished to secure Prince Yūgiri,’ the nurse assured him. ‘For years past he has been waiting for this daughter of Tō no Chūjō, and I do not think you would have found it an easy matter to interest him in any other proposal. Genji himself is far more promising. Of one thing you may be quite certain: if he once took a fancy to our young lady he would never abandon her. Why, I hear that despite all his other preoccupations he still goes on visiting Princess Asagao and all those other ladies about whom we used to hear so much in early days.’ ‘Come,’ said Suzaku, ‘the fact that so many youthful affairs are still in his hands does not particularly recommend him for our present purpose....’ But the idea stuck in his head. Although Nyosan would in Genji’s household grow up as one among many, she would at least enjoy the advantage of having come there as a child, an orphan whose interests Genji was pledged to defend. ‘If any one were looking for a place where a young girl could be sent to pick up a little knowledge of the world, I cannot imagine anywhere better than Genji’s palace. I only wish that I could spend the little that remains to me of life in surroundings half so pleasant and entertaining! Were I a girl I should certainly have fallen in love with Genji. Indeed, when I was young I did feel something of the kind; and I entirely understand how it is that he carries everything before him....’ Suzaku paused. Perhaps he was thinking of his own failure with Oborozuki.⁶⁰⁹

One day, the little princess was brought to the ex-Emperor’s bedside. Seeing how childlike and helpless she was, he exclaimed: ‘What I would really like is for someone to take a liking to her and raise her privately. Then he could make her his wife when she is older. I would feel sure that both her education and her future were secure....’ He called the head nurse to him and discussed one or two matters connected with Nyosan’s Initiation. Then he said: ‘You have probably heard the story of Lady Murasaki’s upbringing. I wish I could find someone to adopt my little girl in the same way. It is hard to think of anyone suitable outside the Imperial Family. And in the Palace, Akikonomu gets her own way so completely that the other ladies of the Household fare very badly. If Nyosan had strong support at Court, I might risk it, but as things are ... I wish, by the way, that I had thought of approaching young Yūgiri while he was still available. I am certain he has a great future ahead of him.’ ‘You would have had to think of that a very long time ago to secure Prince Yūgiri,’ the nurse assured him. ‘For years he has been waiting for this daughter of Tō no Chūjō. I do not think you would have found it easy to interest him in any other proposal. Genji himself is a far better prospect. You can be certain of one thing: if he took a liking to our young lady, he would never abandon her. Why, I hear that despite all his other concerns, he still visits Princess Asagao and all those other ladies we used to hear so much about in the early days.’ ‘Come now,’ said Suzaku, ‘the fact that he is still involved in so many affairs from his youth does not particularly recommend him for our present purpose....’ But the idea stayed with him. In Genji’s household, Nyosan would grow up as one among many. But she would at least have the advantage of arriving as a child, an orphan whose interests Genji had promised to protect. ‘If anyone wanted a place to send a young girl to learn a little about the world, I cannot imagine anywhere better than Genji’s palace. I only wish I could spend what little remains of my life in surroundings half as pleasant and entertaining! If I were a girl, I would certainly have fallen in love with Genji. Indeed, when I was young, I did feel something of the kind. And I understand perfectly how he manages to win everyone over....’ Suzaku paused. Perhaps he was thinking of his own failure with Oborozuki.⁶⁰⁹

The longer Suzaku reflected, the more difficult did it appear to find any one more promising than Genji. There was certainly no one else who could do more for her if he chose. And as for the other ladies in Genji’s household—their presence would not necessarily be a disadvantage; Genji could easily prevent that, if he was by way of taking any trouble about her at all. A man living in retirement with plenty of time on his hands, of rare charm, settled habits—what more could be asked? One or two other names did, however, cross his mind. There was Prince Sochi. No one could say she was marrying beneath her, for he too was the child of an Emperor, and there was indeed in that way nothing to choose between them. But Suzaku regarded him as weak, frivolous, irresponsible; and there were stories.... No; certainly he would not do.

The longer Suzaku thought about it, the harder it seemed to find anyone more promising than Genji. Certainly, no one else could do more for her if he chose to. The other women in Genji’s household would not necessarily be a disadvantage. Genji could easily prevent that, if he took any trouble over her at all. He was a man living in retirement, with plenty of time on his hands, rare charm, and settled habits. What more could be asked? Still, one or two other names crossed Suzaku’s mind. There was Prince Sochi. No one could say she was marrying beneath her, since he too was an Emperor’s child. In that respect, there was nothing to choose between them. But Suzaku thought him weak, frivolous, and irresponsible. And there were stories.... No, he certainly would not do.

His mind roamed from possibility to possibility. For a moment he even considered Tō Dainagon, the Superintendent of his household, who would himself never have dreamed of applying for the Princess’s hand, but had offered ‘to look after her affairs,’ in the event of her being left an orphan. And admirably he would do it; Suzaku felt sure, for this gentleman was a model of painstaking devotion. But he was, after all, a mere junior official, without influence or distinction of any kind. Things had indeed come to a pretty pass if for an Emperor’s daughter no better match than this could be found! His thoughts again took a more ambitious turn. Oborozuki told him that her sister’s son Kashiwagi was secretly anxious to form a connection with the Imperial House. Perhaps it was this ambition that kept him still unmarried, and though many people would have laughed at such aspirations, Suzaku was by no means ready to condemn them. They showed at least that Kashiwagi had definite aims in life, and this fact alone sufficed to mark him out from among the ordinary run of easy-going young courtiers who lived solely for the pleasures of the moment.

His mind moved from one possibility to another. For a moment, he even considered Tō Dainagon, the head of his household. Tō Dainagon would never have dreamed of asking for the Princess’s hand himself. But he had offered ‘to look after her affairs’ if she were left an orphan. Suzaku was sure he would do so admirably, for he was a model of careful devotion. But he was, after all, only a junior official, with no influence or distinction of any kind. Things had surely come to a sorry state if no better match could be found for an Emperor’s daughter! His thoughts turned to a more ambitious possibility. Oborozuki told him that her sister’s son Kashiwagi secretly hoped to form a connection with the Imperial House. Perhaps this ambition was why he was still unmarried. Many people would have laughed at such hopes, but Suzaku was not at all ready to condemn them. They showed at least that Kashiwagi had clear aims in life. That alone set him apart from the usual easygoing young courtiers, who lived only for the pleasures of the moment.

As a scholar his talents were respectable, and in the natural course of things he would one day be at the head of the Government.... A brilliant match for any other woman; but when it came to imagining him as Nyosan’s husband, Kashiwagi (as indeed every one else of whom Suzaku thought) seemed somehow hopelessly inadequate. Indeed, he worried a thousand times more over Nyosan, who had already received numerous flattering offers, than over the other sisters who could scarcely muster one wretched suitor apiece.

As a scholar, his talents were respectable, and he would naturally become head of the government one day.... He would have been an excellent match for any other woman. But when Suzaku imagined Kashiwagi as Nyosan’s husband, he seemed somehow hopelessly inadequate. The same was true of everyone else Suzaku thought of. In fact, he worried a thousand times more about Nyosan, who had already received many flattering offers. He worried far less about her sisters, who could hardly attract even one wretched suitor each.

The ex-Emperor might never have reached a decision at all, had not the Crown Prince taken a very firm line on the subject. The young man did not of course openly venture to advise his father on such a point; but it came round to Suzaku that his son was in the strongest possible way opposed to Nyosan’s marrying a commoner.⁶¹⁰ The matter was one that did not merely concern her happiness, but would create a precedent and thus affect the stability of the Imperial Family.

The ex-Emperor might never have made a decision if the Crown Prince had not taken a firm stand. Of course, the young man did not openly dare to advise his father on the matter. But Suzaku heard that his son was strongly opposed to Nyosan marrying a commoner.⁶¹⁰ The matter concerned more than her happiness. It would set a precedent and affect the stability of the Imperial Family.

The only course the Crown Prince favoured was one that had already occurred to Suzaku: Genji must be persuaded to take charge of the girl.

The Crown Prince supported only one plan, which Suzaku had already thought of: persuade Genji to take charge of the girl.

At last Suzaku allowed his mind to be made up for him, and employed Sachūben,⁶¹¹ the brother of Nyosan’s head nurse, to obtain Genji’s views on the matter. Genji had of course for some while past known that the question of Nyosan’s future was tormenting the ex-Emperor, and was anxious to assist him. ‘But there can be no suggestion of my adopting the child,’ he said. ‘The ex-Emperor is, I fear, failing rapidly, and no doubt in the ordinary course of things I shall survive him by a certain number of years. In that case I shall be glad to do what I can in a general way to help all his children. But I cannot accept a special responsibility for any particular child.... As for taking her as a concubine, considering the difference of age between us, the question is too absurd to discuss. However, there is no necessity for so strange a choice. Yūgiri, for example, has not got far at present; but he has a brilliant future before him.... However, I quite see the difficulty there. Yūgiri is a faithful fellow, and perhaps at present he would be unwilling. No doubt Suzaku is right not to suggest it.’

At last, Suzaku let others make up his mind for him. He sent Sachūben,⁶¹¹ the brother of Nyosan’s head nurse, to find out what Genji thought about the matter. Genji had known for some time that worries about Nyosan’s future were tormenting the ex-Emperor. He was eager to help him. ‘But there can be no question of my adopting the child,’ he said. ‘I fear the ex-Emperor is failing rapidly. In the normal course of things, I will no doubt outlive him by some years. In that case, I will gladly do what I can to help all his children in a general way. But I cannot accept special responsibility for any one child.... As for taking her as a concubine, the difference in our ages makes the idea too absurd to discuss. Besides, there is no need to make such a strange choice. Yūgiri, for example, has not risen far yet, but he has a brilliant future ahead of him.... Still, I can see the difficulty there. Yūgiri is a faithful fellow, and perhaps he would be unwilling at present. No doubt Suzaku is right not to suggest it.’

Not to be put off by this first refusal, Sachūben now gave so harrowing a picture of the effect such a reply would have upon the ex-Emperor’s already precarious condition that Genji could not help smiling: ‘I know that he is ill and she is his favourite child,’ he said. ‘But that surely does not give him the right to impose her willy-nilly on any one he pleases. Am I to have no say in the matter at all? But for my part I do not see wherein lies his difficulty. Why not simply send her to the Palace? She would have competitors, of course; but the last arrival does not always do worst. His own mother’s⁶¹² career was a case in point. While my father was Crown Prince, and during the early part of his reign, Kōkiden carried all before her; but later on she was completely superseded by Lady Fujitsubo. Lady Wistaria, Nyosan’s mother, was a sister of Fujitsubo. I hear the child is exceedingly good-looking, rather in Fujitsubo’s style, they say; though of course to a far less remarkable degree.... Why should not the same thing happen again? With birth and good looks both on her side it would be strange indeed if she did not make her way....’

Sachūben refused to accept Genji’s first refusal. He described the effect of such an answer on the ex-Emperor’s already fragile health in such alarming terms that Genji could not help smiling. ‘I know that he is ill and that she is his favorite child,’ he said. ‘But surely that does not give him the right to force her on anyone he chooses. Do I have no say in the matter at all? Besides, I don’t see what his difficulty is. Why not simply send her to the Palace? She would have rivals, of course, but the last to arrive does not always fare worst. His own mother’s⁶¹² career is an example. While my father was Crown Prince and during the early part of his reign, Kōkiden had everything her own way. But later Lady Fujitsubo completely replaced her in his favor. Lady Wistaria, Nyosan’s mother, was Fujitsubo’s sister. I hear the child is exceptionally beautiful, rather like Fujitsubo, they say, though of course much less remarkable.... Why shouldn’t the same thing happen again? With both noble birth and good looks on her side, it would be very strange if she did not succeed....’

But even while giving this advice he felt a certain curiosity to see the child for himself.

But even as he gave this advice, he was curious to see the child for himself.

Three days after Nyosan’s Initiation the ex-Emperor received the tonsure. However commonplace, however uneventful a man’s life has been, this final ceremony is always painful to witness. But here was one, who had formerly stood upon the highest pinnacle of glory, ready now to obliterate at a stroke all that remained to him of comeliness and youth. A murmur of horror ran through the ranks of his gentlemen and attendants as the priests began to set about their fatal work. Oborozuki was at his side, and unable to bear the sight of her woe, Suzaku said: ‘I always thought the hardest thing would be parting with my children; but they, fortunately, seem cheerful enough on their side—which is a great help to me. Whereas you, with your tearful faces....’

Three days after Nyosan’s Initiation, the ex-Emperor had his head shaved. No matter how ordinary or uneventful a man’s life has been, this final ceremony is always painful to watch. But this man had once stood at the very height of glory. Now he was ready to erase all that remained of his beauty and youth in a single stroke. A murmur of horror spread through his gentlemen and attendants as the priests began their fateful work. Oborozuki was at his side. Unable to bear the sight of her grief, Suzaku said: ‘I always thought the hardest thing would be parting from my children. But fortunately, they seem cheerful enough about it, which is a great help to me. But you, with your tearful faces....’

Though he was not fit to be out of bed, they had carried him to a chair, where despite great weakness and discomfort he remained till the Abbot of Hiyeizan, attended by three senior priests, had administered to him the rules of the Tendai Sect, arrayed him in the habit of their order and performed such other rites as mark a final severance from the world. During these proceedings even the officiating priests could not restrain their tears, and such a storm of sobbing broke out among the princesses, consorts and miscellaneous gentlewomen who thronged the room, that Suzaku devoutly wished he were already safely installed in his mountain retreat. It now seemed unlikely, however, that he would ever be able to perform the journey. And if he had thus irrevocably deprived himself of the quiet monastic days with which he had always hoped to close his life, it was (as he now confessed to himself) solely his perpetual worrying about Nyosan’s future that had kept him in the Capital till too late.

Although he was too ill to leave his bed, they had carried him to a chair. He remained there, despite great weakness and discomfort, while the Abbot of Hiyeizan performed the rites. Three senior priests attended the Abbot. He administered the rules of the Tendai Sect to Suzaku, dressed him in the order’s robes, and performed other rites marking his final separation from the world. Even the priests performing the rites could not hold back their tears. The room was crowded with princesses, consorts, and various gentlewomen, and they broke into such a storm of sobbing that Suzaku fervently wished he were already settled safely in his mountain retreat. Now, however, it seemed unlikely that he would ever be able to make the journey. He had always hoped to end his life in the peace of a monastery. But if he had lost that chance forever, it was solely because he had stayed in the Capital too long. As he now admitted to himself, he had stayed because he was constantly worried about Nyosan’s future.

After the ceremony he received numerous visitors, including the reigning Emperor. As the result of all this excitement Suzaku rallied slightly, and hearing of this Genji went to pay his long promised visit. He was received quite informally and accommodated in the seat commonly used by Suzaku when in health, a few extra hangings and ornaments having been added to smarten it. For a moment it was a great shock to Genji to see the companion of his youth arrayed in this solemn and penitential garb. Controlling himself by an effort, he said at last: ‘Ever since my father’s death, which for the first time impressed me strongly with the shortness and futility of human existence, I have been making plans to compass what you have now successfully achieved. I wish I had your strength of mind. The sight of you in those robes makes me feel thoroughly disgusted with my own continual procrastination. If you, who have known what it is to be lord of all the land, can bring yourself to take this step, there is certainly no reason why a humble person like myself should shrink from it. But every time I think that the last obstacle has been removed, some fresh difficulty crops up....’ They talked much of old times, and finally Suzaku said: ‘You have no need to apologize in my presence for your slowness in breaking with the world. I myself have delayed from day till day, until it looks as though the better part of my plan will never be fulfilled. But though I doubt whether I shall ever reach my retreat among the Western Hills, I hope I may live long enough to get through a few quiet prayers here in my own house. What now bothers me is that I have not been nearly so strict in my observances as I might have been, though all the while my thoughts were certainly turned to holy things, for it was only in the hope of spending a few last years in a sacred place that I struggled on against all this illness and pain....’ Having mentioned several small matters concerning which Genji could be useful to him, Suzaku continued: ‘You have heard no doubt that I am very much exercised in mind over the future of my daughters. There is one in particular I should feel profoundly thankful to leave in the charge of some responsible person who would really give proper attention to her....’

After the ceremony, he received many visitors, including the reigning Emperor. All this excitement helped Suzaku recover a little. When Genji heard this, he went to pay the visit he had long promised. Suzaku received him informally and seated him in the place he himself usually occupied when he was well. A few extra hangings and ornaments had been added to make it look more inviting. At first, Genji was deeply shocked to see the companion of his youth dressed in such solemn, penitential robes. With an effort, he controlled himself and finally said: ‘My father’s death first made me feel deeply how short and futile human life is. Ever since then, I have been planning to do what you have now accomplished. I wish I had your strength of mind. Seeing you in those robes makes me thoroughly disgusted with myself for always putting it off. You have been lord of all the land, yet you could bring yourself to take this step. Surely a humble person like me has no reason to shrink from it. But whenever I think the last obstacle is gone, some new difficulty comes up....’ They talked at length about old times. At last Suzaku said: ‘You have no need to apologize to me for being slow to leave the world behind. I too have put it off from day to day. Now it seems I may never carry out most of my plan. I doubt I shall ever reach my retreat in the Western Hills. But I hope to live long enough to say a few prayers in peace here in my own house. What troubles me now is that I have not been nearly as strict in my religious practices as I could have been. Yet my thoughts were certainly turned to holy things all the while. I struggled on through all this illness and pain only because I hoped to spend a few final years in a sacred place....’ After mentioning several small matters with which Genji could help him, Suzaku continued: ‘You have no doubt heard how deeply worried I am about my daughters’ future. There is one in particular whom I would be profoundly grateful to leave in the care of someone responsible. I would want someone who would give her the attention she needs....’

‘Surely he is not going to start that business all over again?’ thought Genji in alarm. Yet in a way he was not sorry to return to the subject, for he had a certain secret curiosity concerning this little princess. ‘I quite understand,’ he said, ‘that a girl of Nyosan’s rank needs, far more than any one of ordinary birth, to be provided from the outset with a settled home. But failing this, she will surely come to very little harm with her brother the Crown Prince to keep an eye upon her. He is a young man of remarkable abilities, and the whole country looks up to him with confidence and respect. He would in any case consider it his duty to take so near a relative under his especial protection; and if you mention the matter to him in advance, still less will you have any need to worry about her future. Later on your son will of course succeed to the Throne, and if to provide for a woman’s happiness were as easy as to make new laws, Nyosan would indeed be assured of perfect felicity. But I admit that in the last resort there is very little that even an Emperor can do for women, save to admit them to his household, which in this case does not come into question. So if you want here and now to make a permanent provision for her whole future, you must arrange with some one to adopt her after your death, and either marry her himself or promise to effect her marriage with some one previously selected by you. Then you surely need not fear that any misgivings will disturb you in the life beyond the grave....’ ‘What is the use of telling me this?’ Suzaku asked. ‘Naturally I have thought of it all long ago. But it is not so easy as you make out. It is a difficult matter even for a reigning Emperor to find suitable alliances for several daughters. And for me, who have not only long ago resigned the Throne, but am on the verge of retiring to a monastery (if indeed I do not die before I succeed in getting there), the whole business is so perplexing that I verily believe half my illness is due to worrying about it.... I cannot afford to let another day go by without getting this thing settled.... I know it is asking a great deal of you, but do, I beseech you, consent to taking this one daughter of mine under your protection. As to finding her a husband, I will leave that to you. I am sure your choice would be all that I could desire. Were Yūgiri still available, his is the name I should suggest. But unfortunately Tō no Chūjō has anticipated me....’

‘Surely he isn’t going to start all that again?’ Genji thought in alarm. Yet he was not entirely sorry to return to the subject. He had a secret curiosity about this little princess. ‘I quite understand,’ he said, ‘that a girl of Nyosan’s rank needs a settled home from the start. She needs one far more than a girl of ordinary birth. But without one, she will surely come to little harm with her brother the Crown Prince watching over her. He is a young man of remarkable abilities, and the whole country looks up to him with confidence and respect. In any case, he would consider it his duty to give a close relative his special protection. If you mention the matter to him beforehand, you will have even less reason to worry about her future. ‘Later, of course, your son will become Emperor. If it were as easy to make a woman happy as to make new laws, Nyosan would be assured of perfect happiness. But I admit that, in the end, even an Emperor can do very little for women. He can admit them to his household, but that is out of the question here. So if you want to provide for her whole future now, you must arrange for someone to adopt her after your death. He must either marry her himself or promise to arrange her marriage to someone you have chosen beforehand. Then surely you need not fear that any doubts will trouble you in the next life....’ ‘What is the use of telling me this?’ Suzaku asked. ‘Naturally, I thought of it all long ago. But it is not as easy as you make it sound. Even a reigning Emperor has trouble finding suitable husbands for several daughters. And I gave up the throne long ago. Now I am about to retire to a monastery, if I don’t die before I get there. The whole matter is so troubling that I truly believe worrying about it has caused half my illness.... I cannot afford to let another day pass without settling it.... I know I am asking a great deal of you, but please, I beg you, agree to take this one daughter of mine under your protection. I will leave it to you to find her a husband. I am sure your choice would be everything I could wish for. If Yūgiri were still available, I would suggest him. But unfortunately Tō no Chūjō has already claimed him....’

‘Yūgiri,’ replied Genji, ‘has a great deal of steady-going good sense, and I think he would have made her an excellent husband. But he has had very little experience, and I doubt whether in any case I could recommend him as sole protector to a girl in Nyosan’s position. As regards myself, I think it is quite true that if she is left an orphan she would under my care suffer the smallest possible inconvenience from the change in her position. Well, if I have hesitated to say “yes,” it is only because it is likely enough, after all, that I shall not long survive you.’

‘Yūgiri,’ replied Genji, ‘has plenty of sound, steady judgment, and I think he would have made her an excellent husband. But he has very little experience. In any case, I doubt I could recommend him as the sole protector of a girl in Nyosan’s position. As for me, I do think that if she is orphaned, my care would make the change in her position as easy as possible. Well, if I have hesitated to say “yes,” it is only because I may not live long after you.’

It was unbelievable. Genji had consented; and apparently in the most whole-hearted way, for it was henceforward assumed on both sides that he would in due course marry⁶¹³ Nyosan himself.

It was unbelievable. Genji had agreed, and apparently with all his heart. From then on, both sides assumed that he himself would eventually marry⁶¹³ Nyosan.

Murasaki had already heard some rumour of Suzaku’s intention. Her first feeling was one of alarm. But then she reminded herself of all the groundless and unnecessary misery she had suffered on finding that Genji was still visiting Princess Asagao. So determined was she not to attach undue importance to the affair that on his return she refrained even from asking him whether the subject had been discussed. He meanwhile naturally assumed that she knew nothing about the matter, and was wondering what line she would take. If there were to be difficulties, they could only last for a very short time. Murasaki would soon realize that the presence of this girl in the house, even as his wife, would make no difference whatever to her own position. But he knew that promises and assurances on his side would be of no avail. Time alone would convince Murasaki that nothing could change his feelings towards her; meanwhile, it was possible that a rather troublesome period was ahead. It was now so long since the slightest difficulty or suspicion had arisen between them that the idea of saying anything likely to upset her or interfere even for a few moments with the habitual tenderness of the hours they spent alone together was extremely painful to him. That night at any rate, he thought, matters might be left as they were, and he made no reference to his conversation with Suzaku.

Murasaki had already heard a rumor about Suzaku’s intention. At first, she was alarmed. But then she remembered all the needless misery she had suffered when she discovered that Genji still visited Princess Asagao. Her fears had been groundless. She was determined not to make too much of this affair. When Genji returned, she did not even ask whether he and Suzaku had discussed it. Genji naturally assumed that she knew nothing about the matter, and he wondered how she would react. If there were difficulties, they could only last a very short time. Murasaki would soon realize that the girl’s presence in the house would make no difference to her own position. That would be true even if the girl became his wife. But he knew that his promises and assurances would be useless. Only time would convince Murasaki that nothing could change his feelings for her. Until then, a rather troublesome period might lie ahead. It had been so long since even the slightest difficulty or suspicion had come between them. The thought of upsetting her was extremely painful to him. He could hardly bear to disturb, even briefly, the usual tenderness of their hours alone together. For that night at least, he thought, he could leave things as they were. He said nothing about his conversation with Suzaku.

Next day the weather was wretched, and while storms of snow swept a sullen sky he sat with Murasaki, laying plans for the future, and recalling many episodes of their common past.

The next day, the weather was miserable. As snowstorms swept across the gloomy sky, he sat with Murasaki. They made plans for the future and remembered many moments from their shared past.

‘I thought I had better go and see the ex-Emperor before it was too late,’ said Genji at last. ‘It was in many ways a painful meeting. He seems unable to think about anything but who is going to look after this daughter of his, little Princess Nyosan. He at once attacked me on the subject, and considering the pitiable state he was now in, I felt it was impossible to refuse.... I know that tiresome stories will be put about, I cannot help that.... As a matter of fact he made a similar proposal to me some time ago, but indirectly, through a servant of mine. On that occasion I refused unhesitatingly, for I did not at all like the idea of taking on fresh responsibilities at my age. But when, during my visit, he returned (as I had thought it impossible he should do) to the same subject, and besought me passionately not to persist in my refusal, I could not help feeling that it would be inhuman to hold out.... She will not in any case come here until Suzaku moves into his mountain retreat. I can quite understand that you would rather I had not consented. But please believe me that, at the worst, nothing can happen which will make the slightest difference to you. Try to enter into Suzaku’s feelings. I am sure that if you do so, you will be glad that I am helping him in this way. With a little tact and forbearance on both sides, I do not see why there should be any great difficulty....’

‘I thought I should go and see the ex-Emperor before it was too late,’ Genji said at last. ‘In many ways, it was a painful meeting. He seems unable to think about anything but who will look after his daughter, little Princess Nyosan. He brought up the subject as soon as I arrived. Given the pitiful state he was in, I felt I could not refuse.... I know people will spread tiresome stories, but I cannot help that.... He actually made a similar proposal some time ago, indirectly, through one of my servants. Then I refused without hesitation. I did not like the idea of taking on new responsibilities at my age. But during my visit, he brought up the subject again, though I had thought he could not possibly do so. He begged me passionately to reconsider my refusal. I could not help feeling that it would be inhuman to keep refusing.... In any case, she will not come here until Suzaku moves into his mountain retreat. I quite understand that you would rather I had not agreed. But please believe me, even at worst, nothing can happen that will make the slightest difference to you. Try to understand how Suzaku feels. I am sure that if you do, you will be glad I am helping him this way. With a little tact and patience on both sides, I do not see why there should be any great difficulty....’

He had only to tease her a little—pretend jokingly to admire some quite absurd and impossible individual, and instantly Murasaki would fall into a panic, certain that here was the beginning of a final disastrous episode. Yet now, for some reason, she felt that at all costs he must not see what was passing through her mind, and she answered quietly: ‘Poor Suzaku! I do not see how under such circumstances you could possibly have refused. Nor should I dream of raising any objection on my own account. Indeed, I shall be very unhappy if I do not quickly succeed in convincing her that, as far as I am concerned, she is doubly welcome here. For not only am I touched by her father’s plight, but I also recollect a fact of which she no doubt is fully aware, though you have not mentioned it: her mother, Lady Wistaria, was my father’s sister. I should be thought churlish indeed if I did not make a cousin feel at home in my house....’

He only had to tease her a little, jokingly pretending to admire some utterly absurd and impossible person. Murasaki would instantly panic, certain that this was the beginning of a final disaster. Yet now, for some reason, she felt she must not let him see what she was thinking. She answered quietly: ‘Poor Suzaku! I don’t see how you could possibly have refused under the circumstances. I wouldn’t dream of objecting for my own sake. In fact, I’ll be very unhappy if I can’t quickly convince her that she is doubly welcome here. I’m touched by her father’s plight, but I also remember something you haven’t mentioned. No doubt she knows it well: her mother, Lady Wistaria, was my father’s sister. People would think me very rude if I didn’t make my cousin feel at home in my house....’

He knew her too well not to guess that, behind this tone of complete reasonableness and accord, there might easily be hidden quite other thoughts and feelings. But if this did indeed, quite contrary to what he had expected, turn out to be her real attitude, if she managed both to make the little princess feel at her ease, and at the same time to be happy herself, then he would have more reason than ever to prize her as the greatest treasure that life had yielded to him. ‘There are sure to be all sorts of absurd rumours ...’ he said. ‘Do not pay any attention to them. Remember that, as regards matters of this kind, the most circumstantial accounts frequently lack the slightest foundation in fact. It is best to observe for oneself, and not let outside stories affect one’s judgment. So whatever you may hear, wait till your own experience confirms it before you decide that I am not treating you as I should....’

He knew her well enough to suspect that very different thoughts and feelings might lie behind her reasonable, agreeable tone. But perhaps this was truly how she felt, contrary to all his expectations. If she could make the little princess feel at ease and be happy herself, he would treasure her more than ever. She would be the greatest treasure life had given him. ‘There are sure to be all sorts of absurd rumors ...’ he said. ‘Do not pay any attention to them. Remember that, in matters like these, even the most detailed accounts often have no basis in fact. It is best to see for yourself and not let what others say affect your judgment. So whatever you hear, wait until your own experience confirms it before deciding that I am not treating you properly....’

After all, she thought to herself afterwards, the care of this girl was a duty that he could not possibly have avoided. It had fallen upon him as it were from the sky, and to be cross with him for accepting it would be ridiculous. If Nyosan had been some girl that he had taken a fancy to or gone out of his way to befriend, the case would have been different. But it was perfectly true that this step had been imposed upon him; and Murasaki was determined to show the world that she was not going to lose her head. But she knew that once people take a dislike to one, it does not make much difference how one behaves.... For example, her stepmother had even held her responsible for Makibashira’s fall; it was Murasaki’s jealousy (so this woman asserted) that had forced Genji to plant Tamakatsura in Higekuro’s way! No doubt her tortuous imagination would not fail to supply equally complicated slanders in the present case. For though generous and long-suffering, Murasaki was capable of making judgments that were by no means devoid of sharpness. And now, though as yet all was well, there came back to her again and again the thought that perhaps the dreaded turning-point had come. His confidence, his devotion, the whole sovereignty in his affections that had been so long her pride, would begin to slip away from her....

After all, she thought afterward, caring for this girl was a duty he could not possibly have avoided. It had fallen on him as if from the sky. It would be ridiculous to be angry with him for accepting it. If Nyosan had been a girl he had taken a fancy to or gone out of his way to befriend, things would have been different. But it was perfectly true that he had been forced to take this step. Murasaki was determined to show the world that she would not lose her head. But she knew that once people take a dislike to someone, it makes little difference how that person behaves.... For example, her stepmother had even blamed her for Makibashira’s fall. The woman claimed that Murasaki’s jealousy had forced Genji to put Tamakatsura in Higekuro’s path! No doubt her twisted imagination would come up with equally complicated slanders this time. Though generous and patient, Murasaki could make judgments that were far from gentle. And now, though all was still well, she kept thinking that perhaps the dreaded turning point had come. His trust, his devotion, and the complete hold on his affections that had long been her pride would begin to slip away....

But during all this time there was nothing in her behaviour which could have suggested to her companions that any such fears were passing through her mind.

But all this time, nothing in her behavior suggested to her companions that she was afraid.

So the year drew to a close. Suzaku was still lying bedridden in the Capital, but he had now made up his mind that Nyosan was to move into the New Palace at once. Not only were the various aspirants to her hand much put out at hearing that Genji was to take possession of her, but the Emperor himself, who had counted on being given a chance of adding her to his establishment, was distinctly disappointed. However, he did not think it worth while disputing the matter, and decided to let things take their course. This year, as has already been said, Genji was to celebrate his fortieth birthday, and resolutions were passed by the Government concerning the festivities that were to mark this event. The prospect was a formidable one for Genji, who had always disliked pompous anniversaries and commemorations. The whole country seemed bent upon devising elaborate and costly methods of disturbing his peace, all of which he discouraged firmly.

The year came to an end. Suzaku was still bedridden in the Capital, but he had decided that Nyosan should move into the New Palace immediately. Her various suitors were upset to hear that Genji was to have her. Even the Emperor was disappointed. He had hoped for a chance to add her to his household. But he did not think the matter was worth disputing, so he decided to let events take their course. As already mentioned, Genji was to celebrate his fortieth birthday that year. The Government passed resolutions concerning the festivities planned for the occasion. The prospect was daunting for Genji, who had always disliked grand anniversaries and commemorations. The whole country seemed determined to find elaborate and costly ways to disturb his peace. He firmly discouraged them all.

But there was one small attention which he had no chance of forestalling. On the third day of the first month, being a day of the Rat, Tamakatsura determined to take upon herself the customary presentation of spring shoots.⁶¹⁴ She allowed no breath of this intention to leak out beforehand; but as wife of a State Minister she could not appear without a considerable escort, and her arrival at Genji’s palace made far more of a stir than she desired.

But there was one small gesture he had no chance to make first. On the third day of the first month, a day of the Rat, Tamakatsura decided to present the customary spring shoots herself.⁶¹⁴ She kept her plan completely secret beforehand. But as the wife of a State Minister, she could not appear without a large escort. Her arrival at Genji’s palace caused far more of a stir than she wanted.

Genji’s seat was in the side-room opening out of the great Front Hall. His dais was surrounded by newly-painted screens, and there were fresh white canvas hangings round the walls; but the special stools, tables and stands used in the formal celebration of a fortieth birthday had all been dispensed with. The forty little mats laid out around him, his cushions and seat—indeed all the details of his installation were very daintily chosen. The four boxes containing the customary presents of clothing were displayed upon two stands of mother-of-pearl inlaid with enamel. These clothes (complete outfits for both winter and summer), together with the incense jars, medicine boxes, inkstand, hairwashing appliances, comb boxes and such things were all of the finest. The mirror-stand was of cedar-wood, and the mirror itself, though no other substance was inlaid in the metal nor was any sort of colouring applied to it, was grained on the back with a delicate leaf-pattern. All these arrangements had been devised by Tamakatsura herself, who had a particular gift for the happy ordering of such small elegancies. The whole affair was very quiet and informal. Tamakatsura had audience with him before he took his place on the birthday throne. It was a long while since they had met, and, in the mind of each, recollections of a curious, possibly even of an embarrassing kind must have arisen. He seemed to her very young to be celebrating such an anniversary, and looking at him she found herself wondering for a moment whether there had not been some mistake! Could this be the head of a household, the founder of a family? It was very difficult after all these months of separation to know what tone to take up or even what to talk about. But soon she found herself carrying on very much the same sort of conversation as in the old days. She had brought with her her two little boys.⁶¹⁵ Genji had often asked to see them, but hitherto she had refused, and on this occasion it was only in obedience to her husband’s absolute command that she had brought them to the New Palace. They were handsome little fellows, both dressed exactly alike in miniature Court cloaks and breeches, with their hair parted in the middle and done up in a loop on either side. Speaking of growing old, he said to her: ‘Please do not think that I do it on purpose. I should have been perfectly content to remain just as I was; and indeed I could keep up the pretence fairly well, did not such creatures as these, whom I now see springing up on every side, convict me of being, in age at any rate, a grandfather. Perhaps indeed I really am one; for I hear very little of Yūgiri nowadays, and am not at all sure he would think it worth while to tell me. However, I had quite made up my mind to go on being young for a little while longer, when you of all people come to warn me that I have overstepped the fatal mark....’

Genji’s seat was in the side room opening off the great Front Hall. Newly painted screens surrounded his dais, and fresh white canvas hung around the walls. But the special stools, tables, and stands used for a formal fortieth birthday celebration had all been left out. The forty small mats arranged around him, his cushions and seat, and every other detail of his setting had been chosen with great care. Four boxes containing the customary gifts of clothing were displayed on two mother-of-pearl stands inlaid with enamel. The clothes included complete outfits for winter and summer. They were all of the finest quality, as were the incense jars, medicine boxes, inkstand, hairwashing appliances, comb boxes, and similar items. The mirror stand was made of cedar wood. The mirror itself had a delicate leaf pattern on its back, though no other material was inlaid in the metal and no color had been applied. Tamakatsura had planned all these arrangements herself. She had a particular gift for arranging such small, elegant details. The whole occasion was quiet and informal. Tamakatsura met with Genji before he took his place on the birthday throne. They had not seen each other for a long time. Each must have had strange, perhaps even embarrassing memories. He seemed very young to her to be celebrating such a birthday. As she looked at him, she wondered for a moment whether there had been some mistake! Could this be the head of a household, the founder of a family? After so many months apart, it was very hard to know what tone to take or even what to talk about. But soon she found herself talking with him much as she had in the old days. She had brought her two little boys with her.⁶¹⁵ Genji had often asked to see them, but until now she had refused. This time, she had brought them to the New Palace only because her husband had ordered her to. They were handsome little boys, dressed exactly alike in miniature Court cloaks and breeches. Their hair was parted in the middle and tied in a loop on each side. Speaking of growing old, he said to her: ‘Please don’t think I do it on purpose. I would have been perfectly happy to stay just as I was. I could even have kept up the pretense fairly well, if it weren’t for little creatures like these. I see them springing up everywhere now, and they prove that I’m a grandfather, at least in age. Perhaps I really am one. I hear very little about Yūgiri these days, and I’m not at all sure he would think it worth telling me. Still, I had quite made up my mind to go on being young a little longer. Then you, of all people, come to warn me that I’ve passed the fatal mark....’

She too had outwardly suffered very little from the passage of the years, though she seemed less diffident and retiring.

She too showed very few signs of aging, though she seemed less shy and reserved.

At the Presentation of the Spring Shoots, which followed a few minutes later, she recited with great dignity and composure the congratulatory poem:

A few minutes later, at the Presentation of the Spring Shoots, she recited the congratulatory poem with great dignity and composure:

‘With these new shoots fetched from the green hillside, young pine-boughs have I brought to crown your fortunes with eternal Spring.’ The young shoots were presented for his inspection on four trays of sandal-wood. Taking the great wine flagon in his hand, he recited the answer: ‘Though loth to pile the years about my head, not lightly shall I quit the field where Spring by Spring these pines spread wider shade.’

‘With these new shoots gathered from the green hillside, I bring you young pine boughs to bless your fortunes with eternal spring.’ The young shoots were presented to him on four sandalwood trays. He took the large wine flagon in his hand and answered: ‘Though I am reluctant to grow old, I will not easily leave the field where these pines spread wider shade each spring.’

A number of visitors were assembled in the southern side-room. Prince Hyōbukyō had made up his mind to stay away; but his absence being noted, a special messenger was sent to summon him. Being nearly related to so many of those who were concerned in to-day’s ceremony, he could not, without marked discourtesy, have persisted in his refusal, and towards noon he at last arrived. The spectacle of his son-in-law Higekuro flaunting his new bride in the face of the company was more than he could have been expected to bear with equanimity. But Makibashira’s two children were there, and for their sakes he did his best to be friendly, taking a hand, whenever he was wanted, in the small arrangements of the ensuing ceremony. The presents, in forty baskets and forty boxes, were offered by a band of noblemen and courtiers, led by Yūgiri. The great flagon went round, and Genji tasted the broth that had been brewed with Tamakatsura’s offering. The August Cup and other utensils were daintily laid out on four low tables of sandal-wood. The ex-Emperor was still thought to be in danger, and consequently no professional musicians were employed. But the flute-music was in charge of Tō no Chūjō, who was determined that an occasion of such importance should not be marred by lack of music, and had drawn up an excellent programme. As for other instruments, he saw to it that the rarest and oldest of every kind should be produced, setting the example himself by bringing out a Japanese zithern that had for centuries been one of the most treasured possessions in his family. He, the greatest performer of the time, played on it himself, with delightful but somewhat embarrassing effect. For every one else suddenly became shy, and when Genji asked Kashiwagi to play something, the young man for a long while refused. But at last he overcame his reluctance, which was a good thing, for his performance was by no means inferior to that of his father. Every one was both pleased and surprised; for such talent is very rarely inherited. And here must be noted a point that is often overlooked: it is far easier to learn ancient Chinese tunes, though every note has to be played exactly as it is handed down, than to improvise upon the Japanese zithern, where one has complete freedom, save for the necessity of giving scope to the accompanying players. It was just in this way that Kashiwagi excelled. He was now playing in concert with a full orchestra; but managed in the most astonishing way to keep in touch with all the other instruments.

Several visitors had gathered in the southern side room. Prince Hyōbukyō had decided not to come. But his absence was noticed, and a special messenger was sent to summon him. He was closely related to so many people involved in the day’s ceremony that he could not refuse without giving serious offense. At last, toward noon, he arrived. No one could have expected him to remain calm while his son-in-law Higekuro flaunted his new bride before the guests. But Makibashira’s two children were there, and for their sake he did his best to be friendly. Whenever needed, he helped with the small arrangements for the ceremony that followed. The gifts, in forty baskets and forty boxes, were presented by a group of noblemen and courtiers led by Yūgiri. The great flagon was passed around, and Genji tasted the broth made with Tamakatsura’s offering. The August Cup and other utensils were carefully arranged on four low sandalwood tables. The ex-Emperor was still thought to be in danger, so no professional musicians were hired. But Tō no Chūjō was in charge of the flute music. He was determined that an occasion of such importance should not suffer from a lack of music, and had prepared an excellent program. He also made sure that the rarest and oldest instruments of every kind were brought out. He set the example himself by producing a Japanese zither that had been among his family’s most treasured possessions for centuries. He was the greatest performer of the time, and he played it himself. The effect was delightful but somewhat embarrassing. Everyone else suddenly grew shy, and when Genji asked Kashiwagi to play something, the young man refused for a long time. At last he overcame his reluctance, which was fortunate, for his performance was no less fine than his father’s. Everyone was pleased and surprised, for such talent is very rarely inherited. Here a point that is often overlooked must be noted. It is far easier to learn ancient Chinese tunes than to improvise on the Japanese zither. Every note of a Chinese tune must be played exactly as it has been handed down. On the Japanese zither, a player has complete freedom, except for the need to give the accompanying players room to play. This was just where Kashiwagi excelled. He was playing with a full orchestra, yet he managed in the most astonishing way to stay in touch with all the other instruments.

Tō no Chūjō had, in his solo, played with his zithern tuned very low, so that the strings vibrated with a dull, rumbling sound. But Kashiwagi’s was tuned to the ordinary high pitch, and this (by contrast) gave to his playing a quality of lightness and gaiety. Never had the company heard him in such good form.

For his solo, Tō no Chūjō had tuned his zither very low, so its strings made a dull, rumbling sound. But Kashiwagi’s zither was tuned to the usual high pitch. By contrast, his playing sounded light and cheerful. The company had never heard him play so well.

About the middle of the second month Nyosan moved into the New Palace. Great preparations were made for her reception; the room where the Presentation of Young Shoots had taken place was set apart for her own use, while several rooms in the neighbouring wing and galleries were made ready for her attendants, after a great sweeping and scrubbing. She brought her own furniture with her, just as is done by a new arrival at the Emperor’s Palace. Her coming took on the aspect of a great public ceremony, being attended by the whole Court. Genji (though, his rank being equal to that of a retired Emperor, he was under no obligation to do so) went out to assist her in alighting from her coach.

Around the middle of the second month, Nyosan moved into the New Palace. Great preparations were made to welcome her. The room where the Presentation of Young Shoots had taken place was set aside for her own use. Several rooms in the neighboring wing and galleries were thoroughly cleaned and prepared for her attendants. She brought her own furniture, just as a new arrival at the Emperor’s Palace would. Her arrival became a great public ceremony, attended by the whole Court. Genji went out to help her step down from her coach. His rank was equal to that of a retired Emperor, so he was not obliged to do this.

The exchange of compliments⁶¹⁶ on the third day was carried out in the most formal manner. Murasaki had naturally not been slow to realize—what Genji had not hitherto definitely disclosed—that Nyosan had come as a bride. The discovery came as a cruel blow, yet even so there was no reason to suppose that the new-comer was likely in any sense to take Murasaki’s place. After all, this was not the first time that she had been called upon to suffer the presence of a rival in the house. But hitherto these rivals had been without exception her inferiors in birth, and not much less than her equals in age; whereas Nyosan was a person of quite as much social consequence as herself, and, into the bargain, was just entering upon that season of sunshine and flowers to which Murasaki was already bidding farewell.

The exchange of compliments⁶¹⁶ on the third day was conducted with great formality. Murasaki had quickly realized that Nyosan had come as a bride, though Genji had not yet told her so directly. The discovery was a cruel blow. Even so, there was no reason to think the newcomer would take Murasaki’s place in any way. After all, this was not the first time she had suffered a rival’s presence in the house. But until now, her rivals had all been beneath her in birth and nearly as old as she was. Nyosan, on the other hand, was just as important socially as Murasaki. She was also just entering that season of sunshine and flowers to which Murasaki was already saying goodbye.

But she did not show, or hoped she did not show, any of these feelings, and in the preparations for Nyosan’s arrival she gave Genji all the help she could. While side by side they were devising plans for these new household arrangements, she seemed to enter with the greatest interest into every detail; and looking at her fondly, Genji wondered whether any other woman in the world would have done the same. The little princess, though now well on in her thirteenth year, was very small for her age, and indeed still looked a mere child. Her conversation and behaviour also savoured solely of the nursery, and Genji could not help remembering how lively, how full of character and imagination little Murasaki had been when twenty years ago he had carried her to his home. But perhaps it was a good thing that the new-comer was, except in actual years, so very much of a child. She would certainly be less likely to get into scrapes. But unfortunately, Genji reflected, people who do not get into scrapes are a great deal less interesting than those who do.

But she did not show any of these feelings, or at least she hoped she did not. She gave Genji all the help she could as he prepared for Nyosan’s arrival. They worked side by side on the new household arrangements. She seemed deeply interested in every detail. Genji looked at her fondly and wondered if any other woman in the world would have done the same. The little princess was well into her thirteenth year, but she was very small for her age. She still looked like a child. Her conversation and behavior were just as childish. Genji could not help remembering little Murasaki, whom he had brought home twenty years ago. She had been so lively and full of character and imagination. But perhaps it was a good thing that the newcomer was so much like a child, except in age. She would certainly be less likely to get into trouble. Unfortunately, Genji reflected, people who do not get into trouble are much less interesting than those who do.

During the first three nights Murasaki saw nothing of him, and though this was quite natural under the circumstances, she felt it deeply; for it was now several years since they had thus been separated. Each evening she perfumed his clothes with more than ordinary care. Never had she seemed to him more complete, more all-sufficing than at these moments; and watching her grave, eager face as she bent over the work, he wondered that a dying man’s pleadings and lamentations should have sufficed to lead him into such a course. But stay! Did not his own restlessness, his own insatiable curiosity have something to do with this rash consent? There was Yūgiri. Young though he was, it had been justly assumed that it was not worth while even approaching him with the proposal to which Genji had so readily consented. ‘Just once more,’ he said on the third night. ‘After this I shall not have to desert you again; or, if I ever do so, you may be certain it will not be at my own desire. I must not give Suzaku the impression....’

For the first three nights, Murasaki did not see him. Though this was quite natural under the circumstances, she felt it deeply. It had been several years since they had been separated like this. Each evening she perfumed his clothes with more care than usual. At those moments, she seemed more complete to him than ever, more able to satisfy all his needs. He watched her serious, eager face as she bent over her work. He wondered how a dying man’s pleas and laments could have led him to take such a course. But wait! Hadn’t his own restlessness and endless curiosity also played a part in his rash consent? There was Yūgiri. Young as he was, people had rightly assumed it was not even worth approaching him with the proposal Genji had accepted so readily. ‘Just once more,’ he said on the third night. ‘After this I won’t have to leave you again. Or, if I ever do, you can be sure it won’t be because I want to. I must not give Suzaku the impression....’

His predicament seemed to her a strange and rather absurd one. ‘If it is Suzaku and not yourself whom you are trying to please,’ she said, smiling, ‘I am sure you can judge better than I can what will suffice to keep him happy.’

His situation seemed strange and rather absurd to her. ‘If you’re trying to please Suzaku and not yourself,’ she said, smiling, ‘I’m sure you know better than I do what it takes to keep him happy.’

In the end it was at Murasaki’s persuasion that, far later than he had intended, he made his way to Nyosan’s room. But it was with aching heart that she watched him cross the threshold, clad in the soft, fine cloak that she had scented with her own hands.

In the end, Murasaki persuaded him to go to Nyosan’s room, much later than he had intended. But her heart ached as she watched him cross the threshold. He wore the soft, fine cloak that she had scented with her own hands.

If all this had happened a few years ago, at the time when she lived constantly on the watch for the first signs of some such trouble, she would have been better able to meet it. But lately she had grown used to life running in an even tenour that seemed incapable of change, and even if it had been a mere matter of rumour or suspicion, her sense of security would have received a rude shock. As it was, she knew that henceforward, come what might, she would not have many easy moments; but of this she did not breathe a word to any one. Not so her gentlewomen, among whom there was to-night a great deal of indignant nudging and whispering: ‘Who would have thought we should ever live to see such a day!’ ‘Well, this isn’t the first time he’s taken a fancy to some one....’ ‘Of course not; but none of the others was anything to worry about, so far as I ever heard. I don’t mean that even now there is any real danger. But small difficulties are bound to crop up now and again. It is not going to be any too pleasant a time for most of us....’ Murasaki affected to be unconscious of these dialogues, and sat talking, spiritedly enough, till a late hour in the night. Anxious that her women should have no excuse for spreading in the world at large the impression that she was taking up a hostile line towards Nyosan, she said at last: ‘I am so glad that this young princess has come to live with us. For though we are already so large a household, His Highness badly needs new society. I think he will get on very well with her, and she will make a fresh interest in his life. I too shall be delighted to have her here, for since the Akashi Princess went away there has been no one for me to play games with, and oddly enough I still enjoy them just as much as when I was a child. It is too bad that people are saying I am opposed to her living here. Nothing could be further from the truth. Perhaps if His Highness were to take some one of my own rank, or some one whom I regarded as very inferior, too much into his confidence, I might for a time feel a little bit jealous. But as it is, I am glad that he should have found any way of assisting this unfortunate creature....’

If all this had happened a few years ago, she would have been better able to face it. Back then, she had always been watching for the first signs of such trouble. But lately, she had grown used to a steady life that seemed unlikely ever to change. Even a mere rumor or suspicion would have badly shaken her sense of security. As it was, she knew that from now on, whatever happened, she would have few easy moments. But she did not say a word about this to anyone. Her gentlewomen were another matter. That night, they nudged one another and whispered indignantly: ‘Who would have thought we would live to see such a day!’ ‘Well, this isn’t the first time he’s taken a fancy to someone....’ ‘Of course not. But none of the others was anything to worry about, as far as I ever heard. I don’t mean there’s any real danger even now. But small difficulties are bound to come up from time to time. It won’t be a very pleasant time for most of us....’ Murasaki pretended not to hear these conversations. She sat talking quite cheerfully until late that night. She did not want her women to tell everyone that she was hostile toward Nyosan. So at last she said: ‘I am so glad this young princess has come to live with us. Although our household is already so large, His Highness badly needs new company. I think he will get on very well with her, and she will bring a new interest into his life. I too will be delighted to have her here. Since the Akashi Princess went away, I have had no one to play games with. Oddly enough, I still enjoy them just as much as I did as a child. It is too bad that people are saying I oppose her living here. Nothing could be further from the truth. Perhaps His Highness might take someone of my own rank too much into his confidence. Or perhaps he might do so with someone I regarded as far beneath me. In either case, I might feel a little jealous for a while. But as it is, I am glad he has found a way to help this unfortunate creature....’

With such sentiments as these it was hard for Nakatsukasa and Chūjō no Kimi to keep patience, and they exchanged glances which clearly meant: ‘Sympathy can be carried too far!’ Formerly they had both been in Genji’s personal service; but for a long while past they had waited upon Murasaki, and were both devotedly attached to her.

Such remarks made it hard for Nakatsukasa and Chūjō no Kimi to stay patient. They exchanged glances that clearly meant: ‘Sympathy can go too far!’ Both had once served Genji personally, but for a long time they had served Murasaki. They were both devoted to her.

Meanwhile speculation was rife among the other ladies of the household as to how this new development would affect Murasaki’s position; and for the first time they felt a certain satisfaction in their own poor estate, which, humdrum though it was, could never land them in one of these humiliating predicaments.... To each of them separately it occurred that it would be kind to call upon Murasaki, and they arrived in rapid succession, thus bringing home to her in the most painful fashion the fact that she had become an object of sympathy.

Meanwhile, the other ladies of the household speculated about how this new development would affect Murasaki’s position. For the first time, they felt some satisfaction in their own modest circumstances. Their lives were dull, but they could never find themselves in such humiliating situations.... Each lady independently thought it would be kind to visit Murasaki. They arrived one after another, painfully reminding her that she had become an object of pity.

Again and again Murasaki told herself that life was very short. Soon this and all else would be over; what sense could there be in minding things so much? But when night came she felt she could not rest, and it was only to avoid the comments of those about her that at last she crept under the bedclothes. And though such nights as the one I am describing had become common enough since Nyosan’s arrival, Murasaki still felt awkward and lopsided as she tried to arrange herself in bed. This reminded her of the days when he was at Suma. She found herself, strangely enough, wishing that he were now equally far away. Simply to know that he was alive—that was all she asked; and she afflicted herself afresh by imagining him at the ends of the earth, while she remained alone in the Capital. To vary this, she imagined her own death, rapidly followed by his. Here she checked herself. A pretty pass things had come to when she had to conjure up such visions in order to allay the torment of reality!

Again and again, Murasaki told herself that life was very short. Soon this and everything else would be over. What was the point of caring so much? But when night came, she felt she could not rest. At last she crept under the covers, but only to avoid comments from those around her. Nights like the one I am describing had become common since Nyosan’s arrival. Even so, Murasaki still felt awkward and off balance as she settled into bed. It reminded her of the days when he was at Suma. Strangely, she found herself wishing he were just as far away now. All she asked was to know that he was alive. She made herself miserable again by imagining him at the ends of the earth while she stayed alone in the Capital. For a change, she imagined her own death, followed soon afterward by his. Then she stopped herself. Things had come to a sorry state if she had to imagine such things to ease the torment of reality!

A dismal wind was howling. She tried in vain to sleep, lying dead still, that the gentlewomen who were near her might think she was asleep despite the storm; and she was lying thus when a dreary cock-crow seemed to tell that the night was past. But opening her eyes she saw that it was still dark.

A bleak wind was howling. She tried to sleep, but could not. She lay perfectly still so the women attending her would think she was asleep despite the storm. As she lay there, a dreary rooster's crow seemed to announce that the night was over. But when she opened her eyes, she saw that it was still dark.

She had not all this while thought of Genji with any rancour or hostility, but her distress was vivid enough to find a way into his dreams, and it was after a terrifying vision of her that he woke up with a start and hearing the cock crow told Nyosan he must be gone, for it had been agreed that he should leave at daybreak, and now, in his anxiety to discover whether Murasaki was in some special need of him, he affected not to notice that, despite the crowing of the cock, it was still black night. Nyosan was still so young that she liked to have her nurses sleeping close at hand, and when Genji opened the passage-door, they sat up and craned their necks after him. In the east a faint semblance of light was beginning to show, dimly reflected by the snow that lay on the path. The perfume of his dress lingered where he had passed, and one of the nurses whispered, ‘Though black the night....’⁶¹⁷

All this time, she had felt no bitterness or hostility toward Genji. But her distress was vivid enough to enter his dreams. After a terrifying vision of her, he woke with a start. Hearing the rooster crow, he told Nyosan he had to leave. They had agreed that he would leave at daybreak. Now he was anxious to find out whether Murasaki had some special need of him. So he pretended not to notice that, despite the rooster’s crowing, it was still pitch-dark. Nyosan was still so young that she liked her nurses to sleep close by. When Genji opened the door to the passage, they sat up and stretched their necks to watch him go. In the east, a faint hint of light was beginning to appear, dimly reflected in the snow on the path. The scent of his clothes lingered where he had passed, and one of the nurses whispered, ‘Though black the night....’⁶¹⁷

The snow only remained in patches here and there, but the sand of the garden-paths was very white, and often he was in doubt whether he was going to tread on sand or snow. While he knocked at the outer door of Murasaki’s room, he murmured to himself those lines of Po Chū-i:

Only patches of snow remained here and there, but the sand on the garden paths was very white. He often wondered whether he was about to step on sand or snow. As he knocked on the outer door of Murasaki’s room, he murmured these lines by Po Chū-i to himself:

It was a long time before there was any answer to his summons, for her people were quite unused to answering the door at such an hour, and when at last they undid the bolts, he grumbled: ‘You have kept me standing here till I am half frozen. A poor reward for hurrying home so early! I wish now that I had not bestirred myself....’

It took a long time for anyone to answer his call. Her servants were not used to answering the door at such an hour. When they finally unbolted it, he grumbled: ‘You’ve kept me standing here until I’m half frozen. Some reward for hurrying home so early! I wish I hadn’t bothered....’

He came to Murasaki’s bedside and pulled back the coverlet. As he did so, with a quick movement she hid the sleeve of her dress, that was still wet with the tears she had shed during the night. He began treating her as though nothing were amiss, speaking with the utmost tenderness and affection. But coax and pet as he might, she remained serious and preoccupied, turning from him sorrowfully as though she felt he had no right to have come. He sat watching her, full of admiration and delight. Certainly it was not in search of beauty that he had need to go abroad at night! He spent all day with her, recalling a thousand tender passages in their past life together, begging her not to shut her thoughts away from him. When night came he sent a note to Nyosan’s quarters saying that the snowy weather had upset him and that it was thought best he should remain where he was. The nurse, who took his message, knew very well what to make of it, and came back in a minute or two, saying curtly: ‘I have told my Lady.’ Evidently Nyosan’s people were not best pleased with the excuse. What if they should carry their complaint to the ex-Emperor? This was only the fourth night after the marriage. Perhaps after all it was rather soon to begin suspending his nightly visits; he had better invent some fresh excuse and go to Nyosan at any rate this one time more. But a moment later, looking at Murasaki, he wondered how it could ever have occurred to him as possible to leave her. Meanwhile she on her side felt that he had treated Nyosan almost contemptuously, and wished that he would take the trouble to manage things a little better....

He came to Murasaki’s bedside and pulled back the coverlet. She quickly hid the sleeve of her dress, which was still wet with the tears she had shed during the night. He acted as though nothing were wrong, speaking to her with the greatest tenderness and affection. But no matter how much he coaxed and comforted her, she remained serious and distracted. She turned away from him sadly, as though she felt he had no right to come. He sat watching her, full of admiration and delight. He certainly had no need to go out at night in search of beauty! He spent the whole day with her, recalling a thousand tender moments from their life together. He begged her not to hide her thoughts from him. When night came, he sent a note to Nyosan’s quarters. He said the snowy weather had upset him, and it was thought best for him to stay where he was. The nurse who carried his message knew very well what it meant. She returned a minute or two later and said curtly, ‘I have told my Lady.’ Clearly, Nyosan’s people were not pleased with his excuse. What if they complained to the ex-Emperor? This was only the fourth night after the marriage. Perhaps it was rather soon to stop visiting Nyosan every night. He had better invent another excuse and go to her at least this once. But a moment later, looking at Murasaki, he wondered how he could ever have thought it possible to leave her. Meanwhile, Murasaki felt that he had treated Nyosan almost contemptuously. She wished he would take the trouble to handle things a little better....

Next morning he sent a note of apology to Nyosan’s apartments, and though it was not to be supposed that at her age she was very critical in such matters, he trimmed his brush with the utmost care and wrote on exquisitely white paper: ‘No deep drift bars my path, but with their whirling these thin, parched snowflakes have bewitched my dizzy brain.’ This he tied to a sprig of plum-blossom, and sending for one of his servants, bade him take it not across the garden,⁶¹⁸ but by way of the western gallery. The answer was long in coming, and tired of waiting he went back to Murasaki in the inner room. He was still carrying in his hand the rest of the plum-branch from which he had detached the spray, and conscious that Murasaki was looking at it curiously, he said: ‘How pleasant it would be if all flowers had so delightful a scent as this! However, it is a good thing for the other flowers that the cherry-blossom cannot borrow this smell. The rest would seem to us mere weeds, and we should never give them another thought again. The plum-flower, however, has this advantage over the others, that it comes first. Our eyes have not yet been sated with blossom, and we accord to this earliest comer what is perhaps an undue attention. Then, wisely, it vanishes, before the cherry has reached its prime....’

The next morning, he sent a note of apology to Nyosan’s apartments. At her age, she was probably not very critical about such things. Even so, he trimmed his brush with the greatest care and wrote on exquisitely white paper: ‘No deep snowdrift blocks my path, but these thin, dry snowflakes whirl around and bewitch my dizzy mind.’ He tied the note to a sprig of plum blossom. Then he called a servant and told him to take it by the western gallery, not across the garden.⁶¹⁸ The answer was a long time coming. Tired of waiting, he went back to Murasaki in the inner room. He was still carrying the rest of the plum branch from which he had taken the sprig. Seeing Murasaki look at it curiously, he said: ‘How pleasant it would be if all flowers had such a lovely scent! Still, it is a good thing for the other flowers that cherry blossoms cannot borrow this scent. The rest would seem like mere weeds to us, and we would never give them another thought. But the plum blossom has one advantage over the others. It comes first. Our eyes have not yet had their fill of blossoms, so we give this earliest flower perhaps more attention than it deserves. Then, wisely, it vanishes before the cherry blossoms are at their best....’

At this moment (when he had almost given up expecting it) Nyosan’s answer at last arrived. It was on thin crimson paper, and the extreme ingenuity and daintiness with which it was folded made his heart beat fast as he opened it. Alas, her writing was still quite unformed, and he wished that it had been possible to prevent Murasaki from seeing it some while longer. Not that the letter contained anything in the slightest degree intimate. But considering the writer’s rank and what would naturally be expected of her, it seemed a shame to show so childish a production. But to conceal it from Murasaki would be sure to lead to misunderstandings, so he let her read what she could see of it over his shoulder as she lay beside him. The poem ran: ‘So light the last spring snow that, should the least waft of unkindness come, those thin flakes soon would vanish down the windy cross-roads of the sky.’

At that moment, just when he had almost given up hope, Nyosan’s answer finally arrived. It was written on thin crimson paper and folded so cleverly and delicately that his heart beat faster as he opened it. Sadly, her handwriting was still quite unpracticed. He wished he could have kept Murasaki from seeing it a little longer. The letter contained nothing intimate at all. But given Nyosan’s rank and what people would naturally expect of her, it seemed a shame to show such childish writing. Still, hiding the letter from Murasaki would surely lead to misunderstandings. So he let her read what she could over his shoulder as she lay beside him. The poem read: ‘The last spring snow is so light that the slightest breath of unkindness would send its thin flakes vanishing down the windy crossroads of the sky.’

It was indeed a childish, scrawling hand, far behind what one would have expected in a girl of Nyosan’s years; but Genji merely glanced at it and put the letter away. If it had come from any one else he would certainly have discussed this strangely backward letter with Murasaki and attempted to account for its inefficiency. As it was, he merely said with a sigh: ‘Well, well! That at any rate must prove to you that you have small ground for anxiety.’

The handwriting was indeed childish and messy, far worse than one would expect from a girl of Nyosan’s age. But Genji merely glanced at the letter and put it away. If it had come from anyone else, he would certainly have discussed its surprisingly poor handwriting with Murasaki. He would have tried to explain why it was so bad. Instead, he merely sighed and said, ‘Well, well! That should at least show you that you have little reason to worry.’

During the day he paid a short visit to Nyosan’s rooms. He had taken more trouble than ever with his costume, wishing her to feel that his failure to appear last night was not due to carelessness or disrespect. Her younger gentlewomen were easily mollified by the magnificence of his get-up; but the head nurses regarded last night’s non-appearance as a very grave omen. ‘Come, come,’ they said. ‘It’s no use his trying to mend matters by wearing his smartest clothes.’ The little princess was certainly very pretty; but all her surroundings were so exquisitely appointed and she herself so marvellously dressed, that looking at her one began to wonder whether, apart from her clothes and grand belongings, she had any existence at all. It could not be said that she was particularly shy; but her friendliness and composure were those of a child that barely distinguishes between friends and strangers, rather than of a young lady to whom experience has taught the art of self-possession. Her father Suzaku, though always somewhat effeminate and over-sensitive, or at any rate constantly criticized on this score by his subjects, was assuredly not lacking in feeling for the elegancies of life, and to Genji it was incomprehensible that he should have allowed his favourite child to grow up backward in just those accomplishments to which he himself had always paid the greatest attention. Genji was upset, for the girl’s deficiencies were such as must inevitably make her an uninteresting associate for some while to come. However, he did not take an actual dislike to her, and soon began attempting to draw her into conversation. She agreed with everything he said, but did not succeed in introducing any fresh topic of her own, and not so many years ago he would have set her down as a hopeless simpleton. But recently he had grown much more tolerant. If one was going to dismiss people because of a single shortcoming, there would soon be no one left. He had made up his mind henceforward to get as much pleasure as possible out of what was interesting in the people he met and forget about their bad points. To be bored by this girl, for whose hand in marriage the whole Court would in a short while have been scrambling, was really too perverse. Yet far more than at any time before Nyosan’s arrival he now felt how unique Murasaki was. Surely his adoption of her was the one step in his life that he would never have cause to regret. Such time as he spent with Nyosan (whether by day or night) he found himself grudging more and more, till he was frightened at his own increasing inability to live more than an hour or two on end in any but Murasaki’s company.

During the day, he paid a short visit to Nyosan’s rooms. He had taken more care than ever with his clothes. He wanted her to know that his failure to appear the night before was not due to carelessness or disrespect. His magnificent outfit easily won over her younger gentlewomen. But the head nurses regarded his absence the night before as a very serious omen. ‘Come, come,’ they said. ‘There’s no use trying to make up for it by wearing his finest clothes.’ The little princess was certainly very pretty. But her surroundings were so exquisite and her clothes so splendid that one began to wonder about her. Did she have any existence apart from her clothes and grand possessions? She was not particularly shy. But her friendliness and composure were those of a child who barely distinguishes friends from strangers. They were not those of a young lady whom experience had taught how to carry herself. Her father, Suzaku, had always been somewhat effeminate and oversensitive. At any rate, his subjects constantly criticized him for being so. Yet he certainly appreciated the finer things in life. Genji could not understand why he had let his favorite child fall behind in the very accomplishments he valued most. Genji was upset. The girl’s shortcomings were bound to make her dull company for some time to come. Still, he did not actually dislike her, and he soon tried to draw her into conversation. She agreed with everything he said, but could not introduce a new topic of her own. Not many years earlier, he would have dismissed her as a hopeless simpleton. But lately he had become much more tolerant. If he dismissed people for a single shortcoming, soon no one would be left. From now on, he had decided, he would enjoy what was interesting in the people he met and forget their faults. It would be truly perverse to be bored by this girl. Before long, the whole Court would have been competing for her hand in marriage. Yet now, more than ever before Nyosan’s arrival, he felt how unique Murasaki was. Surely his adoption of her was the one decision in his life he would never regret. He increasingly resented the time he spent with Nyosan, whether by day or night. Soon he was frightened by how hard he found it to spend more than an hour or two away from Murasaki.

The Crown Prince had taken an immense fancy to his little bride from Akashi, and never allowed her out of his sight. One day she announced that she was tired of Court and had decided to go home for a while to Genji’s palace. But the Crown Prince would not hear of it. She was obliged to give way; not however without considerable resentment, for this was the first time in her life that she had ever failed to get her way. In the summer she was not very well, and it was agreed in principle that she should be allowed a short leave of absence. But day after day her departure was deferred, and she began to feel as though her marriage had sentenced her to perpetual captivity. Presently it became clear that there was a special reason for her indisposition. Her attendants would indeed have reached this conclusion sooner had she not been so very young⁶¹⁹; but as soon as it was apparent that she needed rest and care, leave of absence was granted, and she moved into the New Palace. Her old rooms were no longer available, and she was put into a suite that opened out of Princess Nyosan’s quarters, her mother of course accompanying her. This was the first time that the Lady of Akashi had inhabited the New Palace without being separated from her child, and her delight knew no bounds.

The Crown Prince was deeply fond of his young bride from Akashi and never let her out of his sight. One day she said she was tired of Court and had decided to return to Genji’s palace for a while. But the Crown Prince would not hear of it. She had to give in, though she was deeply resentful. It was the first time in her life that she had failed to get her way. In the summer she was unwell, and it was agreed that she could take a short leave. But her departure was postponed day after day. She began to feel that her marriage had sentenced her to lifelong captivity. Soon it became clear that there was a particular reason for her illness. Her attendants would have realized it sooner if she had not been so young⁶¹⁹. But as soon as it was clear she needed rest and care, she was granted leave. She moved into the New Palace. Her old rooms were no longer available, so she was given rooms opening off Princess Nyosan’s quarters. Her mother accompanied her, of course. This was the first time the Lady of Akashi had lived in the New Palace without being separated from her child. Her delight knew no bounds.

One day when Murasaki and Genji were about to visit the Crown Princess’s rooms, Murasaki said to him: ‘Would not this be a good opportunity for me to make Nyosan’s acquaintance? That dividing-door could so easily be opened.... I have for some time past been meaning to visit her, but it has always been very difficult to arrange. This seems the best chance that is likely to turn up....’ ‘Certainly, nothing could be easier,’ replied Genji, ‘you have only to walk in. It is impossible to treat her otherwise than as a child. So far from standing on ceremony with her, I hope you will help me to correct her faults. It is the kindest thing you can do....’ He went to Nyosan, and in the course of conversation said to her: ‘Later on this evening Lady Murasaki will be visiting your neighbour, the Crown Princess. It is an excellent opportunity for you to make her acquaintance, and I hope you will allow her to come straight through into these rooms. Murasaki is a delightful person, and she is just as fond of games as you are. I believe you would have great fun together.’ Nyosan looked rather scared. ‘I should not know what to say to her....’ she answered helplessly. ‘Oh, that would be all right,’ he hastened to assure her. ‘She would talk, and you are quite good at finding things to say if some one helps you out by leading the way. In any case, make friends with her. That is all I ask.’

One day, as Murasaki and Genji were about to visit the Crown Princess’s rooms, Murasaki said to him, ‘Wouldn’t this be a good chance for me to meet Nyosan? The door between their rooms could easily be opened.... I’ve been meaning to visit her for some time, but it’s always been very difficult to arrange. This seems like the best chance I’m likely to get....’ ‘Of course, nothing could be easier,’ Genji replied. ‘You only have to walk in. It’s impossible to treat her as anything but a child. Rather than be formal with her, I hope you’ll help me correct her faults. It’s the kindest thing you can do....’ Genji went to Nyosan and, while they were talking, said to her, ‘Lady Murasaki will visit your neighbor, the Crown Princess, later this evening. It’s an excellent chance for you to meet her. I hope you’ll let her come straight through to your rooms. Murasaki is a delightful person, and she loves games just as much as you do. I think you’d have great fun together.’ Nyosan looked rather frightened. ‘I wouldn’t know what to say to her....’ she answered helplessly. ‘Oh, that would be all right,’ he quickly assured her. ‘She would talk, and you’re quite good at finding things to say when someone helps you by starting the conversation. In any case, make friends with her. That’s all I ask.’

So anxious was he for them to get on well together that he had for some time past been positively dreading the inevitable encounter, and had done nothing on his side to promote it. For he feared that Murasaki would, when it came to the point, find Nyosan’s childish ways merely tiresome and her insipid conversation exasperating. However, this time it was Murasaki herself who had suggested the meeting, and there could be no sense in opposing it.

He was so anxious for them to get along that he had long dreaded their inevitable meeting. He had done nothing to bring it about. He feared that Murasaki would find Nyosan’s childish ways tiresome and her dull conversation exasperating. But this time, Murasaki herself had suggested the meeting, so there was no point in opposing it.

Meanwhile Murasaki went to her room to get ready for the visit. Even while she did so she assured herself that, despite all the care she was taking in her preparations and the feeling (dictated by all the circumstances of the visit) that she was about to pay her court to a reigning power, Nyosan was neither her superior in this household, nor to any considerable extent in the world at large. While waiting for Genji to fetch her, she began doing a little writing-practice, not composing the poems, but writing old ones that she knew by heart. She was not feeling depressed, but only the most desolate and love-lorn verses came into her head, and by an odd accident each seemed in some special way to fit her own case.

Meanwhile, Murasaki went to her room to get ready for the visit. She took great care with her preparations. Everything about the visit made her feel as though she were going to pay her respects to a ruler. Even so, she reminded herself that Nyosan was not her superior in the household, or to any great extent in the wider world. While she waited for Genji to fetch her, she practiced her writing. She did not compose poems, but wrote out old ones she knew by heart. She was not feeling depressed, but only the saddest, most love-lorn verses came to mind. By a strange coincidence, each one seemed to fit her own situation in some particular way.

Coming from the presence of younger women, such as Nyosan, Genji always expected that Murasaki would appear to him inevitably (and he was willing to make allowance for it) a little bit jaded, a trifle seared and worn. Moreover, he had lived with her so long, knew her, as he supposed, so well by heart that, even had not age touched her charms, it would scarcely have been strange if they no longer had power to excite him. But as a matter of fact it was just these younger women who failed to provide any element of surprise, whereas Murasaki was continually astounding him; as indeed she did to-night, dressed in all the splendour that the coming visit demanded, her clothes scented with the subtlest and most delicious perfumes, her whole person ever more radiant this year than last year, to-day than yesterday.

After spending time with younger women like Nyosan, Genji always expected Murasaki to seem a little faded and worn. He was willing to make allowances for that. He had also lived with her so long and believed he knew her so well. Even if age had not touched her beauty, it would hardly have been strange if she no longer excited him. But in fact, it was the younger women who never surprised him, while Murasaki continually amazed him. She did so again tonight. She was dressed in all the splendor the coming visit called for, her clothes scented with the subtlest and most delightful perfumes. She seemed more radiant this year than last, more radiant today than yesterday.

Seeing him enter, she hid the papers on which she had been writing under the inkstand; but he rescued them before she could protest. Hers was not a hand of the sort that occurs once in a generation, and is remembered for ever afterwards. But there was great beauty in it, and scanning the papers he found the verse: ‘Is autumn⁶²⁰ near to me as to those leafy hills, that even while I watch them grow less green?’ Taking her brush he wrote beside her poem: ‘Look to the moat! Sooner shall yon bird’s emerald wings grow white, than autumn bind its frosts about my Love.’

When she saw him enter, she hid the papers she had been writing on under the inkstand. But he took them out before she could protest. Her handwriting was not the kind that appears once in a generation and is remembered forever. But it was very beautiful. As he looked over the papers, he found the verse: ‘Is autumn⁶²⁰ as near to me as it is to those leafy hills, which grow less green even as I watch?’ He took her brush and wrote beside her poem: ‘Look at the moat! That bird’s emerald wings will turn white before autumn wraps its frost around my Love.’

Again and again, from small indications that she gave him unintentionally and unawares, he saw that she was very unhappy. If he made no allusion to this, it was not either that he failed to observe it, or that he did not know what struggles she made to conceal her pain.

Again and again, small, unintentional signs showed him how unhappy she was. He said nothing about it, but not because he failed to notice. He knew how hard she struggled to hide her pain.

With Murasaki the Crown Princess was quite as much at home as with her own mother, and this part of the visit naturally passed off agreeably enough. The girl had grown very good-looking, and Murasaki, to whom her existence had once been a reminder of unpleasant things, no longer felt in her society anything but the most unfeigned pleasure. After a short conversation she proceeded through the dividing door into Nyosan’s apartments. The little princess’s childish lack of conventional small-talk proved to be the reverse of embarrassing, for it enabled Murasaki from the start to treat her as a young relative who had been put into her care. It was necessary first of all to explain the rather complicated chapter of family history which made them cousins. Sending for Nyosan’s head nurse, she said: ‘We have been working things out, and it certainly seems beyond doubt that your mistress and I are connected by family ties in many directions. I hope you do not think it rude of me to have been so long in coming. It seemed so difficult to arrange. But your mistress and I have now made great friends, and I hope you will not only allow me to visit you again, but also bring her to my rooms. Please consider henceforward that, if we do not frequently come together, the fault will lie on your side.’ ‘Well, madam,’ replied the nurse, ‘what with her mother dead and her father shut away in a monastery, I am sure my little lady would have a sad time of it, were it not for kindness such as yours. But I know quite well that her father would never have brought himself to leave the City if he had not been certain that you would welcome us as you have done to-day, and make it your business to watch over our young lady with a friendly eye. For, madam, as you see, she is very young in her ways, and not only needs your help, but is used to being guided by those about her, and fully expects you to take her under your wing.’ ‘The ex-Emperor’s appeal was couched in such terms,’ answered Murasaki, ‘that Prince Genji could never have dreamed of rejecting it; and I for my part was only sorry that it lay in my power to do so little for this poor child’s happiness.’ Then turning abruptly from this serious conversation, to which Nyosan had herself paid very little attention, Murasaki began talking about picture-books and dolls with such knowledge and enthusiasm, that Nyosan at once decided she was not so dull as most grown-up people, nor indeed like one at all. Henceforward they met very often, or when that was impossible, exchanged little notes concerned exclusively with the behaviour of Nyosan’s dolls and the fortunes or reverses of her other toys.

The Crown Princess felt as much at home with Murasaki as she did with her own mother. Naturally, this part of the visit passed pleasantly enough. The girl had grown very pretty. Her existence had once reminded Murasaki of unhappy things, but now she felt only genuine pleasure in her company. After a short conversation, Murasaki went through the connecting door into Nyosan’s rooms. The little princess was too young to make polite small talk. Far from making the meeting awkward, this allowed Murasaki to treat her from the start as a young relative in her care. First, she had to explain the rather complicated family history that made them cousins. She sent for Nyosan’s head nurse and said, ‘We have worked it out, and there can be no doubt that your mistress and I are related in many ways. I hope you do not think me rude for taking so long to come. It seemed so difficult to arrange. But your mistress and I have become great friends. I hope you will let me visit again and bring her to my rooms too. From now on, please understand that if we do not meet often, it will be your fault.’ ‘Well, madam,’ replied the nurse, ‘her mother is dead, and her father is shut away in a monastery. I am sure my little lady would be very unhappy without kindness like yours. But I know her father could never have brought himself to leave the City unless he was certain you would welcome us as you have today. He was also certain you would make it your business to watch over our young lady with a friendly eye. For, madam, as you can see, she is very young in her ways. She not only needs your help, but is used to being guided by those around her. She fully expects you to take her under your wing.’ ‘The ex-Emperor made his request in such terms that Prince Genji could never have dreamed of refusing it,’ Murasaki answered. ‘For my part, I was only sorry that I could do so little for this poor child’s happiness.’ Nyosan herself had paid very little attention to this serious conversation. Murasaki now turned abruptly to picture books and dolls. She spoke with such knowledge and enthusiasm that Nyosan immediately decided she was not as dull as most grown-ups. In fact, she did not seem like a grown-up at all. From then on, they met very often. When they could not meet, they exchanged little notes. These were entirely about the behavior of Nyosan’s dolls and the good and bad fortunes of her other toys.

At the first news of Nyosan’s removal to the New Palace, people had hastened to make the obvious prediction that Murasaki’s day would soon be over. When, however, as time passed, it became abundantly clear that Genji, so far from being exclusively interested in the new arrival, was treating Murasaki with an even greater consideration than before, they waxed indignant on Nyosan’s behalf, and said that if Murasaki had him so completely in her power he ought never to have taken the little princess into his house. Now came the news (disconcerting to gossip of either kind) that perfect harmony prevailed between the two ladies, and to these outside observers the situation lost all further interest.

When people first heard that Nyosan was moving to the New Palace, they rushed to predict that Murasaki’s day would soon be over. As time passed, however, it became abundantly clear that Genji was far from interested only in the newcomer. He was treating Murasaki with even greater consideration than before. People then grew indignant on Nyosan’s behalf. They said that if Murasaki had such power over him, he should never have taken the little princess into his house. Then came news that upset both kinds of gossip: the two ladies were living in perfect harmony. To these outside observers, the situation lost all further interest.

The Crown Princess was now nearing her time. From the beginning of the next year a service of continual intercession was kept up in Genji’s palace, and in every Buddhist temple or shrine of the old faith throughout the land prayers were said on her behalf. A previous experience⁶²¹ had made Genji particularly nervous about such events, and though it was a grief to him that Murasaki had never borne a child, he was in a way relieved that he had never been called upon to endure the agonies of suspense that such an event would have inflicted upon him. The Princess’s extreme youth was another source of anxiety, and when at the beginning of Kisaragi⁶²² her strength showed signs of failing, not only Genji but all those in charge of her began to take serious alarm. After careful investigation, the magicians decided that the situation of her present room was unfavourable, and insisted upon a change. To move her away from the palace altogether would clearly be a very risky undertaking, and she was carried to the Central Hall of her mother’s former apartments in the northern wing. These had the advantage of being surrounded on every side by passages and covered galleries in which it was possible to accommodate the huge band of priests (with their altars and other gear) that had now assembled in the palace. For every healer of any repute in the country had been summoned to work his spells.

The Crown Princess was now close to giving birth. From the beginning of the new year, continuous prayers were held at Genji’s palace. Prayers were also said for her at every Buddhist temple and shrine of the old faith throughout the land. A previous experience⁶²¹ had made Genji especially nervous about childbirth. He was saddened that Murasaki had never borne a child. Yet he was also somewhat relieved that he had never had to endure the agony of waiting for her to give birth. The Princess’s extreme youth worried him too. At the beginning of Kisaragi⁶²², her strength began to fail. Genji and everyone caring for her grew seriously alarmed. After careful investigation, the magicians decided that her room was in an unfavorable position and insisted that she be moved. Moving her away from the palace altogether would clearly have been very risky. So she was carried to the Central Hall of her mother’s former apartments in the northern wing. The hall was surrounded by passages and covered galleries. These had room for the large number of priests now gathered at the palace, along with their altars and other equipment. Every healer of any repute in the country had been summoned to cast his spells.

The Lady of Akashi, quite apart from the anxiety that she must in any case feel at such a time, was in a state of the utmost suspense; for the safe delivery of an heir would mean that all her sacrifices had not been made in vain. On this occasion her mother, now a very old lady indeed, had come up from the country, unable to bear the anxiety of being at a distance from all news.

The Lady of Akashi would have been anxious at such a time in any case. But she was also waiting in intense suspense. If an heir were safely delivered, it would mean that all her sacrifices had not been in vain. Her mother, now a very old woman, had come from the country for the occasion. She could not bear the anxiety of being far away from any news.

The Crown Princess knew very little about the circumstances of her birth; but once admitted to her bedside, the old grandmother was soon pouring out a tremulous flood of anecdotes and lamentations that, confused though it was, for the first time did something towards enlightening her. The girl had at first stared at this extraordinary visitor, wondering who on earth she could be; but she was just aware of the fact that she possessed a grandmother, and when it became evident that this talkative old woman was certainly she, the Princess tried to be as civil as she could. The visitor began describing Genji’s life at Akashi, and the despair into which they had fallen at the time of his sudden recall. ‘We never thought we should any of us set eyes on him again,’ she said. ‘Oh dear, oh dear! If only I could have known then that it was all going to work out for the best.... It was your coming into the world that saved us. I don’t believe that but for you we should ever have heard a word from him after he went away.’ And she burst into tears of gratitude and joy. The Princess also wept, partly because it always moves one to hear about one’s childhood, partly because this revelation of the true facts about her birth had come to her as something of a shock. She had always known that her mother was not quite of the same class as the people with whom she now associated. But the careful education she had received at Murasaki’s hands, combined with the admiring attitude of all her companions at Court, had destroyed in her the last trace of diffidence or timidity. She had long felt herself to be in every way on an equality with the greatest ladies in the land. With burning cheeks she recalled occasion upon occasion when she had spoken scornfully of persons who were (as she now realized) very far indeed from being her inferiors. The true facts about her origin were probably known to most people at Court, and though in her presence no sarcastic comment had ever been made, she could imagine the mirth that (behind the scenes) had always been provoked by her ignorant self-conceit. Akashi!⁶²³ Born at Akashi! What a hideous thought! That things were as bad as that she had never for a moment suspected; for it was her nature to turn away instinctively from enquiries that were likely to yield unpleasant information. Well, here indeed was a disagreeable and humiliating surprise. She wondered how she would ever be able to hold up her head again.

The Crown Princess knew very little about the circumstances of her birth. But once her old grandmother was allowed to visit her bedside, she poured out stories and complaints in a trembling voice. Though confused, her account began to shed light on the Princess’s birth for the first time. At first, the girl stared at this extraordinary visitor, wondering who on earth she could be. But she did know that she had a grandmother. When it became clear that this talkative old woman was indeed her grandmother, the Princess tried to be as polite as she could. The visitor began describing Genji’s life at Akashi and their despair when he was suddenly recalled. ‘We never thought any of us would see him again,’ she said. ‘Oh dear, oh dear! If only I had known then that it would all work out for the best.... Your birth saved us. I don’t believe we would ever have heard a word from him after he left if it hadn’t been for you.’ And she burst into tears of gratitude and joy. The Princess wept too. She was moved, as anyone would be, to hear about her childhood. But she was also somewhat shocked to learn the truth about her birth. She had always known that her mother was not quite of the same social class as the people she now mixed with. But Murasaki had educated her carefully, and everyone at Court admired her. Together, these things had removed the last trace of her shyness and insecurity. She had long felt herself equal in every way to the greatest ladies in the land. Her cheeks burned as she remembered the many times she had spoken scornfully of people. She now realized that they were very far from being beneath her. Most people at Court probably knew the truth about her origins. No one had ever made a sarcastic comment in her presence. But she could imagine how they had always laughed behind her back at her ignorant self-importance. Akashi!⁶²³ Born at Akashi! What a dreadful thought! She had never suspected for a moment that things were so bad. It was her nature to avoid asking questions that might bring unpleasant answers. Well, this was certainly an unpleasant and humiliating surprise. She wondered how she would ever be able to hold her head up again.

She was obliged next to listen to a long account of her grandfather’s odd ways; he had become, it seemed, a kind of rishi, living in the world but not of it. A queer place she came from and queer people she belonged to, thought the Princess, remembering the high line she had always taken on questions of birth and breeding. At this moment her mother entered, and noticed at once that she was looking very rueful indeed. In the passages outside there was a great stir, for the priests and magic-workers drawn from every quarter of the land were just assembling to recite the Rites of the Day. But actually in the Princess’s room all was quiet, and availing herself of this opportunity the old nun had installed herself at the bedside and seemed to have taken complete possession of her grand-daughter and all that appertained to her.

Next she had to listen to a long account of her grandfather’s strange ways. He had apparently become a kind of rishi, living in the world but not belonging to it. What a strange place she came from, and what strange people she belonged to, the Princess thought. She remembered how strongly she had always insisted on the importance of birth and breeding. Just then, her mother entered and immediately noticed how very miserable she looked. In the passages outside, there was a great commotion. Priests and magic-workers from every part of the land were gathering to recite the Rites of the Day. But inside the Princess’s room, all was quiet. Taking advantage of the quiet, the old nun had settled herself at the bedside. She seemed to have taken complete possession of her granddaughter and everything that belonged to her.

‘I wish she wouldn’t do that,’ thought the Lady of Akashi as she entered. ‘She might at least put up a small screen. Any one seeing her planted at the bedside like that will wonder how on earth she got there. You would think she was the herb-doctor come to give the child a pill. How tiresome people do become at that age.’ The old lady saw in a moment that she was thought to have taken too much upon herself. But she was getting very hard of hearing, and, as was usual when she was afraid she had missed some remark, she cocked her head on one side: ‘Eh? Eh?’ ‘Really, she’s not so old as all that,’ thought the Lady of Akashi. ‘She can’t be more than sixty-five, or at the most sixty-six.’ The old lady looked very neat and respectable, even dignified, in her nun’s robe; but her appearance was spoilt for the moment by the fact that her eyes were red and swollen with weeping. The Lady of Akashi knew only too well what this meant: her mother had been reminiscing, and turning to the Princess she said nervously: ‘I can see that grandmother has been telling all sorts of extraordinary tales about the days of long ago. You must not believe everything she says; for she is apt to mix up all sorts of fairy-stories, legends and marvels with things that really happened. I am sure she has been treating you to the oddest extracts from our family history.’ Her suspicions were confirmed by the Princess’s extreme quietness; it was only too evident that the old nun had chattered with the greatest possible indiscretion. The Lady of Akashi had long ago decided that the moment of the Crown Prince’s ascent to the Throne would be the right occasion for revealing to the Princess in their entirety the painful facts concerning her birth. As Empress she would have reached the utmost limit of a woman’s ambition, and intelligence such as this, disagreeable though it might be, could not greatly depress her. But at the present moment it might have a very upsetting effect, and she regretted that her mother should have thought fit to take such a liberty.

‘I wish she wouldn’t do that,’ thought the Lady of Akashi as she entered. ‘She could at least put up a small screen. Anyone who sees her sitting there beside the bed will wonder how on earth she got there. You’d think she was the herb-doctor, come to give the child a pill. How tiresome people become at that age.’ The old lady saw at once that she was thought to have overstepped. But she was becoming very hard of hearing. As usual when she feared she had missed a remark, she tilted her head to one side: ‘Eh? Eh?’ ‘Really, she’s not all that old,’ thought the Lady of Akashi. ‘She can’t be more than sixty-five, or sixty-six at most.’ The old lady looked neat and respectable, even dignified, in her nun’s robe. But her eyes were red and swollen from crying, which spoiled her appearance for the moment. The Lady of Akashi knew only too well what this meant: her mother had been talking about the past. She turned to the Princess and said nervously: ‘I can see that grandmother has been telling all sorts of extraordinary stories about the old days. You must not believe everything she says. She tends to mix up all sorts of fairy tales, legends and wonders with things that really happened. I’m sure she has been telling you the oddest bits of our family history.’ The Princess’s silence confirmed her suspicions. It was all too clear that the old nun had chatted with the greatest possible indiscretion. The Lady of Akashi had long ago decided when to tell the Princess the whole painful truth about her birth. She would do it when the Crown Prince came to the Throne. As Empress, the Princess would have reached the greatest position a woman could hope for. Unpleasant as the news might be, it could not greatly depress her then. But now it might be very upsetting, and the Lady of Akashi regretted that her mother had taken such a liberty.

The Rites of the Day were now over, and there was a great clatter as the priests left their work. To distract the Princess’s thoughts her mother now brought her some fruit, coaxing her with: ‘Could you not manage just one of these?’ and such-like motherly phrases. The old nun’s delight in the presence of her lovely grandchild manifested itself in the most curious way. For whereas tears streamed from her eyes and her brows were contracted into what looked like the most disapproving frown, her lips were parted in a perpetual smile of delight, revealing a painfully toothless mouth. So truly alarming was the old lady’s expression that she was positively afraid of the effect it might have upon the invalid, and tried to catch her mother’s eye, apparently without success.

The day’s rites were now over, and the priests made a great clatter as they left their work. To distract the Princess, her mother brought her some fruit. ‘Could you manage just one of these?’ she coaxed, along with other motherly remarks. The old nun showed her delight at being with her lovely grandchild in a most curious way. Tears streamed down her face, and her brows were drawn into what looked like a deeply disapproving frown. Yet her lips were parted in a constant smile of delight, revealing a painfully toothless mouth. The old lady’s expression was so alarming that she feared its effect on the sick Princess. She tried to catch her mother’s eye, but apparently without success.

Presently, however, the old nun recited the verse: ‘Blame not the tears of love that like a running tide have stranded this old bark upon a profitable shore.’ ‘When I was young,’ she added, ‘people of the age I am now were privileged to weep as often as they felt inclined.’

Soon, however, the old nun recited a verse: ‘Do not blame the tears of love. Like a flowing tide, they have carried this old boat onto a fruitful shore.’ ‘When I was young,’ she added, ‘people my age were allowed to weep whenever they wanted.’

‘Following the pathway of that bark across the foam, I would retrace its course and find the felt-roofed hut whence it was launched upon the deep.’ Thus the young Princess wrote upon the sheet of paper that was topmost in her writing-case; and the Lady of Akashi: ‘Though he that lingers on that shore long since of every worldly thought has cleared his breast, perchance of the heart’s darkness⁶²⁴ a little clings to him and clouds his nature still.’

‘Following that boat’s path across the foam, I would trace it back to the felt-roofed hut from which it set out to sea.’ The young Princess wrote this on the top sheet of paper in her writing-case. The Lady of Akashi wrote: ‘Though the man who lingers on that shore cleared his heart of every worldly thought long ago, perhaps a little of the heart’s darkness⁶²⁴ still clings to him and clouds his nature.’

There was then talk of the morning upon which they had parted with the old recluse. The Princess, who was at that time a mere infant, had not the haziest remembrance of this episode, but she could well believe that it had been very affecting.

They then spoke of the morning when they had parted from the old recluse. The Princess had been only a baby at the time and remembered nothing of it. But she could well believe that it had been very moving.

About the middle of the third month she had an extremely painless and easy delivery, strangely at variance with what seemed to be portended by her previous weakness and distress. It was with intense relief that Genji heard of this event. The child was a boy; so that everything had turned out in the happiest manner possible. Her present temporary quarters were inconveniently far from the front of the house, but it was pleasant for her to be so near her mother, and pleasant too for the old nun to watch the arrival of the presents which poured in from every side. She could indeed feel that the storm-tossed voyage of her life had cast her up at last upon ‘a profitable shore,’ as she herself had said. But this arrangement could not continue, as it was too much at variance with traditional practice, and it was decided that the Princess must be moved back into her own apartments. Here she was visited by Murasaki, who found her sitting up in her white jacket, holding the little boy in her arms. It was a pretty sight; but it was hard indeed for Murasaki to accustom herself to the idea that the little Princess from Akashi was a mother!

Around the middle of the third month, she gave birth with remarkable ease and almost no pain. This was surprising, given her earlier weakness and distress. Genji was intensely relieved to hear the news. The child was a boy, so everything had turned out as happily as possible. Her temporary rooms were inconveniently far from the front of the house. But she was glad to be so close to her mother. The old nun also enjoyed watching the presents pour in from every side. She could indeed feel that the stormy voyage of her life had finally brought her to ‘a profitable shore,’ as she herself had put it. But the arrangement could not continue because it went too much against traditional practice. It was decided that the Princess must move back to her own apartments. Murasaki visited her there and found her sitting up in her white jacket, holding the little boy in her arms. It was a lovely sight. But Murasaki could hardly get used to the idea that the little Princess from Akashi was a mother!

Not only was she herself without experience of this kind; but it so happened that she had never before been brought into contact with such events, for this was the first child to be born in the house. Her delight in handling and attending to the child was so obvious that the Lady of Akashi had not the heart to deprive her of these offices, contenting herself with the bathing of the infant. She even consented to play this part on the official occasion when the Crown Prince’s envoy came to administer the Bath of Recognition,⁶²⁵ and the man, who had some general notion concerning the true state of affairs, thought how disagreeable it must be for the Princess to be continually reminded by her mother’s shortcomings of this flaw in her lineage. But to his surprise he found during the performance of his duties that the Lady from Akashi had dignity and high breeding enough to be the mother of the grandest imaginable Princess.

Not only did she have no experience of her own with such things, but she had never encountered them before. This was the first child born in the house. She took such obvious delight in holding and caring for the child that the Lady of Akashi could not bear to take those duties away from her. Instead, she contented herself with bathing the infant. She even agreed to bathe the infant at the official ceremony when the Crown Prince’s envoy came to administer the Bath of Recognition.⁶²⁵ The envoy knew something of the true situation. He thought how unpleasant it must be for the Princess to be constantly reminded of this flaw in her lineage by her mother’s shortcomings. But as he performed his duties, he was surprised to find that the Lady from Akashi had enough dignity and refinement to be the mother of the grandest imaginable Princess.

Any further account of the birth-ceremonies would not be of special interest, and I shall therefore hurry on with my story. It was on the sixth night after the child’s birth that the Princess moved back into her own quarters. On the seventh night the Emperor himself sent his presents. Suzaku’s vows forbad that any gift from him should figure on such an occasion; but it was generally understood that a magnificent largesse from the Public Treasury, brought by Tō no Ben and Senji, two officials of the Imperial Purse, was due to Suzaku’s instigation. Presents of silk came in abundance, the Empress Akikonomu’s offering exceeding that of the Emperor himself. The various princes and Ministers vied with one another in the magnificence of their gifts, and even Genji, who hated display and was apt to cut down all public demonstrations to the minimum, this time saw to it that everything should be carried through with the utmost splendour. Indeed the whole Court was in such a state of chatter and excitement that my head was in a whirl, and I forgot to make any note of the many beautiful and interesting ceremonies that took place in the Palace at the time of this little Prince’s birth.

Any further account of the birth ceremonies would not be especially interesting, so I shall hurry on with my story. On the sixth night after the child’s birth, the Princess moved back into her own quarters. On the seventh night, the Emperor himself sent presents. Suzaku’s vows forbade him to give a gift on such an occasion. But it was generally understood that he had arranged a magnificent gift from the Public Treasury. It was brought by Tō no Ben and Senji, two officials of the Imperial Purse. Silk gifts arrived in abundance, and the Empress Akikonomu’s gift surpassed even the Emperor’s. The princes and Ministers competed to give the most magnificent presents. Even Genji made sure that everything was done with the utmost splendor. He hated display and usually kept public celebrations to a minimum. Indeed, the whole Court was so full of chatter and excitement that my head was in a whirl. I forgot to record the many beautiful and interesting ceremonies held in the Palace for the little Prince’s birth.

Genji, too, constantly took the child in his arms. ‘Yūgiri,’ he once said, ‘has never invited me to make the acquaintance of his children, so that it is a great treat for me to be allowed to handle this pretty fellow....’

Genji, too, often held the child in his arms. ‘Yūgiri has never invited me to meet his children,’ he once said. ‘So it is a great treat to be allowed to hold this pretty little fellow....’

The child was filling out fast. It was high time to find nurses for him, but Genji, rather than employ persons whom he did not know, spent some time searching round among those in his employ for ladies of good birth and intelligence with whose record he was thoroughly familiar. Through all this period the behaviour of the Lady of Akashi provoked universal admiration. She had shown dignity without touchiness, humility without disagreeable self-abasement. Hitherto Murasaki had always continued to feel a slight discomfort in her presence. But after the birth of the Prince they became much better friends. Though childless herself, she was extremely fond of children. She made the Guardian Dolls⁶²⁶ and other toy figures with her own hands, and would sit for hours working their joints and making them do tricks.

The child was growing fast. It was time to find nurses for him. But Genji preferred not to hire strangers. He spent some time looking among the ladies in his service for women of good birth and intelligence whose records he knew well. Throughout this time, everyone admired the Lady of Akashi’s behavior. She had shown dignity without being touchy, and humility without degrading herself. Until then, Murasaki had always felt slightly uncomfortable around her. But after the Prince was born, they became much better friends. Though Murasaki had no children of her own, she was very fond of them. She made the Guardian Dolls⁶²⁶ and other toy figures herself. She would sit for hours moving their joints and making them do tricks.

During the third month there was a spell of delightful weather, and on one of these bright, still days Prince Sochi and Tō no Chūjō’s son Kashiwagi called at the New Palace. ‘I am afraid things are very quiet here,’ Genji said to them. ‘At this time of the year, when there are no public or private festivities of any kind, it is harder than ever to keep people amused. I wish I could think of some way to distract you.... Yūgiri was here just now. I cannot think what has become of him. I suppose we shall have to watch some more of this shooting on horseback; though I confess that for my part I am sick to death of it. I expect Yūgiri caught sight of some of the young men who always clamour for it, and that was why he vanished so soon.’ ‘I saw Yūgiri,’ some one said. ‘He is in the fields near the Racecourse, playing football. There are a lot of them there....’ ‘I am not myself very fond of watching football,’ said Genji. ‘It is a rough game. But I feel that to-day we all need something to wake us up ...’ and he sent a message to Yūgiri asking him to come round to the front of the house. The young man presently appeared accompanied by a band of courtiers. ‘I hope you have not left your ball behind,’ he said to them. ‘How have you arranged the teams?’ Yūgiri told him how they had been playing, and promised to find a fresh ground where the game could be seen from the windows of the house. The Crown Princess having now rejoined her husband, her apartments were vacant, and as there was a large stretch of ground not intersected by rivulets or in any other way obstructed, this seemed the best place to set up the posts. Tō no Chūjō’s sons, both young and old, were all expert players. Neither the hour nor the weather could have been bettered, for it was the late afternoon, and there was not a breath of wind. Even Kōbai abandoned himself with such excitement to the game that Genji said: ‘Look at our Privy Counsellor!⁶²⁷ He has quite forgotten all his dignities. Well, I see no harm in a man shouting and leaping about, whatever his rank may be, provided he is quite young. But I am afraid I have long passed the age when one can go through such violent contortions without becoming ridiculous. Look at that fellow’s posture now. You must admit it would suit a man of my years very ill.’

During the third month, there was a spell of lovely weather. On one bright, still day, Prince Sochi and Tō no Chūjō’s son Kashiwagi visited the New Palace. “I’m afraid things are very quiet here,” Genji said to them. “At this time of year, there are no public or private festivities. That makes it harder than ever to keep people entertained. I wish I could think of some way to amuse you.... Yūgiri was here just now. I can’t imagine where he’s gone. I suppose we’ll have to watch more horseback archery, though I must admit I’m sick to death of it. I expect Yūgiri spotted some of the young men who are always clamoring for it. That must be why he disappeared so quickly.” “I saw Yūgiri,” someone said. “He’s in the fields near the Racecourse, playing football. There are a lot of them there....” “I don’t much like watching football myself,” said Genji. “It’s a rough game. But I feel we all need something to wake us up today ...” He sent a message asking Yūgiri to come around to the front of the house. Yūgiri soon appeared with a group of courtiers. “I hope you haven’t left your ball behind,” Genji said to them. “How have you arranged the teams?” Yūgiri explained how they had been playing. He promised to find a new spot where the game could be seen from the house’s windows. The Crown Princess had now returned to her husband, so her rooms were empty. Outside them was a large stretch of ground, with no streams or other obstacles in the way. This seemed the best place to set up the posts. All of Tō no Chūjō’s sons, both young and old, were expert players. The time and weather could not have been better. It was late afternoon, and there was not a breath of wind. Even Kōbai threw himself into the game with such excitement that Genji said: “Look at our Privy Counsellor!⁶²⁷ He’s completely forgotten his dignity. Well, I see no harm in a man shouting and jumping about, whatever his rank, as long as he’s quite young. But I’m afraid I passed the age long ago when one can twist and turn so wildly without looking ridiculous. Look at that fellow’s pose now. You must admit it would look very odd on a man of my age.”

Yūgiri soon induced Kashiwagi to join in the game, and as, against a background of flowering trees, these two sped hither and thither in the evening sunlight, the rough, noisy game suddenly took on an unwonted gentleness and grace. This, no doubt, was in part due to the character of the players; but also to the influence of the scene about them. For all around were great clumps of flowering bushes and trees, every blossom now open to its full. Among the eager group gathered round the goal-post, itself tinged with the first faint promise of green, none was more intent upon victory than Kashiwagi, whose face showed clearly enough that there was a question of measuring his skill against that of opponents, even in a mere game; it would be torment to him not to prove himself in a different class from all the other players. And indeed he had not been in the game for more than a few moments when it became apparent, from the way in which he gave even the most casual kick to the ball, that there was no one to compare with him. Not only was he an extremely handsome man, but he took great pains about his appearance and always moved with a certain rather cautious dignity and deliberation. It was therefore very entertaining to see him leaping this way and that, regardless of all decorum. The cherry-tree⁶²⁸ was quite near the steps of the verandah from which Genji and Nyosan were watching the game, and it was strange to see how the players, their eye on the ball, did not seem to give a thought to those lovely flowers even when they were standing right under them. By this time the costumes of the players were considerably disordered, and even the most dignified amongst them had a ribbon flying loose or a hat-string undone. Among these dishevelled figures a constant shower of blossom was falling. Yūgiri could at last no longer refrain from looking up. Just above him was a half-wilted bough. Pulling it down, he plucked a spray, and taking it with him, seated himself on the steps with his back to the house. Kashiwagi soon joined him, saying: ‘We seem to have brought down most of the cherry-blossom. The poet⁶²⁹ who begged the spring wind “not to come where orchards were in bloom” would have been shocked by our wantonness....’ He turned his head and looked behind him to where Nyosan and her ladies were dimly visible beyond their curtains.

Yūgiri soon persuaded Kashiwagi to join the game. As the two hurried back and forth in the evening sunlight, with flowering trees behind them, the rough, noisy game took on an unusual gentleness and grace. This was no doubt partly due to the players’ characters, but also to the scene around them. Great clusters of flowering bushes and trees surrounded them, every blossom now fully open. An eager group had gathered around the goalpost, which itself showed the first faint signs of green. None was more intent on winning than Kashiwagi. His face made it clear that, even in a mere game, he wanted to measure his skill against his opponents’. It would torment him not to prove himself in a different class from all the other players. Indeed, after he had played only a few moments, it was clear that no one could compare with him. Even his most casual kick showed it. Kashiwagi was extremely handsome, and he took great care with his appearance. He always moved with a certain cautious dignity and deliberation. It was therefore very entertaining to see him leaping this way and that, without regard for decorum. The cherry tree⁶²⁸ stood quite near the veranda steps where Genji and Nyosan were watching the game. It was strange to see the players, their eyes on the ball, take no notice of those lovely flowers, even when they stood right under them. By now the players’ clothes were quite disordered. Even the most dignified among them had a loose ribbon or an undone hat string. A constant shower of blossoms fell among these disheveled figures. At last Yūgiri could no longer resist looking up. Just above him was a half-wilted branch. He pulled it down, picked a spray of blossoms, and took it with him. Then he sat on the steps with his back to the house. Kashiwagi soon joined him, saying: ‘We seem to have brought down most of the cherry blossoms. The poet⁶²⁹ who begged the spring wind “not to come where orchards were in bloom” would have been shocked by our carelessness....’ He turned his head and looked behind him. Beyond their curtains, Nyosan and her ladies were dimly visible.

Kashiwagi had been on intimate terms with the ex-Emperor Suzaku, and at the time when her future was still in question had corresponded occasionally with Nyosan. Suzaku was aware of this, and seemed on the whole to encourage it. Kashiwagi was therefore both surprised and disappointed when her marriage with Genji was announced. He had become very much interested in her, and through one of her gentlewomen with whom he happened to be acquainted he still heard a great deal about her. This, however, was but a poor consolation; and to make his chagrin the greater, he heard rumours that Nyosan was very inadequately appreciated at the New Palace, Lady Murasaki still retaining an undiminished hold over His Highness’s affections. Kashiwagi might be her inferior in birth and thus unsuited to claim her as a wife; but at any rate she would not in his house have been subjected to the humiliations that he supposed her now to be enduring. Tired of merely hearing news about her health and employments, he made friends with a certain Kojijū, the little daughter of Nyosan’s nurse, and tried to persuade her to carry messages. One never knew what might not happen. After all, Genji was always talking of retiring to a monastery. Some day he might really do so, and then would come Kashiwagi’s second chance. Meanwhile he continued to plot and scheme for a renewal of the acquaintance.

Kashiwagi had been close to the former Emperor Suzaku. He had also occasionally exchanged letters with Nyosan while her future was still uncertain. Suzaku knew about their correspondence and seemed, on the whole, to encourage it. Kashiwagi was therefore surprised and disappointed when her marriage to Genji was announced. He had become very interested in her. He still heard a great deal about her from one of her attendants, whom he happened to know. But this was little comfort. To make matters worse, he heard rumors that Nyosan was not properly appreciated at the New Palace. Lady Murasaki still had as strong a hold as ever on His Highness’s affections. Kashiwagi might be of lower birth than Nyosan and therefore unsuitable as her husband. But at least, in his house, she would not have suffered the humiliations he imagined she was now enduring. He grew tired of merely hearing news of her health and activities. So he made friends with Kojijū, the young daughter of Nyosan’s nurse, and tried to persuade her to carry messages. One never knew what might happen. After all, Genji was always talking about retiring to a monastery. Someday he might actually do it, and then Kashiwagi would have a second chance. Meanwhile, he continued plotting and scheming to renew his acquaintance with Nyosan.

And now on the day of the football match he found himself not many steps away from her. As usual, her gentlewomen were not under very good control, and a patch of bright sleeve or skirt constantly obtruded, as some spectator, in her excitement, tugged back a corner of the curtains through which the ladies of the house were watching the game. And behind the curtains there showed all the time gay strips of colour, flashing like prayer-strips at the roadside on a sunny spring day. The Princess’s screens-of-state were carelessly arranged; she was not in the least protected on the side from which she was most likely to be seen. Still less was she adequately prepared for such an accident as now occurred; for suddenly a large cat leapt between the curtains in pursuit of a very small and pretty Chinese kitten. Immediately there was a shuffling and scuffling behind the screens, figures could be seen darting to and fro, and there was a great rustling of skirts and sound of objects being moved. The big cat, it soon appeared, was a stranger in the house, and lest it should escape it had been provided with a leash, which was unfortunately a very long one, and had now got entangled in every object in the room. During its wild plunges (for it now made violent efforts to get free) the creature hopelessly disarrayed the already somewhat disorderly curtains, and so busy were those within disentangling themselves from the leash that no one closed the gap. In the foreground was plainly visible a group of ladies in a state of wild excitement and commotion. A short way behind them was a little figure standing up, dressed in a long robe without mantle. It was a red plum-blossom gown, with many facings, that showed one overlapping another, in different tinges of the same colour, like the binding of a book. Her hair, shaking like a skein of loose thread, was prettily trimmed and thinned out at the ends, but still reached to within a few inches from the ground. The contrast between the numerous overlapping thicknesses of her dress and her own extreme slimness and smallness was very alluring, her movements were graceful, and her hair, above all when seen with her head in profile, was unusually fine. Kashiwagi, as he peered through the growing darkness, wished that the accident had happened somewhat earlier in the evening. At this moment the cat gave a frenzied scream, and Nyosan turned her head, revealing as she did so a singularly unconcerned and confident young face. Yūgiri feared that he would be held responsible for this indiscretion, and was on the point of going up to the window and protesting; but he felt that this would draw further attention to the incident, and contented himself with clearing his throat in a loud and significant manner. Nyosan immediately vanished amid the shadows, rather too rapidly to suit the taste of Yūgiri, who had a considerable curiosity about the girl, and would, had he dared, gladly have availed himself of this opportunity to look at her for a little while longer. But by now the cat had been extricated; the screens and curtains were restored to proper order, and there was no chance that the intriguing vision of a moment ago would be repeated. And if it was with a slight feeling of disappointment that Yūgiri saw his hint so rapidly obeyed, it may be imagined how loud Kashiwagi’s heart had all this while been beating. From the first moment of her appearance there had been no doubt which was she, for she was differently dressed from any of the ladies about her, they wearing Chinese cloaks, and she an under-robe without cape or mantle. He hid, or hoped that he hid, the excitement through which he was passing. But Yūgiri guessed easily enough what impression such an episode was likely to have made, and being still in a way identified with this house, he blushed for Nyosan’s immodesty. The cat was now straying at large, and to distract his thoughts Kashiwagi called it to him. The creature jumped into his lap and began purring complacently. It had not long ago been in Nyosan’s own arms; of this he was sure, for its soft fur still exhaled a strong perfume of the royal scent that only she could wear. At this moment Genji arrived, and seeing Kashiwagi fondling the Princess’s cat with an expression of dreamy tenderness, he said sharply to the young men on the steps: ‘You had better not sit so close to the house. It is embarrassing for the people in the room behind.... Won’t you come in here?’ and he led them through a neighbouring door. They were soon joined by Prince Sochi, and a lively conversation began. The football players now began to arrive, taking their seats on straw cushions lined up along the verandah, and refreshments were served, first and foremost the usual Camellia cakes,⁶³⁰ then pears, oranges and other such fruits, the exhausted players stretching for them greedily as the tray came their way. Finally, the great wine-flagon went round, accompanied only by dried fish.

On the day of the football match, he found himself only a few steps away from her. As usual, her gentlewomen were not very well controlled. The ladies of the house watched the game through curtains, and a bright sleeve or skirt kept appearing. In her excitement, one spectator after another would pull back a corner of the curtains. Behind them, bright strips of color showed all the time, flashing like roadside prayer strips on a sunny spring day. The Princess’s screens of state had been arranged carelessly. She was not protected at all on the side where she was most likely to be seen. She was even less prepared for the accident that now occurred. Suddenly, a large cat leapt between the curtains, chasing a very small, pretty Chinese kitten. At once, there was shuffling and scuffling behind the screens. Figures darted back and forth, skirts rustled loudly, and objects were moved about. It soon became clear that the large cat was a stranger to the house. It had been given a leash to keep it from escaping, but the leash was unfortunately very long. It had become tangled around everything in the room. The cat now struggled wildly to get free, throwing the already disorderly curtains into complete disarray. Everyone inside was so busy freeing themselves from the leash that no one closed the gap. In the foreground, a group of ladies could be seen clearly, caught up in wild excitement and confusion. A little way behind them stood a small figure in a long robe, without a mantle. Her gown was the color of red plum blossoms. Its many facings overlapped in different shades of the same color, like the binding of a book. Her hair swayed like a skein of loose thread. It was prettily trimmed and thinned at the ends, yet still reached to within a few inches of the ground. The contrast between the many overlapping layers of her dress and her extreme slimness and smallness was very alluring. Her movements were graceful, and her hair was unusually fine, especially when her head was seen in profile. As Kashiwagi peered through the gathering darkness, he wished the accident had happened a little earlier in the evening. Just then, the cat gave a frenzied scream. Nyosan turned her head, revealing a young face that looked remarkably unconcerned and confident. Yūgiri feared he would be held responsible for this indiscretion. He was about to go to the window and protest, but he felt that would draw more attention to the incident. Instead, he cleared his throat loudly and pointedly. Nyosan immediately vanished into the shadows. She disappeared a little too quickly for Yūgiri’s liking. He was very curious about the girl and, had he dared, would gladly have watched her a little longer. But by now the cat had been freed, and the screens and curtains were back in place. There was no chance of seeing that intriguing vision again. Yūgiri felt slightly disappointed that his hint had been obeyed so quickly. One can imagine, then, how loudly Kashiwagi’s heart had been beating all this time. From the moment she appeared, there had been no doubt which one she was. She was dressed differently from all the ladies around her. They wore Chinese cloaks, while she wore an under-robe without a cape or mantle. He hid, or hoped he hid, his excitement. But Yūgiri could easily guess what impression the episode was likely to have made. Since he was still connected with the house in a way, he blushed at Nyosan’s immodesty. The cat was now wandering freely, and Kashiwagi called it over to distract himself. It jumped into his lap and began purring contentedly. He was sure it had recently been in Nyosan’s own arms. Its soft fur still gave off a strong perfume, the royal scent that only she could wear. At that moment Genji arrived. He saw Kashiwagi stroking the Princess’s cat with a look of dreamy tenderness. He said sharply to the young men on the steps: ‘You had better not sit so close to the house. It is embarrassing for the people in the room behind.... Won’t you come in here?’ He led them through a nearby door. Prince Sochi soon joined them, and a lively conversation began. The football players now began to arrive. They took their seats on straw cushions lined up along the verandah, and refreshments were served. First came the usual Camellia cakes,⁶³⁰ followed by pears, oranges, and other such fruits. As the tray came their way, the exhausted players reached greedily for them. Finally, the great wine flagon went round, accompanied only by dried fish.

Kashiwagi took very little part in the conversation and gazed all the while straight in front of him, apparently at the flowering trees in the garden. But Yūgiri knew well enough what vision it was that floated before his friend’s eyes. The whole episode was very unfortunate. It must certainly have given Kashiwagi the impression that the Princess was extremely loose in her ways. He could not imagine Murasaki allowing herself to be exposed like this, and the fact that such things could happen showed plainly how right the world was in declaring Genji to be reprehensibly inattentive to his new wife. Of course the Princess’s lack of precaution was not due to shamelessness, but rather to the unsuspecting and serene self-confidence of extreme youth. All this no doubt was very attractive; but if he were in Genji’s place he should find it also somewhat perturbing.

Kashiwagi said very little and stared straight ahead, apparently at the flowering trees in the garden. But Yūgiri knew well enough what vision was before his friend’s eyes. The whole episode was very unfortunate. It must certainly have given Kashiwagi the impression that the Princess was extremely loose in her behavior. Yūgiri could not imagine Murasaki allowing herself to be seen like this. The fact that such things could happen showed how right people were to condemn Genji for neglecting his new wife. Of course, the Princess had not been careless because she was shameless. Rather, her carelessness came from the trusting, calm confidence of extreme youth. All this was no doubt very attractive, but if Yūgiri were in Genji’s place, he would also find it somewhat troubling.

Kashiwagi for his part was not occupied in censoring either Nyosan or her attendants for the carelessness to which he owed his vision of her. Rather he regarded the affair as a happy accident—an omen, if one liked to consider it so, that his attachment was destined to ripen into something less shadowy than had hitherto seemed probable.

Kashiwagi, for his part, did not blame Nyosan or her attendants for the carelessness that had allowed him to see her. Instead, he saw it as a happy accident. One might even see it as a sign that his attachment was destined to become something more real than had seemed likely until then.

Genji began talking to Kashiwagi of his early rivalries with Tō no Chūjō: ‘At football,’ he said, ‘your father was always far ahead of me. I do not suppose that you have actually learnt your skill from him, for such things cannot be taught; but no doubt you inherit an aptitude for the game. This evening you certainly gave us a masterly display....’ Kashiwagi laughed. ‘I am afraid,’ he said, ‘that of all my father’s talents this is the only one I have inherited. I am sorry for my descendants; apart from this one trifling gift, they will have nothing to inherit at all.’ ‘Never mind,’ said Genji, ‘so long as there is something at which you are better than other people, you deserve a place in history. You shall figure in your family records as a footballer; that would be rather amusing....’

Genji began talking to Kashiwagi about his early rivalries with Tō no Chūjō. ‘Your father was always much better than I was at football,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose he actually taught you your skill, because such things can’t be taught. But no doubt you inherited a talent for the game. This evening you certainly gave us a masterly display....’ Kashiwagi laughed. ‘I’m afraid football is the only one of my father’s talents I’ve inherited,’ he said. ‘I feel sorry for my descendants. Apart from this one small gift, they’ll have nothing to inherit at all.’ ‘Never mind,’ said Genji. ‘As long as there’s something you do better than other people, you deserve a place in history. You’ll appear in your family records as a footballer. That would be rather amusing....’

While they talked and laughed the conviction was borne in upon Kashiwagi that no one in the world could possibly turn from Genji to him. Nyosan might like him, but there was no conceivable way in which she would not be the loser by such an exchange. His hopes, so high a moment before, suddenly sank to nothingness. She who had been so near in a moment became in his thoughts utterly inaccessible and remote, and he left the New Palace in the depths of despair.

As they talked and laughed, Kashiwagi realized that no one in the world could possibly leave Genji for him. Nyosan might like him, but she could only lose by making such an exchange. His hopes had been so high a moment before, but now they suddenly vanished. Nyosan had seemed so close, but now she felt completely out of reach and far away. He left the New Palace in utter despair.

He drove away in the same carriage as Yūgiri, and said to him presently: ‘One ought really to visit Genji more often; particularly at this time of year, when there is so little to do. He said he hoped we should come again before the blossom was all gone. It is getting very near the end of Spring now. Do meet me here one day this month, and bring your bow....’ A day was fixed upon, but this was not what was really in his mind. He was trying to find some way of introducing Nyosan’s name into the conversation, and presently he said: ‘Genji does not seem to worry much about any one except Lady Murasaki. I wonder how the young Princess feels about it. She is used to being made such a fuss of by her father that I cannot help thinking she must find her new life rather wretched.’ ‘You are entirely wrong,’ Yūgiri replied. ‘My father’s relations with Murasaki are of a kind it is difficult for outside people to understand. He adopted her when she was still a child, and there is naturally a great intimacy between them. He would not for the world do anything to hurt her feelings; but if you suppose this means he does not care for Nyosan, you are very much mistaken.’ Yūgiri had raised his voice. ‘Don’t talk so loud,’ Kashiwagi rebuked him, ‘the grooms can hear every word you say. For my part I am certain that she is often very unhappy, and I do not think any one has a right to put a girl of her birth and breeding into such a position as this....’ He seemed to take the matter very much to heart.

He rode away in the same carriage as Yūgiri. After a while, he said, ‘We really should visit Genji more often, especially at this time of year, when there is so little to do. He said he hoped we would come again before the blossoms were all gone. Spring is nearly over now. Do meet me here one day this month, and bring your bow....’ They settled on a day, but this was not what he really had in mind. He was trying to find a way to bring Nyosan into the conversation. After a while, he said, ‘Genji does not seem to care much about anyone except Lady Murasaki. I wonder how the young Princess feels about it. Her father made such a fuss over her. I cannot help thinking she must find her new life rather miserable.’ ‘You are completely wrong,’ Yūgiri replied. ‘My father’s relationship with Murasaki is hard for outsiders to understand. He adopted her when she was still a child, and they are naturally very close. He would never do anything to hurt her feelings. But if you think that means he does not care for Nyosan, you are very much mistaken.’ Yūgiri had raised his voice. ‘Don’t speak so loudly,’ Kashiwagi scolded him. ‘The grooms can hear every word you say. I am certain that she is often very unhappy. I do not think anyone has the right to put a girl of her birth and upbringing in such a position....’ He seemed to feel very strongly about it.

Kashiwagi still lived in his father’s house, all alone in the eastern wing. It was not a very lively form of existence for a man of his age, but this solitude was entirely of his own seeking. Sometimes he felt wretched, and thought of marrying the first girl who came his way. But then he remembered that his father was Grand Minister. There was no reason at all why he should content himself with a plebeian marriage, and he determined to remain as he was until he obtained the bride to whom he considered himself in every way entitled. To-night he sat all alone in his room puzzling till his head ached.... How should he ever manage to see her again, how contrive to catch even so hasty and unsatisfying a glimpse as he had enjoyed to-day? With other women it was different. There was always the chance that some religious vow or omen of the stars might drive them into the open. And if such things did not spontaneously occur, they could easily be arranged.... But with Nyosan these simple and recognized expedients would be of no avail. Nothing was more improbable than that she should ever leave her apartments; and it was difficult enough even to let her know of his feelings. However, he wrote a letter (by no means the first with which Nyosan’s maid Kojijū had in recent days been entrusted): ‘Madam, one day not long since, the springtime lured me to trespass within the barrier that hides your sovereign precincts from the grosser world, an audacity for which I fear you condemn me with the bitterest scorn. On that occasion, Madam, like the poet⁶³¹ of old, “I saw, yet did not see.” Since when such a turmoil has reigned in my heart as only the vision of what those baffling shadows hid from me can ever put to rest.’ With this was the poem: ‘Though flowers of sorrow only, my hand could reach on the high tree, would I were back amid the shadows of that provoking night.’

Kashiwagi still lived in his father’s house, alone in the eastern wing. It was not a very lively life for a man his age, but he had chosen this solitude. Sometimes he felt miserable and thought of marrying the first girl he met. But then he remembered that his father was Grand Minister. He had no reason to settle for a marriage beneath his rank. So he decided to remain as he was until he found the bride he felt fully entitled to marry. Tonight he sat alone in his room, thinking until his head ached.... How could he ever see her again? How could he manage even a glimpse as brief and unsatisfying as the one he had enjoyed today? With other women, it was different. There was always a chance that a religious vow or a sign from the stars might bring them outside. And if such things did not happen on their own, they could easily be arranged.... But these simple, accepted methods would not work with Nyosan. It was highly unlikely that she would ever leave her rooms. It was hard enough even to let her know how he felt. Still, he wrote a letter. It was far from the first he had recently entrusted to Nyosan’s maid Kojijū: ‘Madam, not long ago, the spring weather tempted me to cross the barrier. It hides your noble quarters from the coarser world. I fear you despise me for daring to enter. On that occasion, Madam, like the poet⁶³¹ of old, “I saw, yet did not see.” Ever since, my heart has been in turmoil. Only a sight of what those frustrating shadows hid from me can bring it peace.’ With it was the poem: ‘Though my hand could reach only flowers of sorrow on the high tree, I wish I were back among the shadows of that frustrating night.’

Kojijū knew nothing about the ‘day not long since,’ and thought that the letter was an unusually pointless collection of stock lamentations. Waiting for a moment when Nyosan was alone she brought in the letter, saying: ‘I wish your Kashiwagi were a little less faithful. I am tired of bringing these continual messages. Why then do I accept them? you ask. I suppose it is because I can see that he would be in despair if I refused. But why should I mind his being in despair? Really, I have not the least idea....’ and she burst out laughing. ‘What odd things you say,’ replied Nyosan, taking the letter. By the allusion to ‘seeing yet seeing not’ she understood at once that he had caught sight of her during that unfortunate accident with the curtains. She blushed, not however at the idea of Kashiwagi’s having seen her, but at the recollection that Genji had more than once warned her not to expose herself in Yūgiri’s presence. Now she remembered that Yūgiri had on that occasion been sitting at Kashiwagi’s side. What one saw, the other too would have seen. Her sole concern was lest Yūgiri should mention her carelessness to Genji, and then she would get a scolding. As had often occurred before, the task of writing an answer fell to Kojijū. Only a conventional acknowledgment was necessary, and she dashed off the following: ‘Why you should speak of “seeing, yet not seeing” passes my comprehension. Despite the embarrassment in which your proximity placed us, you certainly posted yourself at a point of vantage where nothing was likely to escape you.’ With this was the poem: ‘Feel what you will, but tell not to the world that where no hand may reach, upon the mountain cherry’s topmost bough your heart you fain would hang.’

Kojijū knew nothing about the ‘day not long ago.’ She thought the letter was an unusually pointless collection of familiar complaints. She waited until Nyosan was alone, then brought her the letter. ‘I wish your Kashiwagi were a little less faithful. I am tired of bringing you these constant messages. Why do I accept them, you ask? I suppose it is because I can see he would be in despair if I refused. But why should I care if he is in despair? Really, I have no idea....’ She burst out laughing. ‘What odd things you say,’ Nyosan replied, taking the letter. His reference to ‘seeing yet not seeing’ told her at once that he had glimpsed her during the unfortunate accident with the curtains. She blushed, but not because Kashiwagi had seen her. She remembered that Genji had warned her more than once not to let Yūgiri see her. Now she recalled that Yūgiri had been sitting beside Kashiwagi on that occasion. Whatever one had seen, the other must have seen too. Her only concern was that Yūgiri might tell Genji about her carelessness. Then she would be scolded. As had often happened before, Kojijū had to write the reply. Only a conventional acknowledgment was needed, and she quickly wrote: ‘I cannot understand why you speak of “seeing, yet not seeing.” Your presence placed us in an embarrassing position. But you certainly chose a good place to watch, where you were unlikely to miss anything.’ She added this poem: ‘Feel what you will, but do not tell the world that you wish to hang your heart on the highest branch of the mountain cherry, where no hand can reach.’

The promised archery meeting at the New Palace took place on the last day of the third month. Kashiwagi felt very little inclined for company, and if he accepted the invitation it was only in the vague hope of some second accident such as that which had occurred at the football match. Yūgiri at once noticed that his friend was still particularly silent and distracted. He knew well enough what this meant, and was genuinely distressed not only at the prospect of unpleasant scenes in which he would himself be involved, but also on Kashiwagi’s account. For Yūgiri was extremely fond of him, and could never bear to see him, even for small everyday reasons, depressed or in ill-humour.

The promised archery meeting at the New Palace took place on the last day of the third month. Kashiwagi had little desire for company. He accepted the invitation only in the vague hope that something like the accident at the football match might happen again. Yūgiri noticed at once that his friend was still unusually quiet and distracted. He knew well enough what this meant. He was genuinely troubled by the prospect of unpleasant scenes that would involve him. But he was also troubled for Kashiwagi’s sake. Yūgiri was extremely fond of him. He could never bear to see him depressed or in a bad mood, even over small, everyday matters.

On this occasion Kashiwagi had come with the firm intention of behaving with perfect propriety, for not only did he stand in great awe of Genji, but also was extremely sensitive to public opinion in general, and nothing was more painful to him than the idea of his name figuring in the scurrilous gossip of the Court. If he had designs of any kind, they were not upon Nyosan but upon her cat. A fancy seized him that it would make him less miserable if he could get possession of this creature and have it always about him. But even this, as he well knew, was a mad idea, and under the circumstances to purloin the cat was not much easier than to make off with its mistress. The archery meeting proved uneventful. But a few days afterwards he was reminded of his project by seeing in the Crown Prince’s rooms a very handsome kitten which had just arrived as a present from the Emperor’s Palace. His Majesty’s court-cat had just given birth to a large family of kittens, which had been distributed among his acquaintances. ‘I happened the other day,’ said Kashiwagi casually, ‘to catch sight of a remarkably fine cat belonging to one of the ladies at Genji’s palace. I never saw so handsome a creature. By the way, I think they said that it is your sister Nyosan’s....’ This was a very good move, for the Crown Prince had a passion for cats, and the subject was one that he was willing to converse upon for any length of time. He began questioning Kashiwagi about this marvellous cat of Nyosan’s, which he did not remember to have seen. ‘You have some of the same breed here,’ said Kashiwagi, ‘but there was something uncommon about that particular creature. It seemed so much more friendly and intelligent than any that I have ever known.’ Thus began a long conversation upon the merits of different cats. The Crown Prince first of all borrowed those belonging to his wife, the Akashi Princess, and finally sent a message to his sister Nyosan asking if she would mind lending him hers. Upon its arrival every one agreed that it was undoubtedly a very fine cat. Kashiwagi, who knew the Crown Prince would give his sister a full account of the reception that her favourite had received, thought it better on this occasion not to display any great interest in the animal. But some days later he called again, on the pretext of giving the Prince a long promised lesson upon the zithern. ‘Which is the fellow I saw at Genji’s?’ he asked, in the course of conversation. ‘Is he still here? You have so many that I find it hard to keep them apart....’ But as a matter of fact he had already recognized Nyosan’s cat, and was soon fondling it upon his lap. ‘Isn’t he behaving beautifully?’ said the Crown Prince. ‘Considering you only saw him in the distance the other day, it is extraordinary that he should recognize you. But he certainly does, for they are by nature very distrustful creatures, and will not let any one touch them unless they remember having seen him before. However, our cats often remember some one who has only been here for a moment and took no particular notice of them.’ ‘They may not have reasoning powers such as we have,’ answered Kashiwagi, ‘but I am convinced that some of them at any rate have souls like ours.’ Presently he added: ‘Perhaps, as you have so many delightful cats of your own here, you would lend me this one of Nyosan’s for a little while?’ It was only after he had made this request that he realized how eccentric it must appear.

On this occasion, Kashiwagi had come determined to behave with perfect propriety. He was in awe of Genji and cared deeply about public opinion. Nothing was more painful to him than the thought of his name appearing in the Court’s scandalous gossip. If he had any designs, they were not on Nyosan but on her cat. He imagined he would be less miserable if he could have the creature with him always. But he knew this was a mad idea. Under the circumstances, stealing the cat was hardly easier than running away with its mistress. The archery meeting passed without incident. But a few days later, he was reminded of his plan. In the Crown Prince’s rooms, he saw a beautiful kitten that had just arrived as a gift from the Emperor’s Palace. His Majesty’s court cat had recently given birth to a large litter. The kittens had been given to his acquaintances. ‘The other day,’ Kashiwagi said casually, ‘I happened to see a remarkably fine cat belonging to one of the ladies at Genji’s palace. I’ve never seen such a handsome creature. By the way, I think they said it belongs to your sister Nyosan....’ This was a clever move. The Crown Prince loved cats and was willing to talk about them for as long as anyone pleased. He began asking Kashiwagi about Nyosan’s marvelous cat, which he did not remember seeing. ‘You have some of the same breed here,’ Kashiwagi said, ‘but there was something special about that particular cat. It seemed so much friendlier and more intelligent than any I’ve ever known.’ This began a long conversation about the qualities of different cats. The Crown Prince first borrowed those belonging to his wife, the Akashi Princess. Finally, he sent a message to his sister Nyosan, asking if she would mind lending him hers. When her cat arrived, everyone agreed that it was a very fine cat indeed. Kashiwagi knew the Crown Prince would give his sister a full account of how her favorite had been received. So he thought it better not to show much interest in the animal on this occasion. But some days later, he called again, saying he had come to give the Prince a long-promised zithern lesson. ‘Which is the fellow I saw at Genji’s?’ he asked during their conversation. ‘Is he still here? You have so many that I find it hard to tell them apart....’ In fact, he had already recognized Nyosan’s cat, and soon had it on his lap, stroking it. ‘Isn’t he behaving beautifully?’ said the Crown Prince. ‘You only saw him from a distance the other day, so it’s extraordinary that he should recognize you. But he certainly does. Cats are naturally very distrustful, and they won’t let anyone touch them unless they remember seeing the person before. Still, our cats often remember someone who has only been here for a moment and paid them no particular attention.’ ‘They may not be able to reason as we do,’ Kashiwagi answered, ‘but I’m convinced that at least some of them have souls like ours.’ After a while he added, ‘Perhaps, since you have so many delightful cats of your own here, you would lend me this one of Nyosan’s for a little while?’ Only after making the request did he realize how strange it must seem.

The cat lay close by him all night, and the first thing he did in the morning was to see to its wants, combing it and feeding it with his own hand. The most unsociable cat, when it finds itself wrapped up in some one’s coat and put to sleep upon his bed—stroked, fed and tended with every imaginable care—soon ceases to stand upon its dignity; and when, a little later, Kashiwagi posted himself near the window, where he sat gazing vacantly before him, his new friend soon stole gently to his side and mewed several times as though in the tenderest sympathy. Such advances on the part of a cat are rare indeed, and smiling, he recited to the animal the following verse: ‘I love and am not loved. But you, who nestle daily in my dear one’s arms—what need have you to moan?’ He gazed into the cat’s eyes as he spoke, and again it began mewing piteously, till he took it up into his lap, and he was still nursing it thus when the first visitors of the day began to arrive. ‘This is very sudden,’ they whispered to one another. ‘He used not to take the slightest interest in such creatures.’ Presently a messenger arrived from the Crown Prince, asking that the cat might be sent back at once. But Kashiwagi refused to part with it.

The cat lay close beside him all night. In the morning, the first thing he did was tend to its needs. He combed it and fed it by hand. Even the most unfriendly cat soon drops its guard when someone wraps it in a coat and puts it to sleep on their bed. The cat was stroked, fed, and given every imaginable care. A little later, Kashiwagi sat by the window, gazing blankly ahead. His new friend soon crept gently to his side and mewed several times, as if in tender sympathy. Cats rarely make such gestures, and he smiled and recited a verse to the animal: ‘I love and am not loved. But you, who nestle daily in my dear one’s arms, why should you moan?’ He gazed into the cat’s eyes as he spoke. It began mewing pitifully again, so he picked it up and held it in his lap. He was still holding it when the first visitors of the day arrived. ‘This is very sudden,’ they whispered to one another. ‘He never used to show the slightest interest in such creatures.’ Soon a messenger arrived from the Crown Prince, asking for the cat to be sent back at once. But Kashiwagi refused to part with it.