BLUE TROUSERS
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
THE TALE OF GENJI
Part I (Chapters 1 to 9)
THE SACRED TREE
Part II (Chapters 10 to 18) of “The
Tale of Genji”
A WREATH OF CLOUD
Part III (Chapters 19 to 28) of “The
Tale of Genji”
BLUE TROUSERS
Part IV (Chapters 29 to 40) of “The
Tale of Genji.”
BLUE TROUSERS
BEING THE FOURTH PART OF “THE TALE OF GENJI”
BY
LADY MURASAKI
Translated from the Japanese by
ARTHUR WALEY
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
1928
_All rights reserved_
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY UNWIN BROTHERS, LTD., WOKING
TO
R. C. TREVELYAN
CONTENTS
PAGE
LIST OF MOST IMPORTANT PERSONS 9
SITUATION AT THE BEGINNING OF VOLUME IV 11
CHAPTER
I. THE ROYAL VISIT 13
II. BLUE TROUSERS 40
III. MAKIBASHIRA 48
IV. THE SPRAY OF PLUM-BLOSSOM 90
V. FUJI NO URABA 105
VI. WAKANA, PART I 128
VII. WAKANA, PART II 182
VIII. KASHIWAGI 230
IX. THE FLUTE 252
X. YŪGIRI 267
XI. THE LAW 309
XII. MIRAGE 321
LIST OF MOST IMPORTANT PERSONS
Akashi, Lady of Brought back by Genji from his place of
exile.
Akashi, Princess Daughter of the above.
Akikonomu Daughter of Rokujō. Consort of the
Emperor Ryōzen.
Aoi Genji’s first wife. Her death is
recorded at the end of Vol. I.
Asagao, Princess Courted by Genji.
Chūjō, Lady Daughter of Tō no Chūjō. Concubine
of the Emperor Ryōzen.
Chūjō no Omoto Maid in service of Higekuro.
Crown Prince, The Son of Suzaku. Afterward ascends
the Throne. ‘The New Emperor’.
Emperor, The New See _Crown Prince_.
Falling Flowers A mild and patient lady, entrusted with
Lady from the Village of. Yūgiri’s upbringing.
Fujitsubo Genji’s stepmother. Secretly loved
by him.
Genji The hero.
Higekuro Husband to Makibashira, who goes
mad. Subsequently marries Tamakatsura.
Hyōbukyō, Prince Murasaki’s father.
Jōkyōden, Princess Consort of Suzaku.
Kaoru Son of Nyosan and Kashiwagi. Supposed
by the world to be Genji’s son.
Kashiwagi Son of Tō no Chūjō. In love with
Nyosan.
Kōbai Kashiwagi’s brother.
Kojijū Maid to Nyosan.
Koremitsu Genji’s favourite retainer.
Koremitsu’s Daughter ‘The Gosechi dancer.’ Yūgiri takes
a fancy to her at the time when he
cannot get access to Kumoi.
Kumoi Tō no Chūjō’s daughter. Yūgiri’s wife;
Makibashira Higekuro’s mad wife.
Moku no Kimi Maid in service of Higekuro.
Murasaki Genji’s wife. The low rank of her mother
prevented her ever being installed as
_kita no kata_ or ‘legitimate spouse.’
Niou Son of the New Emperor and the Akashi
Princess. Genji’s grandson.
Nishi no Miya Murasaki’s eldest sister.
Nyosan Favourite daughter of the ex-Emperor
Suzaku. Accepted by Genji as his
_kita no kata_, in deference to Suzaku’s
wishes. Loved by Kashiwagi.
Oborozuki Consort of Suzaku. Formerly loved by Genji.
Ochiba Daughter of Suzaku. Married to Kashiwagi;
after his death, loved by Yūgiri.
Omi, Lady from Illegitimate daughter of Tō no Chūjō.
Omiya, Princess Tō no Chūjō’s mother. Yūgiri’s maternal
grandmother.
Rokujō, Lady Loved by Genji in his early days.
Violently jealous of his other attendants.
Ryōzen, Emperor Thought by the world to be the son of the
Old Emperor (Genji’s father); but in
reality son of Genji and the Old Emperor’s
consort, Lady Fujitsubo.
Saishō Maid to Tamakatsura.
Sochi, Prince Genji’s half-brother.
Suzaku, Ex-Emperor Genji’s half-brother. Father of Nyosan and
Ochiba.
Tamakatsura Daughter of Tō no Chūjō and Yūgao. Adopted
by Genji.
Tō no Chūjō Genji’s great friend. Brother of Genji’s
first wife, Aoi.
Yamato, Governor of Nephew of Ochiba’s mother.
Yūgao Loved by Genji in his youth. Withered by
Rokujō’s jealousy. Dies in the deserted
mansion (_see_ vol. i, chap. iv).
Yūgiri Genji’s son by Aoi.
SITUATION AT THE BEGINNING OF
VOLUME IV
Genji has decided to find a husband for his ward Tamakatsura, though he
longs to keep her for himself. Yūgiri (Genji’s son) is still in love
with Kumoi (Tō no Chūjō’s daughter); but Tō no Chūjō is more ambitious
on her behalf, and would like to establish her in the Emperor’s Palace.
Genji is hurt by this slight upon Yūgiri, and there is an estrangement
between Genji and Tō no Chūjō.
BLUE TROUSERS
CHAPTER I
THE ROYAL VISIT
Genji’s mind was still occupied with the question of Tamakatsura’s
future. He was, as he put it to himself, exploring various
possibilities—honestly endeavouring to discover a plan that would
ensure her happiness. But meanwhile the girl’s reputation had, true to
Murasaki’s prediction, already begun to suffer. The fact that rumours
connecting Genji’s name with hers were now generally current made his
situation with regard to her true father more than ever embarrassing.
Where other people’s conduct was concerned Tō no Chūjō’s standards were
singularly exacting. The moment he heard that the subject of all this
gossip was his own daughter, Chūjō’s moral indignation would know no
bounds, and he would certainly not consider it any part of his duty
to save Genji’s face or lighten the consequences of his equivocal
behaviour. Was it, Genji now began to ask himself, of any advantage
either to the girl or her father that their relationship should be
disclosed? Far better, surely, to find her a suitable husband as soon
as possible, or best of all, induce the Emperor to admit her into the
Palace.
This year the Emperor was to take part in the Ōharano Festival.[1]
People came from all over the country to witness the ceremony, and the
sightseers included several parties from the New Palace.[2] The
Procession left the Suzaku gate at the hour of the Hare,[3] turning
to the right when it reached the Great Highway of the Fifth Ward. All
through the town, and beyond it as far as the Katsura river, the road
was thickly lined by coaches. The procession was, strictly speaking,
an Imperial Progress; but on this occasion the Palanquin was followed
by most of the younger princes and noblemen, on horses sumptuously
saddled and equipped. Their retainers, also on horseback, were all
men of fine stature and appearance, clad in magnificent costumes, so
that the general effect was one of extraordinary splendour. All the
great Ministers of State were there, from the Ministers of the Right
and Left, the Palace Minister and Chancellors downwards. Even the
lower officers, including those of the Sixth Rank, were as a special
privilege allowed to wear the dove-grey cloak and wine-red tunic. There
had been a slight fall of snow, but during the time of the procession
the weather was perfect. Such of the courtiers as had been taking
part in the recent hunting expeditions were still in their strange
falconers’ costumes. They were attended by the hawk-trainers drawn
from the falconries of the Six Bodyguards. These men, in their rather
wild-looking, patterned dresses, quite unfamiliar to most residents
of the Capital, attracted a great deal of attention. Though there was
much in the proceedings that lay outside the scope of what young ladies
are supposed to understand, the mere interest and beauty of the sight
brought them to the scene in their thousands, and it was touching to
observe how many crazy, tottering conveyances just managed to creak
and lumber to the spot in time to see the procession pass. The most
fashionable view-point was just before the Bridge of Boats. Here the
really smart equipages were seen in greatest abundance; among them,
that of Lady Tamakatsura. It was of course towards the open window of
the Emperor’s Palanquin that she at once turned a fascinated gaze.
Clad in a bright scarlet cloak, he sat motionless, not for an instant
turning his young face to right or left. Never in her life had she seen
so many handsome faces and fine clothes; but the Emperor could hold
his own. She could not help casting a secret glance towards her father
as he rode by with the other Ministers. He was a finely built man, and
wore an air of vigour and enterprise that marked him out from among
all the other commoners in the train. But it was not for long that
she diverted her gaze from the scarlet-robed figure in the Palanquin.
As for such or such a young prince whose conversation or appearance
she had heard praised, this or that chamberlain or courtier who had
plied her with love letters—though her friends kept pointing them out,
she did not pay the slightest attention, but continued to gaze at the
figure in the red cloak, who was not only her Sovereign, but also the
handsomest young man in all the throng. In cast of countenance he was,
she thought, extraordinarily like Prince Genji, though the august
position which he held had given to these same features a sternness, an
imperturbable dignity very different from the habitual expression of
her guardian’s face.
By the lesser figures in the procession she was, she must needs
confess, very much disappointed. Used to Genji and Yūgiri, she had
fallen into the habit of supposing that beauty was the common property
of all well-born gentlemen; and it was with some consternation that
she to-day encountered such chins and noses as she could scarcely
believe to be varieties of the organs with which she was familiar. She
recognized Prince Hyōbukyō[4]; and also her own suitor Prince Higekuro,
who, though not usually very particular about his appearance, was
to-day quite smart in his guardsman’s dress, with a stylish Persian
quiver across his shoulders. He was dark-skinned and very hairy. This
disgusted her, though she knew that men cannot be expected to have
faces as smooth and complexions as delicately graded as those of a lady
fresh from her toilet-table. No doubt she was unreasonable; but she
could not help it. Argue with herself as she might, the appearance of
such people as Prince Higekuro distressed her. Her thoughts went back
to the Emperor. Genji had spoken lately about the possibility of her
being summoned to the Palace. She did not want to become the Emperor’s
concubine. That kind of thing did not appeal to her; moreover she did
not think herself sufficiently presentable, and could not imagine that
she would ever stand a chance of being chosen for such a purpose. But
to be attached to the Palace in some general capacity, and if not
actually to enjoy the Emperor’s friendship, at any rate often to see
him in a far less fleeting manner than she had done to-day—such a
notion pleased her, and henceforward her mind frequently dwelt upon it.
At last the procession arrived at Ōharano, the Palanquin halted, and a
great banquet was served in the Imperial Tent. While such of the guests
as had arrived in Court dress were changing into their cloaks and
hunting-jackets, a great hamper of wine and fruit arrived as a present
from the New Palace. The Emperor had expressed a wish that Genji should
be present at to-day’s proceedings; but he had excused himself, saying
the day fixed for the ceremony clashed with a religious observance[5]
which it was impossible for him to neglect. His majesty, upon the
receipt of Genji’s hamper, sent a lieutenant of the Guard back to the
New Palace with a return present of game—a dozen or so partridges
strung to the bough of a tree. With it was a prose message of the
usual kind, which I will not here reproduce, for the pronouncements
of Royalty on such occasions are not necessarily of great interest.
The Imperial Poem was as follows: ‘The tracks these woodland birds
imprinted on the snowy hill would guide you safely on the path that
Precedent decrees.’ By this he meant that the Grand Minister had never
before been absent on the occasion of the Royal Visit.
Genji entertained the messenger with suitable respect, and finally
sent him back with the poem: ‘So thick this morning’s snow that, where
I seek my way, no ancient track remains upon the wind-drifts of the
desolate hill.’[6] I have, as a matter of fact, heard a good deal more
of what took place on this occasion; but there are still several gaps
that I have not been able to fill in, and I shall therefore at present
say nothing further about it.
Next day Genji wrote a note to Tamakatsura in which he said: ‘How did
you get on yesterday? Were you able to see the procession properly?
I am sure that, if you were, you now take a very different view
about my recent proposal....’ She was at first amused by the notion
that a fleeting glimpse through the window of a palanquin could have
altered her decision about serving at the Palace. But after a moment’s
reflection she realized that this was precisely what had happened. How
clever he always was at guessing what went on in other people’s heads!
In reply she sent the poem: ‘How think you I could have seen the
Light of Heaven when snow-clouds dimmed the morning with their sullen
breath?’[7] Genji showed the letter to Murasaki, and explained the
situation. ‘I have been suggesting that she should apply for a post at
the Palace,’ he said. ‘But I am not sure that I could get her accepted.
You see, it was from my house that Lady Akikonomu entered the Imperial
service, and it might be thought that I was asking too much in trying
to establish a second ward of mine in a high position at the Palace.
Nothing would be gained if I restored her to her father; for he too
has already supplied His Majesty with a consort.[8] It is all very
difficult and confusing.... The Emperor is extremely attractive. Now
that she has seen him, were she only a few years younger and somewhat
less diffident about her own powers to please, she would not, I am
sure, rest content till she secured a footing in his household....’
‘How horrible you think everyone is,’ Murasaki answered, laughing.
‘Even if she admired the Emperor (and there is no reason to suppose
that she did), a girl such as she would never dream of putting herself
forward.... We women are really far less immodest than you suppose.’
‘Possibly,’ replied Genji. ‘But on the other hand the Emperor is far
handsomer than you suppose, as you will admit when you have seen him.’
Another difficulty was now beginning to present itself. So long as
she continued to live quietly in the New Palace the question of
Tamakatsura’s clan-rights was not likely to be raised. She would pass
as a member of the Minamoto, Genji’s own clan, and be admitted without
further scrutiny to the worship of his family gods. But supposing he
succeeded in getting her into the Palace in finding her a husband, it
would then be necessary to come into the open about which clan she
belonged to. He would, of course, if he intended to pass her off as his
own child, have to pretend that she was a Minamoto. If this only meant
depriving the Kasuga Deity[9] of a worshipper, it would not be of
much consequence. But there was always the risk that the true facts
might one day come to light, and then his own conduct towards those who
had accepted her at his hands would appear so discreditable that he
would never be able to face them again.
He knew of course that ordinary upper-class people changed over from
one clan to another without the slightest compunction; it was, indeed,
rather a fashionable thing to do so....
No, it was no use arguing in this way. Such adoptions did not alter the
facts of the case. Tamakatsura was not his child, but Tō no Chūjō’s.
Sooner or later her father would become aware of this, and that being
so it was far better that he should learn the truth from Genji’s own
lips. He accordingly wrote to Tō no Chūjō, and without giving any
explanation asked him to be sponsor[10] for the girl at the long
deferred ceremony of her Initiation, which was fixed for the second
month of the new year.
The old Princess, Tō no Chūjō’s mother, had been very unwell all the
winter, and though custom demanded that, if Tō no Chūjō were sponsor,
the ceremony should take place in her house, Genji feared that this
would be putting her to too much inconvenience. He noticed that Yūgiri,
who was constantly with her, looked more and more careworn every day.
This was a bad sign; probably the old lady would not last out many
weeks more. But if she died before his intended conversation with
Tō no Chūjō had taken place, Tamakatsura would not be able to wear
mourning for her, and would thus, through no fault of her own,
be guilty of a serious offence. Accordingly he set out for the Third
Ward, calling first at the old Princess’s apartments. He was obliged
to act with great secrecy, for he had pleaded only yesterday that a
religious obligation confined him to his rooms. But lest she should be
disappointed, he robed himself for the visit quite as magnificently
as he would have done for the recent Procession. Her joy at the sight
of this dazzling spectacle knew no bounds. Ill though she was, she
immediately cast away all her troubles, dragged herself from her couch
and received him, propped up on an easy chair.
She was evidently very much enfeebled; but she was perfectly well
able to carry on a conversation. ‘I always know how things are going
here by watching Yūgiri,’ Genji said to her. ‘Lately he has been very
absent-minded and depressed, and sometimes I have heard him sighing
heavily when he was by himself. I knew this meant that he was worrying
about you, and I felt I must come and enquire on my own account.
Nowadays I do not even visit at the Palace except on very special
occasions. I still hold the position of Grand Minister; but you would
not find a single business document on my table. I live shut away in
my own house, and am quite out of touch with everything that goes on
in the outside world. You probably think it very reprehensible of me
to withdraw from all public responsibilities at so early an age; and
I know that you could quote to me cases, both ancient and modern, of
indomitable old men who have gone on tottering to their government
offices every day of their lives till their backs were bent double. If
I do not manage to supply the world with so edifying a spectacle, it
is partly because I feel myself wholly lacking in capacity for such
matters, partly because I am by nature incurably indolent....’ ‘You’re
only making excuses because it’s a very long time since you have
been to see me,’ she answered. ‘Well, I haven’t been getting on so
badly. Till this year I had nothing to complain of, except the usual
inconveniences of old age. But now they have not much hope of me. I
have been wondering lately whether I should ever see you again. As a
matter of fact, I am better than usual to-day, and do not feel at all
as though my time were up. I have never thought there was much to be
said in favour of dragging on long after all one’s friends were dead,
and for my part I was ready and anxious to be gone. If I have hung on
till now, it has really been chiefly because of Yūgiri’s extraordinary
kindness and devotion. I can see that the idea of losing me upsets him
terribly....’ She cried a good deal while she spoke, and her voice was
so tremulous that he found it hard to catch her words; but the emotion
which lay behind her quavering and often incoherent phrases was always
such as he could most easily comprehend and share. In the course of
this conversation Genji said: ‘I suppose Tō no Chūjō comes to see you
several times a day? I should be glad to have a word with him, if
he looks in while I am here. There is something I have been wanting
to tell him about for a long time. I should be sorry to miss this
opportunity; for nowadays we seem very seldom to meet.’ ‘I don’t know
how it is,’ the old Princess replied; ‘it may be that he is very busy,
or it may be that he simply does not want to come. I can only tell you
that he has not been here once since my illness began. I wonder what
sort of thing it is you want to discuss with him? I wish he were not so
set against poor Yūgiri. I have said to him ever so many times: “It’s
no good arguing about how it all began. The harm is done now; they’ve
got themselves talked about, and if you go on keeping them apart, you
will only turn every one against you.” But once he gets an idea into
his head there is no doing anything with him. He was always the
same....’ Genji smiled at her assumption that whatever was to be said
must necessarily concern her darling Yūgiri. ‘I am afraid I was partly
to blame,’ he said. ‘I was led to suppose that Tō no Chūjō did not
regard the affair as worth his interference, and took the same line
myself. Afterwards, when I discovered how angry he was, I wished I had
not meddled in the matter at all.
‘However, that is not what I want to talk to him about now.... Some
while ago I happened quite by chance to discover the whereabouts of a
person in whose fate I imagine him to be deeply interested. I ought of
course to have spoken to him at once; but there were reasons that made
me very reluctant to go into the whole matter. A home had to be found
for her immediately, and having a very small family myself, I took her
into the New Palace, never intending this to be more than a temporary
measure.... I was seeing very little of Tō no Chūjō at this time, and
month after month went by without my having a chance to discuss the
matter with him, as I fully intended to do as soon as an opportunity
arose....
‘It now appears that the Emperor is looking for a Lady-of-the-Wardrobe.
The position has been allowed to remain vacant far too long, the work
being entrusted to mere housekeepers and lower servants, with the
result that everything is in a state of hopeless confusion. In old
days there seemed to be no difficulty in filling the post. All that is
required is a lady free from domestic ties, who is also of good birth
and tolerable character. But now, quite apart from birth and breeding,
it seems impossible to produce any one who even as regards previous
conduct and experience is in any way qualified for the position. Having
seen several applicants who came with the highest recommendations, the
Emperor decided that he must look for some one of quite a different
class.
‘I at once thought of Lady Tamakatsura, the girl whom I have taken
into my house. So far as I can make out, she is just the sort of person
his Majesty is looking for. Service at the Palace has, I know, usually
been regarded solely as an avenue to Imperial notice and favour, with
the result that the work of such offices as the Wardrobe has been
treated as something to scramble through with as little effort as
possible. But it is not intended that this shall continue, and Lady
Tamakatsura seems to me just the right person to put things upon a more
sensible footing.
‘However, I can do nothing till I have seen her father and talked
the matter over with him. I have already asked him to stand sponsor
at her Initiation, and now that you are feeling stronger I hope that
the ceremony will soon be able to take place at your house.’ ‘If I
understand you rightly,’ said the old lady, ‘this is some child of
Tō no Chūjō’s. Your story very much surprises me. He was rather wild
in his younger days; but he never failed to make provision for his
children, and, indeed, he has in his time collected some very queer
waifs and strays who succeeded in convincing him he was their father.
I think it is most unaccountable that, if this girl is really his
daughter, he should have completely lost touch with her and allowed you
to pass her oft as your child. What strange things you are telling me!
But now I come to think of it, there was some story that I heard years
ago....’
‘It may sound to you very improbable,’ he replied, ‘but all that I have
told you is true so far as it goes. I shall necessarily be telling Tō
no Chūjō a good deal more about it, and you can get the details from
him. It is a long and rather sordid story, and you would soon wish I
had not begun it. Even Yūgiri still knows nothing, and believes that
the girl is my daughter. You will not of course allow the matter to
go any further.’ So he cautioned her. Meanwhile Tō no Chūjō heard
that Prince Genji was at his mother’s house. ‘Of course my mother
will be delighted,’ said he, ‘but I wish he had let us know that he
was coming. Only Yūgiri is with her.... It is most unfortunate. There
will be no one to receive him or see to it that his escort is properly
entertained.’ Much agitated, Tō no Chūjō began routing out such of his
own sons and of Genji’s particular acquaintance as could be procured
at such short notice, and sent them round post-haste to the old lady’s
apartments, begging them to make sure that the distinguished guest was
not being shamefully neglected. ‘The wine!’ he called after them. ‘Be
sure that he is offered wine and a little fruit. I would come with you
myself, were I not afraid of giving trouble....’
Just then a note from his mother was handed him. ‘Genji is here,’ she
said. ‘Of course I was delighted to see him. But I knew well enough
that he had not come merely to chatter with me. It now appears that he
counted on finding you here. There is something he wants to discuss
with you.’ It was quite clear what had happened. The Princess, thinking
that her end was near, had again been beseeching Genji to champion
Yūgiri’s cause. ‘He himself,’ thought Tō no Chūjō, ‘is probably tired
of seeing the boy moping about day after day with the same love-lorn
expression. He no doubt imagines that a word from him, preceded by a
little judicious flattery, will suffice to alter all my views. If more
is required, there is always the plea that, in her present condition,
my mother must at all costs be allowed to have her way. At this moment,
I suppose, they are putting their heads together and deciding how to
propitiate me ... under the circumstances it will be very difficult
not to give way; and yet I don’t at all see why I should!’ So he
havered, feeling very much irritated by the whole affair, and extremely
disinclined to obey the summons. But he valued civility very
highly, and he could not without great rudeness refuse his mother’s
invitation just on the one occasion when Genji was in the house. It
would be better not to put himself in the wrong.... It was evident,
indeed, that he had decided to go; for he began dressing in his
finest clothes, and soon afterwards he set out, with only a handful
of outriders, but accompanied by all the gentlemen of his household.
The party was an imposing one as it swept along, dominated by the
resplendent figure of Tō no Chūjō himself, who was noticeably taller
than the rest and broad-chested to match, fulfilling in dignity of mien
and gait all that the popular imagination expects of a great political
leader. He was magnificently dressed in long trousers of wine-red silk
and a lined cloak, white outside and red within, with a very long and
sumptuous train. His costume contrasted in the strangest manner with
that of Genji, who had changed into a plain cloak of Chinese silk
thrown about him with just that touch of negligence which is proper to
a great lord on a small occasion. But the contrast, which would have
put any one else at a disadvantage, only served to show that Genji
at his very shabbiest could hold his own against the most grandiose
display of trains and trappings.
The friendship of Tō no Chūjō’s sons with Yūgiri made it natural that
they should accompany their father on this visit. It happened that
Chūjō’s two younger brothers, sons of a different mother, holding now
the positions of Tutor to the Crown Prince and Representative of the
Fujiwara Family on the Grand Council, were also at hand; and though no
particular meeting of the Government had been called, circumstances
had obliged some ten or twelve of the great officers of State (the
Chief Treasurer, the Treasurer of the Fifth Rank, the Colonel of
the Bodyguard and others) to foregather in Tō no Chūjō’s house that
morning. They too, with a number of squires and commoners, joined
the throng, and it was an impressive concourse of courtiers and
gentlemen that was now entertained in the old Princess’s Reception
Hall. The great tankard went round again and again, every one became
very much elated, and scenes took place which (as was generally
observed) far exceeded in brilliance and gaiety what is usually
witnessed in an antiquated dowager’s apartments. Genji and Tō no Chūjō
were soon engaged in an animated conversation. When they were apart it
seemed to each that an exasperating accumulation of small grievances
was all that now remained of their ancient alliance. But from the
first moment of this unpremeditated and almost accidental meeting all
consciousness of these recent jars and irritations utterly vanished.
No sooner were they seated side by side than a host of common memories
crowded to the mind of each. What miseries they had suffered together,
what delights they had enjoyed! It seemed impossible that such trivial
incidents as those of the last few months could have sufficed to raise
a barrier between them. But so it had been; and for that very reason
there was more to talk about now than there could possibly else have
been. Enquiries, recollections, allusions followed hard upon one
another, and when dusk fell the two friends had still not come to a
pause in their conversation. At last Tō no Chūjō remembered that the
guest must be in need of refreshment, and handing him the tankard he
said: ‘It has for a long while past distressed me very much to see
so little of you; and I felt that it would indeed mark a disastrous
climax in our estrangement if you should come to-day without my being
here to receive you. I imagined that, had you not expressly desired
to avoid me, you would certainly have told me of your intended visit.
Fortunately, however, I decided that to come unwanted would endanger
our friendship less than to stay away when I knew that you were
honouring my mother’s house....’ ‘If any one has been endangering our
good relations, it is I,’ answered Genji. ‘Did you but know it, I stand
in need of all the charity and forbearance that you can muster.’[11]
Tō no Chūjō was puzzled by this; but he naturally assumed that it
referred to the trouble concerning Kumoi and Yūgiri, and certain
that something very disagreeable was coming, he waited for Genji to
continue. ‘In old days it was very seldom that we differed about
any matter of importance, whether it concerned our own lives or the
affairs of the country, and for this reason I felt perfectly confident
in handing over to you the direction of the Government. It seemed as
little likely that our views would clash as that a bird’s two wings
should start flying in different directions. If lately I may seem to
you sometimes to have acted in a way at variance with this old concord,
you cannot claim that it has been in matters of any wide or general
importance. But that is not enough; as I grow older I feel all the
more anxious that not even these small domestic difficulties should
continue to mar our friendship or in any way alter it from what it was
in earlier days. You seemed to avoid me; but I knew from experience
that the duties I myself had thrust upon you leave little time for
friendship, and had I been merely an acquaintance I should not have
been surprised at your becoming somewhat difficult of access. But
despite all that had arisen between us our relationship was merely of a
somewhat different kind....’
Tō no Chūjō had not the least idea what all this was going to lead up
to. ‘Certainly we were very intimate at one time,’ he answered. ‘It
is possible that I presumed too much upon our friendship—ignored too
completely the great distance that separated us. You have compared
us to the two wings of a bird. Such was never our position. You were
always far above me, and if I have risen from insignificance to high
rank and office I know quite well that it is entirely your doing.
Perhaps I ought more frequently to have acknowledged this obligation;
but as one grows older one tends more and more to take things for
granted....’ Tō no Chūjō, who had arrived in such ill-humour, was
now speaking almost apologetically. It was at this point that Genji
ventured upon an allusion to the rainy night’s conversation,[12] then
to Yūgao, and last to Tō no Chūjō’s little daughter, Tamakatsura. ‘I
have news concerning her which will very much surprise you,’ Genji said
at last, and, without going into the whole story, broke to Tō no Chūjō
the news that Yūgao was long ago dead, and that Tamakatsura had for
some while been living with him.
Tears sprang to Chūjō’s eyes. ‘I think that at the time when I first
lost sight of her,’ he said at last, ‘I told you and some of my other
friends about my endeavours to trace Yūgao and her child. It would have
been better not to speak of the matter; but I was so wretched that I
could not contain myself. However, the search brought no result, and
at last I gave up all hope. It was only recently, when my accession
to high office induced all kinds of odd and undesirable creatures in
every quarter to claim relationship with me, that I began to think
once more about this true child of mine. How much more gladly would
I have acknowledged and welcomed Yūgao’s daughter than the band of
discreditable and unconvincing claimants who henceforward thronged my
gates! But now that I know she is in good hands....’ Gradually the
conversation drifted back to that rainy night and to the theories which
each of them had then put forward. Had life refuted or confirmed
them? And so, between tears and laughter, the talk went on, with not a
shade of reproach or coolness on either side, till morning was almost
come. ‘I have no desire to go away,’ said Genji, rising at last. ‘The
things of which we have been speaking happened so long ago that they
are already ancient history, and I thought that they no longer much
concerned me. But this meeting of ours to-night has brought them back
out of the past, and....’ Perhaps it was partly because he had been
drinking (some special reason there must have been, for it was very
seldom indeed that he betrayed his emotion), Genji at this point broke
down completely and burst into a flood of tears.
Nor was he the only person in the house to weep that night. For the
old Princess, seeing Genji so far increased in dignities and power
since the time of Aoi’s death, could not help picturing to herself
the impression that the more consequential Genji of to-day would
undoubtedly have made upon her fastidious daughter. A year or two
longer, a little more experience on either side, and all might have
been well.
The matter of Yūgiri and Kumoi had not been so much as mentioned
during Tō no Chūjō’s visit. Genji was by no means anxious to start
the subject, for he knew that the girl’s family considered that he
had been remiss in not putting in a word for her at Court, and he
felt no inclination to defend himself; while Chūjō, not venturing to
embark upon a topic which Genji seemed deliberately to avoid, gave the
impression that upon this point he still harboured a grievance. ‘I
shall not escort you to your palace to-night,’ he said to Genji. ‘Our
joint cavalcades, suddenly let loose upon the sleeping town, would
cause an uncomfortable commotion. But next time we meet here we will
let it be known in advance that I am going to escort you....’
It now seemed certain that the old Princess would by the appointed
day be sufficiently recovered to allow of the Initiation[13] taking
place in her house. ‘On that occasion, if not before,’ said Genji, ‘we
may count on meeting again.’
It was noticed by the companions who waited for them that when Genji
and Tō no Chūjō at last reappeared they were both smiling with
evident satisfaction, as though some difficult negotiation had been
successfully arranged between them. What was it all about? With what
new powers could Tō no Chūjō have been invested? Many wild guesses were
made, nor would it have occurred to any one that politics had not once
been mentioned between them.
The news of Tamakatsura’s whereabouts came as such a shock to Tō no
Chūjō that he was at first quite unable to decide whether he was glad
or sorry at what had happened. Only one reason (not referred to by
Genji in his account of the affair) could possibly have induced him
to adopt the girl. Nothing had been said about restoring her to her
real father, and Tō no Chūjō was certain that under the circumstances
Genji would make every possible effort to avoid doing so. If he had not
openly accepted her as his concubine, it was through fear of Murasaki
and the rest. Certainly it was most unfortunate (the real situation
being such as Tō no Chūjō guessed) that Genji should have insisted upon
spreading this ridiculous report about the girl being his daughter.
After all, in the mere fact of his taking a fancy to her there was
nothing discreditable either to her or himself, and only this stupid
pretence would make the attachment, should it become known, seem in any
way reprehensible.
Should Genji decide to escape from his dilemma by presenting
Tamakatsura at Court, she might prove (thought Tō no Chūjō) a
formidable rival to his eldest daughter, who already had difficulties
enough at the Palace. But in any case, having now resumed his old
relations with Genji, he was determined to let no matter of this kind
endanger them, and was quite prepared to do whatever Genji seemed to
expect of him.
The reconciliation took place early in the second month. The 16th of
this month, being the first day of the Higan[14] Festival, seemed
particularly favourable for the holding of Tamakatsura’s Initiation
Ceremony. An inspection of the calendar showed that there would not
be another suitable day for a long time, and as the old Princess
maintained her improvement, there seemed a good chance that the
ceremony would be able to take place at her house on the 16th.
The next time Genji visited his ward he was able to inform her that he
had at last arranged the long-promised meeting with her father, and had
told him, if not the whole story, at any rate as much of it as it was
necessary for him to know. He seemed in the end to have chosen his time
so well, and managed the disclosure with so much tact, that she felt no
real father could possibly handle her affairs with more judgment and
devotion, and she had no desire to change her lot. But all the same
it was a weight off her mind to know that Tō no Chūjō had been duly
informed of her existence. While he was about it Genji thought that he
had better tell Yūgiri too, for it was awkward that he should still
imagine the girl to be his sister. The news that she was not Genji’s
daughter hardly came as a surprise to him, for his father’s manner
towards her had in the course of the last months continually aroused
his suspicion. But when he remembered the glimpse he had caught of her
on the morning of the typhoon (he was obliged to admit to himself that
he thought her handsomer even than the lady from whom a cruel fate
divided him), for a moment he felt that he had been a fool not to guess
the truth and use the opportunities that chance had provided. But no
sooner had this idea crossed his mind than he rejected it with horror.
Could it be that even in thought he had for an instant been disloyal to
the love upon which his whole life was founded?
When the day of the ceremony came round, a messenger arrived from the
Sanjō palace bearing presents from the old Princess. There was the
usual lacquered box in which to lay the severed lock, and though there
had been very little time for preparation, both this and the other
presents were of the handsomest kind imaginable. In her letter she
said: ‘I am not certain that it is proper[15] for me even to write upon
such an occasion as this. I should not in any case have been able to
witness the proceedings, for I am far too ill to leave my bed; and if
a few presents and a letter from me are unprecedented in such a case,
so too is the age which I have now reached, and it is clear that the
ordinary rules must not be applied to me. In accordance with surprising
and delightful information which I have just received, I long to
address you as my grand-daughter, but hesitate to do so except at your
express command.... “Since son and son-in-law both claim you, a double
reason have I to greet you as a long-lost scion of my race.”’[16]
Letter and poem were written in a very aged and trembling hand.
Genji was present when the messenger arrived, having come across
to Tamakatsura’s apartments to make the final arrangements for the
ceremony. ‘The style to which she was brought up looks to us very
quaint and old-fashioned,’ he said, inspecting the writing; ‘but I
have been told that in her day she was considered the best penwoman at
Court. One is apt to forget that she is now, poor thing, a very old
lady indeed. Look at that line. How terribly her hand shook!’ Then,
after reading the poem through a second time: ‘What ingenuity! There
is in the whole poem not a single phrase which has not some special
application to to-day’s ceremony. It would be difficult to imagine
lines in which so little space was wasted,’ and he smiled.
Even a man of far less hasty disposition than Tō no Chūjō would, after
such a revelation as that which had recently taken place at the old
Princess’s house, have awaited the day of the Initiation Ceremony with
the utmost impatience. It was evident, when the time came, that the
proceedings were to be attended with every possible pomp and formality.
In fact the whole complexion of the affair only served to convince Tō
no Chūjō more firmly than ever that his daughter had from the start
been Genji’s mistress. In his capacity as Sponsor he was admitted
behind her screens at the Hour of the Swine.[17] Over and above the
equipment that is customary on such occasions he noticed that her dais
was furnished with a magnificence such as he had never witnessed. When
the main ritual was ended and food had been served behind the screen,
Genji saw to it that the Great Lamp was so disposed as to illumine
this corner of the room far more clearly than usual; and it was in
a flood of lamplight that father and daughter now met face to face.
But merely to see her was not enough; he longed to pour upon her a
thousand questions concerning her own childhood and later adventures,
concerning her mother’s death, and all that had led up to the present
extraordinary situation. However, it was clear that for the moment any
such conversation was impossible, and he had the strange experience
of being called upon to tie the girdle of his daughter’s dress without
having yet exchanged a single word with her. ‘I have not yet publicly
announced that you are her father,’ whispered Genji, ‘so please behave
as though you were standing Sponsor to her as my friend.’ ‘You need
not worry about that,’ whispered Tō no Chūjō in reply; ‘it will be
difficult enough under the best of circumstances suddenly to begin
addressing her as my daughter, and at the present minute....’ While the
tankard was going round he added: ‘I am so overwhelmed by the splendour
of to-day’s proceedings and the trouble which you have evidently taken
to make them a success, that I feel it would be ungrateful of me to ask
why I was not taken into your confidence before. But you will admit, I
am sure, that it would be strange if I were not somewhat puzzled....’
Genji made no reply.
Most of the Royal Princes were waiting in the ante-room, among them
several of Tamakatsura’s suitors, who were curious to know why the two
Ministers were so long in reappearing from behind the screen. Of Tō
no Chūjō’s sons, only the two eldest, Kashiwagi and Kōbai, had been
let into the secret. Their feelings about the matter were necessarily
somewhat mixed; for with the disappointment of finding that Tamakatsura
was their sister was mingled a feeling of intense relief that their
courtship had hitherto remained secret. ‘I may tell you,’ whispered
Kōbai, leaning across to Kashiwagi, ‘that I have had a very lucky
escape. I was on the point of giving myself away over this. But as it
is, I don’t think any one knows about it.’ ‘There’s something very odd
about Genji,’ whispered Kashiwagi in reply. ‘This is really the second
time that he has adopted a girl apparently because he had himself taken
a fancy to her, and has then pressed her into the arms of any one who
cared to take her....’
Genji, as a matter of fact, overheard both these remarks, and going
to Tō no Chūjō, he said: ‘I must beg of you to be very careful for a
little while; otherwise both our reputations are likely to suffer.
Were we ordinary citizens we should only have our own consciences to
satisfy, and if our mutual affairs got into rather a mess it would
concern no one but ourselves. Unfortunately, however, we both of
us hold positions in which the good opinion of all sorts of people
(some of whom judge by standards quite different from ours) is of the
greatest importance to us, and can only be disregarded at the risk of
disagreeable consequences. It would be fatal, for example, if this
situation were suddenly sprung upon the world in all its details.
But allowed to leak out piecemeal, it will do very little harm. What
matters is that people should have plenty of time to get used to one
part of a scandal before the next is allowed to leak out.’ ‘I had no
intention of putting her under your wing,’ replied Tō no Chūjō; ‘but
I must confess that it has worked out very well. In fact, it seems as
though she were intended by Fate to be your child rather than mine; you
may count upon me to do exactly as you think best.’
Great efforts were made to hush up for a little while longer the
true facts concerning Tamakatsura’s birth. But talking about other
people’s affairs is so indispensable an occupation that such efforts
are commonly of little avail; and in this case it was not long before
every detail was known. Being a great gossip, the Lady from Ōmi was
soon in possession of the secret, and one day in Lady Chūjō’s room,
when Kashiwagi and Kōbai were both present, she screamed out: ‘Here’s
news for you! My father’s found another new daughter! What do you
think of that? And she’s a luckier girl than I am, for before father
found her Prince Genji said she was his daughter, and made no end of
a fuss over her. And listen now, this is the queer part of it:
that girl’s mother was no better than mine!’ All this was blurted
out at her usual high pitch, and without a thought of the effect
which she was producing. Lady Chūjō, upon whom these outbursts made a
painful impression, did not answer. Kashiwagi thought it his duty to
say severely, ‘It is quite true that Lady Tamakatsura is our father’s
child. There were reasons why it was more convenient that she should
be brought up by Prince Genji. But it is undesirable that this should
be talked about. I cannot understand how you came to hear of it at
all; and still more surprised that you should regard it as a piece of
news that can be shouted all over the house. However, as I know by
experience, several of our gentlewomen are particularly bad at holding
their tongues, and one of them might possibly have overheard....’ The
Lady from Ōmi laughed boisterously: ‘Well, I never!’ she said. ‘What
a silly fuss to make! Why, no one talks of anything else! And look
here! They say she thinks she’s going to be Lady-of-the-Bedchamber.
Now listen to me all of you. I wouldn’t ever have come to fetch and
carry for my sister in these grand rooms and do all the jobs that the
rest of you thought yourselves too good for, if I hadn’t been told
she would put in a word for me when she got the chance. I could be
Lady-of-the-Bedchamber to-morrow, yes, so I could, if my sister didn’t
choose to let a stranger get off with the job.’ This outburst provoked
peals of laughter. ‘I don’t know why you should have got it into your
head,’ said some one at last, ‘that if there was a vacancy for the post
of Lady-of-the-Bedchamber, the choice should lie between you and Lady
Tamakatsura.’ ‘It’s no good your trying to make fun of me,’ she shouted
angrily. ‘I know quite well what it is: you think I’m not fit to live
among such grand people as you. And whose fault is it, pray, that I
came at all? Master Kashiwagi here thought it was a very clever
thing to take a poor girl away from her village and make a joke of her
in this fine house. Yes, you’re very grand people, Prime Ministers and
I don’t know what! I do you reverence....’ And with this she retreated
to a corner, stepping backwards in mock obeisance.
Kashiwagi surveyed her as she crouched panting in her corner. She
was not such a bad-looking creature. But at the present moment, with
her face contorted by rage and her eyeballs extended to twice their
proper size, she cut so fantastic a figure that he was obliged to
agree with her own dictum: it was indeed a mistake on his part ever
to have brought her here. He now made vain efforts to calm her, which
were seconded by his brother Kōbai, who said: ‘It is quite true that
our sister Lady Chūjō has a certain influence in such matters, and I
am sure she will do her best for you. But you must first calm yourself
down a little. At the present you look for all the world like the Sun
Goddess,[18] when she “stamped on the hard stones of her courtyard till
the chips flew like snow.” Be patient a little while longer, and you
will find that Lady Chūjō is most anxious to do what she can for you.’
‘If you go on like this,’ Kashiwagi could not help observing, ‘we shall
all hope that, like the Sun Goddess, you will end by shutting yourself
up in a cave.’ At this point he and Kōbai withdrew.
‘Your brothers would never dare come here and make fun of me like this
unless you put them up to it,’ Ōmi now gasped to Lady Chūjō between
her tears. But she still did not despair of winning her sister’s good
graces, and to that end she now flung herself with alacrity into all
the odd jobs which the charwomen and scullery-maids would not
touch. She could be seen at any hour of the day running at full speed
hither and thither (but generally in the wrong direction) with a zest
never equalled in the annals of this ancient house. Whenever she met
her sister she called out to her: ‘Now you will recommend me, won’t
you, for that post at Court?’ Lady Chūjō resented this continual
persecution, but thought it better to make no reply.
The story of Ōmi’s misguided aspiration reached Tō no Chūjō’s ears and
diverted him extremely. He went straight to Lady Chūjō’s apartments and
called for the Lady of Ōmi to be sent to him. She was not far off, and
hearing her own name uttered she at once replied with a loud whoop and
came flouncing into the room. ‘You seem to have plenty to do nowadays,’
he said. ‘If you put the same energy into this Palace work that I hear
you are asking for, you would certainly be setting a new precedent! But
why did you not tell me before that you wanted this place? I have only
this moment heard about it.’ Her father at any rate was not making fun
of her, she said to herself with great satisfaction. ‘I did hope you
would hear about it,’ she answered Tō no Chūjō; ‘but Madam my sister or
some one else promised me they would tell you, and I thought it was all
in safe hands. Indeed, I’d counted on it so, that when I found out this
Lady Tamakatsura was after my place and every one seemed to think she’d
get it, I felt like the poor tinker who dreamed of millions, and was
so put about I didn’t know, as the saying goes, whether my hands grew
out of my arms or my chest.’ There was no denying that she expressed
herself with considerable vigour. Tō no Chūjō found it hard to maintain
his gravity, but he succeeded in saying at last: ‘I wish you had taken
me into your confidence. If only I had known that you wanted this post
I could have put in for it before there was any other candidate in
the field. Of course Lady Tamakatsura has considerable claims. But I
am sure that if I had known in good time I could easily have convinced
his Majesty that you were something not to be missed. Even now I dare
say it is not too late. You had better make haste and compose your
letter of application, and write it out in your best hand. When his
Majesty sees that it is full (as no doubt it will be) of conceits from
the Long Poems and other such archaic compositions, he will certainly
give your case very serious consideration. For he is particularly open
to impressions of that sort.’ She had not the least idea that she was
being made game of by a heartless and facetious parent. ‘If that’s all
I have got to do,’ she answered gaily, ‘I shall manage famously. I can
make Japanese poems one after another; there’s no stopping me. I get a
bit mixed up about these terms of respect. But if you’ll just give me
a little help with those, I’ll manage to work in something nice about
you into the bargain.’ So saying she rubbed her hands with delight
at the prospect of being allowed to exercise her wonderful powers of
composition. The gentlewomen who were in attendance upon Lady Chūjō
heard the whole of this conversation, and nearly died of suppressed
laughter. Several were afflicted by so terrible a fit of the giggles
that they had to be removed from the room. Lady Chūjō herself, so far
from being amused, merely went hot and cold all over while this painful
exhibition was in progress. To no Chūjō insisted upon treating the
matter as a joke. ‘Whenever I feel at all depressed,’ he said to Lady
Ōmi, ‘I shall come to you for distraction. You are an unfailing source
of entertainment.’ It was, however, said at Court that Tō no Chūjō was
in reality very much distressed by the girl’s silliness, and only made
a joke of it in order to cover up his disappointment.
[1] A religious ceremony which took place in the twelfth month. The
Ōharano shrine was situated in the hills to the west of Kyōto.
[2] Genji’s palace.
[3] 5 a.m.
[4] Murasaki’s father.
[5] Perhaps the anniversary of Lady Rokujō’s death?
[6] This Royal Visit is so much more splendid than any previous one
that precedents do not count. There is a play of words: _mi-yuki_ means
‘deep snow,’ but also ‘Royal Visit.’
[7] Again there is a play on the two senses of _mi-yuki_.
[8] Lady Chūjō, Tō no Chūjō’s eldest daughter.
[9] Clan god of the Fujiwaras, the family to which Tō no Chūjō and
consequently Tamakatsura belonged.
[10] The sponsor was usually the father; but also sometimes an uncle,
brother-in-law or the like. The Initiation, frequently mentioned in the
_Tale_, was a religious ceremony corresponding to our Confirmation.
[11] Genji is of course referring to his sequestration of Tamakatsura.
[12] See vol. i, p. 40 seq.
[13] See above, p. 19.
[14] In Sanskrit, Pāramitā. The festival is held in autumn and spring,
apparently in Japan only.
[15] She had taken Buddhist orders, and this was a Shintō occasion.
[16] An ingenious poem in which every word has some allusion to the
ceremony in hand. For example _futa_ = ‘both’ and ‘cover of the box’;
_hakago_ = ‘hidden child’ and ‘nest of boxes, fitting one into the
other.’
[17] 9 p.m.
[18] When the God Susano-o returned from the Nether World, his sister
the Sun Goddess was enraged at his presumption and ‘stamped on the
stones of her courtyard till the chips flew like snow.’ Later on she
was so much upset by her brother’s conduct that she retired to a cavern
and the Earth was plunged in darkness.