BLUE TROUSERS
Though both Genji and Tō no Chūjō strongly urged her to accept the post
of Lady-of-the-Bedchamber, Tamakatsura still hesitated. The position
did not necessarily imply that she would have personal contact with
the Emperor or be in any way under his protection. But since so many
people (even her supposed ‘father’) seemed to find her interesting,
she now assumed, without any very good reason for doing so, that the
Emperor too would doubtless become attached to her, and she foresaw
endless conflicts of the most disagreeable kind with both Akikonomu
and Lady Chūjō, not to mention other minor favourites. Her own rapid
rise to fame and the deference with which she, a mere foundling from
the hedgeside, was treated by both the Chief Ministers, had inevitably
aroused hostility in many quarters; among her female acquaintances
there were many (she was sure) who regarded her as a pampered upstart,
and would with the greatest pleasure in the world have seen her placed
in a painful and undignified position. She was old enough to be fully
aware of the disadvantages and dangers of every course which lay open
to her, and though she concealed her troubles from those about her,
she was during all this time in a condition of great depression and
perplexity.
Many people would not have regarded her present situation as anything
to be complained of. Genji’s behaviour towards her was still beyond
reproach, and in many respects her life at the New Palace was obviously
a very enviable one. But she felt that their relation was equivocal,
the subject for months past of many jests and speculations. She was
occupying a position which was in its essence utterly distasteful to
her, and longed to clear herself finally of the suspicions which were
bound to hang over her as long as she stayed under this roof.
Tō no Chūjō, anxious to remain on good terms with Genji, and certain
that, whatever might be his friend’s professions, he could not really
wish to part with the girl, made no effort to remove her from her
present quarters or in any way assert his parental authority.
The extraordinary position which she occupied, thus hung as it were
precariously between two rival parents, naturally caused her name and
story to become more than ever notorious in the City; and to make
matters worse, just at the moment when all eyes were turned upon her,
Genji began once more, as the summer drew on, to be far less discreet
in his behaviour; as though, having heroically discharged his duty
by informing her father of her whereabouts, he were exempt from any
further obligation to play a sober and paternal part. How she longed at
this time for some female confidant, mother or sister, with whom she
could discuss even some small part of the difficulties which now beset
her! Unfortunately, her most frequent visitors during all these months
were Genji and Tō no Chūjō, precisely the two persons in whom it was
least possible that she should confide.
Tamakatsura’s mourning[19] was now over; but until the end of the
month,[20] there could be no question of her formal affiancement.
The Emperor was impatient to get the matter settled, and her various
lovers pressed their claims more vehemently than ever upon those whom
they imagined to be responsible for her decision. But in whatever
quarter they applied, the answer was the same: nothing could be done
until the tenth month had begun.
Her new brothers[21] received no encouragement to visit her. But it
would be their business to look after her affairs should she take
service at Court, and they were anxious to discuss with her several
matters in connection with this. Kashiwagi had been much attracted by
Genji’s daughter. The rapidity with which he had adjusted himself to
the new situation caused a good deal of amusement. This embarrassed
him, and it was only at his father’s request that he visited the New
Palace. Outwardly, there was no change in the manner of his reception.
When he first arrived, announcing that he had a message to deliver,
he was left waiting in the garden, and as he had been instructed to
perform his commission secretly, he was obliged to hide in the shadow
of a laurel-tree, for a bright moon was shining. Having protested that
his message was of a very private nature, he was at last allowed to
address Tamakatsura through the curtains of the southern window. But in
her nervousness she did not feel capable of speaking to him herself,
and her replies were made through her maid Saishō. ‘When my father
chose me to deliver this message, I am sure he took for granted that
you would do me the honour of replying to it with your own lips. The
matter will require a certain amount of further discussion, and I fear
we shall find this roundabout method very inconvenient. Even though you
do not consider me worth putting yourself out for in the usual way, you
must remember that we are now recognized to be children of the same
father. I may be old-fashioned, but I came here hoping that a brother
counted with you for a good deal....’
She felt that she must make some concrete excuse, and said to her
maid: ‘Tell him that I should very much like to thank him for all
his kindness to me during the last year or so; but unfortunately I
am feeling very unwell and cannot leave my couch. I should not feel
justified in treating him with such informality but for the family
tie which now unites us.’ This, repeated to him by the maid Saishō,
sounded very stiff and unaccommodating. ‘If your mistress is unwell,’
he said, ‘would it not be better if I came and stood at her bedside?
The matter is an important one, and I do not at present feel as though
I were getting into touch with her at all. But I will not insist ...’
and he began in a low voice to read out his father’s message. Kashiwagi
was as well turned-out as any prince at Court, and the maid by no means
regretted her mistress’s obduracy. ‘I have heard nothing more from
you’ (the message ran) ‘about our Palace project. It is high time
that a decision were reached, and I should like to have another talk
with you. But I think that, for obvious reasons, it is better for me
to keep away at present. There can, however, be no objection to your
sending me an occasional note, and your complete silence is somewhat
perplexing.’ ‘Tell your mistress,’ Kashiwagi added on his own account,
‘that however distasteful to her my conversation may in the past have
been, it cannot in our altered circumstances be of a nature to cause
her the slightest offence. I am still at a loss to know why my previous
advances, made in ignorance of our true relation, were so coldly and
unfeelingly rejected. Still less do I understand why now, when I can
no longer be suspected of coming as a lover, she should insist upon
putting the whole breadth of her apartments between us. Never again
shall I consent to be treated in this way. Polite society, please point
out to her, will have to change a great deal before such discourtesy is
tolerated....’
How was she to pacify him? ‘The change in our relationship is not
generally known,’ she said in her reply; ‘moreover, I do not think
that having left me to rusticate for so many years amid the savagery
of Tsukushi, your family ought to expect of me the last refinements of
urban demeanour.’ So she rallied him, and with complete success.
‘Forgive me for intruding,’ said the maid, ‘but I think Madam’s
difficulty to-day has been that she did not know whether you came as a
suitor or a brother. She is extremely sensitive to what is thought of
her by the world at large; that, I am sure, is the only reason she did
not come and converse with you at close quarters. But such behaviour is
quite unlike her, and you will find that next time you come....’ ‘No,
thank you,’ he cried; ‘I fancy I might have to come a great many times
and sit here a very long while before your mistress would own that my
service had redeemed me from her ban.’ So saying, he left the house.
Prince Higekuro served in the same Guard Regiment as Yūgiri, and
was continually seeking him out in order to have long and emotional
conversations about Tamakatsura. He always hoped that Yūgiri would
plead his cause with Genji. A more suitable husband for her than
himself could not, Higekuro felt sure, possibly be imagined. He was
amiable, good-looking, qualified by rank and birth to secure for her
at Court a far higher place than that to which she had any right to
aspire. What more could Genji want? But, as Yūgiri pointed out, the
main difficulty was that, as things now stood, she was in a few months’
time to take service in the Palace; this was Genji’s idea, and Tō no
Chūjō, convinced that it was part of some subtle plan, did not think it
wise to interfere.
Prince Higekuro was the elder brother of the ex-Emperor Suzaku’s
Consort, Lady Jōkyōden. With the exception of Genji and Tō no
Chūjō, he was by far the most influential man in the country. He was
now about thirty-two or three. His wife, an elder sister of Murasaki,
was four years his senior. In many cases such a disparity of age would
not much have mattered; but Lady Makibashira[22] seemed far older than
her actual years. He nicknamed her ‘granny,’ and in this there was
something more than a jest, for soon her old-maidish ways began to
annoy him, and they had not been together many months before he was
wondering how long he should be able to go on enduring her society.
It was the existence of this unfortunate entanglement that had
discouraged Genji from furthering Prince Higekuro’s suit. The Prince
had not, indeed, by any means the reputation of leading a disorderly or
even frivolous existence. True, he was seldom at home; but apart from
his courtship of Tamakatsura herself, his time seemed to be devoted
entirely to practical affairs. Having heard that Tō no Chūjō thought
well of him and also that the lady herself was by no means anxious
for a career at the Palace, Higekuro, who had almost lost hope, again
plucked up heart. Genji, he admitted to himself, was evidently against
him. But every one knew why Genji was so reluctant to part with her.
One morning in the ninth month, when the whole world lay glittering in
the first frost of the year, messenger after messenger began to arrive
with the usual fancifully decked and folded love-letters. Tamakatsura
refused even to look at them, and only reluctantly consented to hear
them read aloud.
From Higekuro came a note in which he said: ‘The changing skies
tell me that the time of my respite[23] is almost spent. “Lived I in
hope, so were this Month of Fasting my despair; but being what I am, I
hang my life upon the weak thread of its dwindling days.”’ He seemed to
assume that a decision had been reached and would irretrievably take
effect at the beginning of the next month. She herself knew nothing of
this.
Another suitor. Prince Sochi, was equally despondent: ‘Why am I
writing?’ he said in his letter. ‘I have lost you, and there is no more
to be said. But “Though you be standing in the radiance of the Morning
Sun, perchance one drop of dew may linger of those your sleeve once
gathered in shadowy garden walks.” Did I but think you knew how much it
costs me to lose you, I should derive some trifling comfort....’ The
note containing this poem was attached to an ice-cold spray of bamboo,
plucked from near the ground and carried with such care that it was
still thickly covered with hoar-frost. The messenger was on this, as
upon every occasion, a person whose quality matched the elegance of the
letter.
Yet another suitor, whose communications were of the most pressing
nature, was Prince Hyōbukyō’s son, Sahyōye. Being Murasaki’s brother,
he was constantly at her apartments, and his present despondency seemed
to prove that, according to the information to be gathered in that
quarter, Lady Tamakatsura’s fate was already decided. His messenger now
brought a letter in which Sahyōye said: ‘Even though I should at last
forget you, how oh how shall I learn to support the dreariness of a
life into which no thought of you may find its way?...’ And so on.
These letters were a source of great interest and pleasure to
Tamakatsura’s gentlewomen, who discussed with unfailing relish the
colour of the paper, the style of penmanship, the various kinds of
scent with which the letter was perfumed, and many kindred questions.
‘I hope Madam will not make up her mind for a long while to come,’ said
one of them. ‘We shall be bored to death when this is all over.’
Her reply to Prince Sochi was short and vague, but not altogether
discouraging; for in her poem she said: ‘The sunflower, that seems so
willingly of its own nature to turn towards the Light of Day, would
fain enough (who knows?) have kept the bright frost glittering on its
leaves.’ This could be interpreted in several ways; but Prince Sochi
was very agreeably surprised by even so faint a flicker of regret. That
in entering the Palace she was acting against her own will and judgment
he did not at all believe, and he could only regard her reply as a sign
of well-bred gratitude for his patient courtship; yet it gave him a
considerable degree of pleasure.
In the course of the morning love-lorn communications arrived from
a number of less distinguished suitors. For most of them she had no
special feeling one way or the other, and dealt with each of these
protestations as her guardians informed her that the position of the
writer required. She showed indeed throughout the whole business (as
both Genji and Tō no Chūjō were forced to admit) a good sense and
docility that other members of her sex might have done well to imitate.
[19] For the old Princess, Tō no Chūjō’s mother, and consequently her
grandmother, whose death is here assumed, though not actually referred
to till three chapters later. The blue trousers, after which the
chapter is named, were worn in sign of mourning.
[20] The ninth month, in which no marriages could be celebrated.
[21] Kashiwagi, Kōbai, and Tō no Chūjō’s other sons.
[22] Not named in the book. But in English she needs a name.
Makibashira is the name of her little girl, who appears so seldom as
not to need one, so I have used this name for the mother.
[23] The ninth month, during which no such step as the affiancement of
Tamakatsura or her presentation at Court could take place. See above,
p. 41.