THE SPRAY OF PLUM-BLOSSOM
Although it was early days to begin thinking about the little
Akashi Princess’s Initiation, Genji seemed bent upon celebrating it
immediately. The Heir Apparent’s Putting on of the Trousers was to
take place in the second month, and it was perhaps Genji’s wish that
the girl should go to the Palace as soon as the little prince set up a
separate establishment. Towards the end of the first month, a moment
when there is very little going on at home or abroad, Genji held an
inspection of the perfumes and incenses that were to be used, at the
Initiation. He first looked through the scents that had recently been
forwarded to the Capital by the Governor of Tsukushi. He soon came to
the conclusion that these modern importations fell far behind what used
to reach this country in former times, and opening his storehouses at
the Nijō-in he brought out all the old Chinese perfumes he could find
and had them carried to his New Palace. ‘With perfumes,’ he said, ‘it
is just as it is with embroideries and woven brocades. The old ones are
far better workmanship than anything that is turned out to-day.’ So
saying, he began to look out for likely pieces of embroidery and gold
brocade; for many would be wanted to fringe the box-covers, carpets
and cushions used in the ceremony of Presentation at the Palace.
Luckily he came upon some particularly fine pieces presented to his
father, the late Emperor, by the Korean soothsayers who had come to
Court in the earlier part of his reign.[48] These so far excelled
what was now imported that he determined to make use only of ancient
pieces, and distributed among his friends[49] the stuffs sent in for
the occasion by the Governor of Tsukushi. But with the perfumes to be
used at the Initiation such a method was impossible, for the stock of
ancient perfumes would soon have run out. In distributing a supply of
perfumes to the various members of his household, he therefore ordered
that new and old should be mixed. Then there were the presents to be
got ready, for no one who came to the Initiation could be allowed to
go away without some small gift; and in addition to these there were
the particular rewards granted to the princes and noblemen who took
the leading part in the affair. Both at the New Palace and at the
Nijō-in there was such a bustle as seldom before, accompanied, in every
quarter of each establishment, by a continual jingling of pestle and
mortar[50] Meanwhile Genji, who by some means or other had contrived to
get hold of two secret recipes very jealously guarded by the Emperor
Nimmyō,[51] and thought never to have been transmitted to any of his
descendants, was locked away in his own rooms, completely absorbed in
certain mysterious experiments. Murasaki, not to be outdone, succeeded
in discovering a recipe that had belonged to Prince Motoyasu, the
son of Nimmyō, and ensconcing herself in a secret closet behind the
double-doors of the Great Bedroom, refused to give any information as
to what was afoot, though, as Genji remarked, he would soon know how
she was getting on by the scent that emanated from her hiding-place.
Indeed they both threw themselves into the thing with such abandon
that it was hard to believe they were to play the part of dignified
elders at the coming ceremony. Both he and she were obliged to
seek the assistance of a few chosen attendants; for even when the
perfumes were made there was still a great deal of work to be done.
Such exquisite scents could not be crammed into any stray vessel that
lay handy. Hours were spent in selecting jars of appropriate shape,
incense-burners incised with an exactly suitable flower-pattern, boxes
that would not disgrace the marvels they were to contain. And to add
to their difficulties, there must be a touch of novelty, a suggestion
of surprise, about every article. Meanwhile similar scenes were in
progress throughout the New Palace and the Nijō-in, each competitor
straining every nerve to produce a blend which should attract the
notice of her fastidious patron.
On the tenth day of the second month there was a little rain, not more
than was needed to bring to perfection the smell and colour of the
red plum-blossom in front of Genji’s palace. Prince Sochi had heard
of the existing preparations which were afoot, and being on intimate
terms with the household, ventured to call, though he knew that every
one must be very busy. After talking of one thing and another, he went
out with Genji to look at the flowers; suddenly a messenger arrived,
bearing a letter tied to a spray of half-scattered plum-blossom.
He announced that he came from Princess Asagao, the former Vestal
Virgin. Sochi had heard of Genji’s admiration for this lady: ‘What
does she say?’ he asked. ‘I hope you are beginning to make a little
progress.’ Genji smiled. ‘It is a business letter,’ he said. ‘She has
heard that we are all making perfumes, and as she has had a good deal
of experience in that line, she gives me a few hints.’ So saying, he
quickly hid the letter. But there was evidently some truth in his
account, for the messenger had also brought a cedar-wood box containing
two glass bowls, each filled with large balls of incense. One was
of blue glass, and on this there was a five-pointed pine-leaf pattern;
the other was of white glass, carved with a plum-blossom spray. Even
the cord with which the box was tied had evidently been chosen with the
greatest care, and was delightfully soft to the touch. ‘What an elegant
affair!’ exclaimed Prince Sochi, staring hard at the box. He was able
as he did so to decipher the poem which was attached to it: ‘Though,
like the plum-branch that I send, these perfumes have small fragrance
of their own, yet worn by you they will not lack for regal scent....’
The entertainment of the messenger was entrusted to Yūgiri, who plied
him with drink, and as payment for his trouble gave him a close-fitting
Chinese lady’s gown, red plum-blossom colour without, yellow within.
For his reply Genji chose paper of the same colour as the blossom she
had sent, and attached the letter to a spray from the aforementioned
trees in front of his own window. ‘I can imagine what sort of thing he
is writing,’ thought Sochi as he watched Genji compose the answer. ‘But
I really wonder that, after all the confidences we have exchanged, he
should think it necessary to be so secretive,’ and he wondered whether
there were not some additional mystery beyond what he could possibly
surmise. ‘I can see you think you have scented a mystery,’ said Genji.
‘You are quite wrong; there is no corner of my heart which I am not
willing you should explore.’ Genji’s poem ran: ‘Only too profoundly
does the scent of your blossoms stir me, though lest the world should
see my weakness I have hidden their fragrance deep within the folds of
my dress.’
‘You will think,’ he said, turning to Prince Sochi, ‘that we are
making a great deal too much fuss over the coming celebration. For my
part I excuse myself on the ground that she is my only daughter. I am
under no delusions about her looks or intelligence, and did not
like to trouble any outside person to come and stand sponsor for her
at the ceremony. The Empress Akikonomu, who is staying here on leave
from the Palace, has kindly consented to undertake the task, and it
is in deference to her position that I am doing everything in proper
style.’ ‘I am so glad you got hold of the Empress,’ said Prince Sochi;
‘I think it is a very good idea; for we all hope that your little
girl will one day occupy the position that Akikonomu holds now.’ At
this moment messengers arrived from all the various quarters of the
establishment where the blending of perfumes had been in progress, for
Genji had decided that the last time to make trial of them was when
the evening air began to grow damp. ‘You must help me to judge these
perfumes,’ said Genji to his brother. ‘I am sure there is no one who
knows more about it than you.’ The incense-burners were brought, and
though Prince Sochi protested that this was not at all in his line, he
was soon amazing every one present by the incredible delicacy of his
perceptions. He would say of some perfume the ingredients of which were
quite unknown to him: ‘There is a fraction too much cloves in this,’
or of another: ‘Just a trifle too little aloes.’ He never made any
sweeping criticism, but established a sufficient number of small points
to allow of arranging the competitors, all of whom would to any common
critic have seemed equally unimpeachable, in a definite and justified
order of precedence.
When this was over, Genji’s two secret blends were at last submitted
to the light of day. Just as the Emperor Nimmyō had on a famous
occasion buried his incense at the edge of the moat near the barracks
of the Bodyguard of the Right, so Genji had now buried his two secret
compounds under the bank of a little stream that ran out near the
western cross-gallery of his palace. Koremitsu’s son Hyōye no Jō
was now sent to dig them up, and they were finally laid before Prince
Sochi by Yūgiri. ‘No, no,’ said Sochi. ‘The room is getting too smoky.
In such an atmosphere it is quite impossible to go on judging....’
But nothing could be done, for in every quarter of the house the
manufacture of incense had been proceeding so busily that the air
was laden with perfume. The Prince went on sniffing bravely, and the
subtlety with which, even under such adverse circumstances, he detected
small merits and defects, won universal applause. Though there was very
little to choose between the different _kurobō_ submitted, on the whole
Princess Asagao’s was declared to be the best, for it combined the
strong fragrance usual to this species with a delightful delicacy and
mildness. Among the various _jijū_ incenses, Genji’s easily came out
on top, for it was indeed an extraordinarily delightful and intriguing
mixture. Murasaki had submitted three kinds. It was agreed that her
_baikwa_ was a more distinctive and ingenious blend than the other two;
Prince Sochi was full of enthusiasm for it, saying he could imagine no
incense that would mix so well with the prevailing scent of the air at
this season.
The Lady from the Village of Falling Flowers, thinking that if she
allowed the gentlewomen under her control to send in a variety of
perfumes the task of the judges would be tiresomely complicated and
lengthy (for even in such a matter as this she did not fail to show her
usual modesty), sent in only one kind of incense, the sort called Lotus
Leaf, but of a very delicate and subtle variety, which seemed to Genji
characteristic of her unassuming personality. The Lady from Akashi, who
presided over the Winter Garden, and might have been expected to offer
an incense appropriate to her own season, was not inclined to risk so
direct a challenge to the mistresses of Summer and Spring. Fortunately
she remembered a recipe that had been invented by Minamoto no
Kintada[52] with the help of notes inherited from the Emperor Uda.[53]
This by itself would have sufficed to win considerable approbation;
but she also succeeded in recollecting the ingredients of the famous
Hundred Steps Incense,[54] and Sochi was obliged to pronounce each of
those contributions deserving of the highest honours. ‘Our judge is
losing his subtlety,’ complained Genji, ‘and is obliged to fall back
upon praising everything indiscriminately.’
The moon had now risen. Supper was served, and afterwards stories were
told by various members of the party. A slight mist veiled the moon
with the most entrancing effect. The rain of the morning had left a
slight breeze in its trail, that continually wafted into the already
thickly perfumed rooms of the house fresh perfumes from the trees in
the garden. From the Music Room came sounds of flute and string, for
a practice was in progress, music being destined to play an important
part in the ceremonies of the ensuing day. Many courtiers had arrived,
and there was a noise of zitherns being got into trim, and an agreeable
meandering of flutes. Tō no Chūjō’s sons Kashiwagi and Kōbai had come
merely to make the formal announcement of their intention to take part
in to-morrow’s proceedings. But they were now prevailed upon to stay
and join in the music, Genji himself providing the instruments. At the
same time he set a lute in front of Prince Sochi, and himself sent for
his great Chinese zithern. Kashiwagi played upon the _wagon_,[55] and
so a quite interesting combination was possible. Yūgiri then played
upon the cross-flute, choosing airs appropriate to the season; away
went the shrill notes on their journey to the country of the
clouds. It will be remembered that Kashiwagi’s brother Kōbai was famous
for his voice. It was he who as a boy sang the Ballad of Takasago at
the time of the rhyme-covering competitions. He now sang _Umegaye_:
‘Look, to a bough of the plum-tree the nightingale has come to tell
us that Spring is here. But though he sings, but though he sings, the
snow is falling fast.’ Genji and his brother joined in the refrain,
and though more practice would have been required to make the thing a
complete success, it afforded a very agreeable evening’s entertainment.
When the wine was handed round Prince Sochi recited the verse: ‘To
an ecstasy the “Song of the nightingale” has carried us, who by the
beauty of the snow-white boughs already were enthralled.’ To which
Genji replied: ‘Prince, if this springtime no other beacon guide you
to my house, let these frail flowers suffice to bring you back before
their time is passed.’ So saying he handed the cup to Kashiwagi,
who addressing Yūgiri recited the verse: ‘Play shrilly once again
the flute-songs of the night, lest on his bed of flowers the weary
nightingale should fall asleep.’ And Yūgiri: ‘Ask me not to shake with
the shrill blast of piping those flowers that even the wild Spring wind
had not the heart to stir.’ At this whimsical excuse every one laughed.
When it came to Kōbai’s turn, he sang: ‘Did not the mists of Spring
enfold both earth and sky, the birds that sleep so sound had long ago
burst out into their clamorous daybreak song.’ And true enough, the
first streaks of light were already appearing in the eastern sky.
Sochi announced that he must go at once. As a reward for his services
in judging at the competition Genji gave him a cloak from his own
wardrobe and two jars of incense which had been left unopened during
the trials. These were put in his carriage, and finding them there,
Sochi improvised the poem: ‘Incense and fine clothes! What gifts
are these for an honest man to carry home at dawn?’ ‘You must not be so
frightened of your family,’ laughed Genji, waiting beside the carriage
while the bulls were being yoked; and he answered Sochi with the poem;
‘Well can I believe it, dear friend, that your family will rub their
eyes at seeing you come home with so decent a coat upon your back.’
Sochi, who thought himself a very well-dressed man, did not take this
in very good part. The other guests also received small presents in
memory of the occasion—a gown, a brocaded under-robe, or the like.
The ceremony of Initiation took place in Akikonomu’s rooms in the
evening of the next day. The company arrived at the hour of the
Dog.[56] The Empress herself was in the small side-room behind the
double-doors at the western end of the corridor, and here she was soon
joined by the gentlewomen entrusted with the dressing of the Initiate’s
hair. For this room had been set apart as her dressing-place. Murasaki
was also there, and as both ladies were attended by a full complement
of gentlewomen-in-waiting, there was not much room to spare. The little
Princess herself did not arrive till the hour of the Rat,[57] when
the actual Tying of the Belt took place. The room was lit only by the
flickering rays of the great lamp in the corridor outside; but, from
what she could see of the child, Akikonomu (who happened not to have
come across her before) made her out to be very good-looking. Genji,
however, whispered many apologies for her. ‘I knew you would help me,’
he said. ‘But of course the child is nothing out of the ordinary, and
it seems a shame to give you all this trouble. You are doing what I
suppose no Empress has ever done before....’ ‘I thought nothing of
coming, and indeed imagined it would be a mere family affair. If
it is on my account that you have done things on this grand style, I
assure you it is I not you who ought to feel embarrassed.’ She looked
so charming and still so young as she made this polite speech that
Genji congratulated himself upon an occasion which, if it possessed no
other importance, had at least the merit of bringing together in one
room so many delightful women.
He would very much have liked the child’s mother to take part in the
ceremony, for he knew that it would pain her deeply not to be invited;
but as the girl had been formally adopted by Murasaki, it was hard to
see in what capacity the Lady from Akashi could be summoned, and very
reluctantly he abandoned the idea.
For Tō no Chūjō it was extremely galling to hear the accounts of all
these preparations and festivities. His own daughter Lady Kumoi was now
at the height of her beauty, and to see her wasting her youth and charm
in the dull seclusion of the home, while the Akashi girl’s success
was being bruited on every side, was naturally very hard for him to
bear. Yūgiri’s attachment to her seemed neither to have ripened nor,
on the other hand, declined. To do anything that savoured of a wish to
negotiate with him might now only lead to a humiliating rebuff—a risk
that had not existed in the days when Yūgiri’s passion was still open
and declared. He felt that he had let things drift too far, and was
indeed in these days more angry with himself than with Yūgiri.
The young man heard that his uncle no longer spoke of him with any
asperity; but the harshness of years was not so easy to forget,
and Yūgiri could not bring himself to plead for the termination of
a quarrel which had been entirely of Chūjō’s making. He therefore
continued to behave exactly as before. Not but what his fidelity
suffered at one time and another from considerable strains and
stresses. Naturally it did; but he could never forget the day upon
which her nurses had taunted him with his light-blue dress, and he was
determined that until he could come forward as a full-blown Counsellor
he would make no further advances.
Genji disapproved extremely of the boy’s solitary and unsettled mode of
existence. Some time ago he had received a hint from the Minister of
the Right that a proposition from Yūgiri would not be unwelcome; and
now a similar intimation had come from a certain Prince Nakatsukasa....
Surely the boy would not allow a childish attachment to stand in the
way of such solid alliances as these? He told Yūgiri of the two offers.
‘One or the other you must certainly accept,’ he said. ‘Try to make up
your mind as quickly as you can.’ Yūgiri did not answer, but merely
waited respectfully for his father to continue. ‘I know that, in a way,
it is rather absurd for me to advise you about things of this kind,’
Genji said after a pause. ‘I remember how tiresome I used to find my
father the old Emperor’s lectures on these and similar subjects. But I
assure you that, irritating as it was at the time, his advice generally
turned out to be perfectly sound, and I wish I had more often followed
it.... But what I wanted to say to you now was this: your present
unsettled way of living is doing your reputation a great deal of harm.
Naturally every one assumes that a previous attachment of some kind is
holding you back, and the impression most people are likely to get is
that you have got tied up with some one so low-born or discreditable
that you cannot possibly introduce her into your family. I know that
this idea is the opposite of the truth; indeed no one could possibly
accuse you of aiming too low. But it is now perfectly clear that you
cannot get what you want.... Under such circumstances the only
thing to do is to take what one can get, and make the best of it.
‘I myself had just the same sort of trouble at your age. But things
were even worse; for in the Palace one is hedged round by all kinds
of rules and restrictions. All eyes were upon me, and I knew that
the slightest indication on my part would be eagerly seized upon and
exploited by those who stood to gain by my undoing. In consequence
of this I was always extremely careful.... Yes. In spite of all my
precautions I did once get into trouble, and it even looked at one time
as though I had ruined myself for good and all. I was still low in rank
then and had not particularly distinguished myself in any way. I felt
that I was free to do as I chose, and that if things went wrong I had
not much to lose. As a matter of fact it is just at such a moment in
life that one makes the most far-reaching and irreparable mistakes;
for it is then that passion is at its strongest, while the checks and
restraints, that in middle age inevitably protect us against the wilder
forms of folly, have not yet come into play. To suggest that you need
advice on this subject is in no way derogatory to your intelligence;
for in their relations with women people who show the utmost good sense
in other matters seem constantly to get into the most inextricable
mess. One of the difficulties is that we tend to be attracted precisely
by those people with whom it is most impossible that we should be
permanently connected. I can think of a case in which the lady’s
reputation was fatally injured and the man’s happiness destroyed, not
only in this world but probably in the next, by the fierce resentment
which she bore against him in consequence of this youthful indiscretion.
‘And one thing more: suppose you get married and find that the match
is not altogether a success. There will be moments at which you will
be tempted to throw the whole thing over. But do not act rashly.
Think out the situation afresh each time that it appears to you
insupportable. Probably you will find that there is a very good reason
for hanging on a little longer. Even if you have lost all affection for
the lady herself, you may perhaps feel that for the sake of her parents
you ought to make one more effort.... Or even if she has no parents or
other supporters to whom you are under an obligation, you will very
likely find on reflection that she has some small trick of speech or
manner that still attracts you. It will in the end possibly be best
both for you and for her if you can keep things going even in the most
precarious way.’
So at moments of leisure used Genji to admonish the young man, never
with any note of asperity in his tone. Nor did he once go beyond the
vaguest general reflections and reminiscences.
The suggestion that at his father’s advice he should at once transfer
his affections to some quarter where they would be more acceptable
struck Yūgiri as the most gratuitous piece of folly imaginable. Let
them compel him if they chose, but at least refrain from insulting his
love by veiling such senseless propositions under the cloak of kindness.
Meanwhile Kumoi noticed that her father, who for a long time past
had eyed her with a strangely sorrowful look, now gazed at her more
mournfully than ever. She felt that through her own fault something
had gone wrong with her life, and ceased soon to hope for any kind of
happiness; but outwardly she showed no signs of this despair and seemed
content to let her youth slip by unmarked. Yūgiri’s letters, written
at moments when a sudden access of longing compelled him to seek an
outlet for his emotion, were as passionate as at the first day of
their separation. But did they represent his true feelings? Sometimes
she came near to doubting it, and had she possessed other lovers
who gave more tangible proof of their devotion, it would have been easy
for her to assume that Yūgiri’s outpourings were utterly insincere. But
an inexperienced girl cannot afford to doubt—that privilege is reserved
for those with whom love has become a familiar distraction. His letters
were her only interest, and she read them again and again. It soon
reached Tō no Chūjō’s ears that Prince Nakatsukasa had offered his
daughter, and that the suggestion had not been ill-received by Genji.
He drew Kumoi aside and spoke of this, with evident agitation. ‘I am
afraid this means that the young man has given way,’ he said. ‘No doubt
Genji is offended at my not having accepted Yūgiri at the start, and
is anxious to show that it is now too late for me to change my mind.
For your sake I should be willing to humble myself before him to any
extent; but I am afraid we should only be making ourselves ridiculous.’
There were tears in his eyes while he spoke. Embarrassed, for she had
never seen him weep before, Kumoi turned away her head, thus managing
also to conceal her own tears, which by now were beginning gently to
fall. What should he do? It was unendurable to watch her misery. And
determined to make a last desperate appeal to Genji, he fled abruptly
from the room. At the sound of his departure she turned her head, and
coming to the window stood gazing after him. What would her lover
think, what would he do, could he but have seen her father’s strangely
belated tears? It was not thus, she felt sure, that Yūgiri pictured the
tyrant who stood between them. Just at this moment a messenger arrived.
A letter from Yūgiri! Her first thought was that it would announce his
engagement to this daughter of Prince Nakatsukasa, and for a while she
had not the heart to open it. But when at last she did so she found
that it was couched in terms as passionate as ever before. His
poem ran: ‘Now faithlessness, that once was held a crime, rules all
the world, and he a half-wit is accounted whose heart is steadfast for
an hour.’ There was not in the letter a hint of any intention such as
her father had referred to, but the more she thought about it the more
convinced she became that the rumour could not be without foundation.
‘It seems that you, who preach so much of steadfast faith, yourself
will soon be following the world’s new treacherous way.’ He had no
notion what this could mean, and puzzled over it fruitlessly for many
an hour.
[48] At the time of Genji’s birth. See vol. i, p. 38.
[49] Instead of using them for the ceremony.
[50] The ingredients of the perfumes were pounded in metal mortars.
[51] 9th century.
[52] Grandson of the Emperor Uda. A famous poet and æsthete.
[53] A.D. 889–897.
[54] So called because it could be smelt a hundred feet away.
[55] Japanese zithern.
[56] 7 p.m.
[57] 11 p.m.