MAPLE FÊTE
The Royal visit to the Suzak-in was arranged to take place towards the
middle of October, and was anticipated to be a grand affair. Ladies
were not expected to take part in it, and they all regretted their not
being able to be present.
The Emperor, therefore, wished to let his favorite, the Princess
Wistaria, above others, have an opportunity of witnessing a rehearsal
that would represent the coming _fête_, and ordered a preliminary
concert to be performed at the Court, in which Genji danced the "Blue
Main Waves," with Tô-no-Chiûjiô for his partner. They stood and danced
together, forming a most pleasing contrast--one, so to speak, like a
bright flower; the other, an everlasting verdure beside it. The rays
of the setting sun shone over their heads, and the tones of the music
rose higher and higher in measure to their steps. The movements both
of hand and foot were eminently graceful; as well, also, was the song
of Genji, which was sung at the end of his dance, so that some of the
people remarked that the sound of the holy bird, Kariôbinga,[71] might
be even like this. And so the rehearsal ended.
When the day of the _fête_ came, all the Royal Princes, including the
Heir-apparent, and all personages of State, were present at the scene.
On the lake, "the music boat," filled with selected musicians, floated
about, as usual on such occasions; and in the grounds, the bands,
which were divided into two divisions on the right and left, under the
direction of two Ministers and two Yemon-no-Kami, played. With this
music different dances, including Chinese and Corean, were performed,
one after another, by various dancers. As the performance went on, the
high winds rustled against the tall fir-trees, as though Divine
strains of music had broken forth on high in harmony with them. The
tune of the bands became quick and thrilling, as different colored
leaves whirled about overhead.
Then, at length, the hero of the "Blue Main Waves" made his
appearance, to the delight of the suddenly startled spectators, from
the midst of a knoll in the grounds, covered with maple leaves. The
twigs of maple which crowned his head, became thinned as he danced,
and a Sadaishiô, plucking a bunch of chrysanthemums from in front of
the Royal stand, replaced the lessened maple leaves. The sun was by
this time descending, and the sky had become less glaring, while the
face of Nature seemed as if it were smiling on the scene. Genji danced
with unusual skill and energy. All the pages and attendants, who were
severally stationed here under the side of the rock, there under the
shade of the foliage, were quite impressed with the effects of the
performance.
After Genji, a little prince, the child of the Niogo of Jiôkiô-den,
danced the "Autumn Gales," with a success next to that of Genji. Then,
the principal interest of the day being over, as these dances were
finished, the _fête_ ended. This very evening Genji was invested with
the title of Shôsammi, and Tô-no-Chiûjiô with that of Shôshii. Many
other persons also received promotion in rank according to their
merits.
It was after this _fête_ that the young Violet was taken into the
mansion of Genji at Nijiô, and she lived with him. The more care he
took of her the more amiable she became, while nothing pleased him
more than teaching her to read and write.
The full extent of her mourning for her grandmother was three months,
as it is for the maternal side; and on the last day of December her
dress was changed. As she, however, had been always brought up under
the care of her grandmother, her indebtedness to the latter was not to
be held lightly; consequently any bright colors were not advisable for
her, so she wore plain scarlet, mauve, and light yellow, without
trimmings or ornament on them.
The dawn ushered in the New Year's day. Genji was about to leave his
mansion to attend the New Year's _levée_. Just before starting, he
came into Violet's room to see her.
"How are you? Are you becoming less childish now?" said he, with a
smile to the girl who was playing with her Hina (toys).
"I am trying to mend this. Inuki damaged it when he was playing what
he called 'driving out devils,'"[72] replied the girl.
"What carelessness! I will soon get it mended for you. Don't cry this
day, please," said Genji, and he went off, the maidens who attended on
Violet accompanying him to the door. This example was also followed by
Violet herself.
She went back again to her toys, and presented a toy prince, whom she
called Genji, at the Court of her toy house. Shiônagon was beside her.
She said:--
"You might really be a little more womanly, as the Prince told you.
How very childish! a girl older than ten always playing with toys!"
Violet said nothing; but she seemed, for the first time, to have
become aware that she was expected to be a woman in the course of
time.
From the Court, Genji went to the mansion of Sadaijin. Lady Aoi was as
cool to him as ever. His persuasive eloquence availed him but little.
She was older than Genji by four years, and was as cold and stately in
her mien as ever. Her father, however, received him joyfully whenever
he called, although he was not always satisfied with the
capriciousness of his son-in-law.
The next morning Genji rose early, and was arranging his toilet, with
a view of making his New Year's visits, when Sadaijin entered the
room, and officiously assisted him in putting on his dress, except,
perhaps, his boots. He, moreover, had brought him a belt mounted with
rare jewels, and requested him to wear it.
Genji observed: "Such a belt is more suited for some special
occasion--such as a Royal banquet, or the like." But Sadaijin insisted
on his putting it on, telling him that for that sort of occasion he
possessed a much more valuable one.
These New Year's visits were only paid to the Emperor, to the
Heir-apparent, and to the Princess Wistaria at her private residence
in Sanjiô, where she had retired, but she did not receive him
personally. At this time, the Princess was not in her usual state of
health, for she was approaching her confinement. Many people, who
thought that they might have heard of the event in December, now began
to say, "At least we shall receive the intelligence this month," and
the Emperor himself became impatient; but the month passed away, and
yet it did not happen. In the middle of February, however, she was
safely delivered of a Prince. During the following April the child was
presented to the Emperor.[73] He was rather big for his age, and had
already begun to notice those around him.
In these days much of Genji's time was passed at Nijiô with Violet,
and Lady Aoi was still greatly neglected. The circumstances which
induced him to stay at home more than ever were these: He would order
his carriage to be brought in readiness to take him; but, before it
was ready, he would proceed to the western wing, where Violet lived.
Perhaps, with eyes drowsy after dozing, and playing on a flute as he
went, he would find her moping on one side of the room, like a fair
flower moistened with dews. He would then approach her side, and say,
"How are you? Are you not well?" She, without being startled, would
slowly open her eyes, and murmur: "Sad like the weed in a creek," and
then put her hand on her mouth deprecatingly. On this he would remark,
"How knowing you are! Where did you learn such things?" He would then
call for a _koto_, and saying "The worst of the _soh-koto_ is that its
middle chord should break so easily," would arrange it for a Hiôjiô
tune, and when he had struck a few chords on it, would offer it to
her, asking her to play, and would presently accompany her with his
flute. They would then play some difficult air, perhaps Hosoroguseri,
a very ugly name, but a very lively tune, and she would keep very good
time, and display her skill. The lamp would be presently brought in,
and they would look over some pictures together. In due time, the
carriage would be announced. Perhaps it might be added, "It is coming
on to rain." Upon hearing this, she would, perhaps, put her pictures
aside, and become downcast. He would then smooth her wavy hair, and
say, "Are you sorry when I am not here?" To this question she would
indicate her feelings by slightly nodding an affirmative, and she
would lean on his knee and begin to doze.
He would then say, "I shall not go out to-night." The servant having
brought in supper, would tell her that Genji was not going out that
evening. Then she would manifest the greatest delight, and would
partake of the supper. And thus it came to pass that he often
disappointed one who was expecting him.
The way that Genji neglected his bride gradually became known to the
public--nay, to the Emperor himself, who sometimes admonished him,
telling him that his father-in-law always took great interest in him
and great care from his earliest childhood, and saying that he hoped
that he would surely not forget all these benefits, and that it was
strange to be unkind to his daughter. But when these remarks were made
to Genji, he answered nothing.
Let us now change our subject. The Emperor, though he had already
passed the meridian of life, was still fond of the society of the fair
sex. And his Court was full of ladies who were well versed in the ways
of the world. Some of these would occasionally amuse themselves by
paying attentions to Genji. We will here relate the following amusing
incident:--
There was at the Court a Naishi-no-Ske, who was already no longer
young, and commonly called Gen-Naishi-no-Ske. Both her family and
character were good. She was, however, in spite of her age, still
coquettish, which was her only fault. Genji often felt amused at her
being so young in temperament, and he enjoyed occasionally talking
nonsense with her. She used to attend on the Emperor while his hair
was being dressed. One day, after he had retired into his
dressing-room, she remained in the other room, and was smoothing her
own hair. Genji happened to pass by. He stole unperceived into the
room, and slyly tugged the skirt of her robe. She started, and
instinctively half concealed her face with an old-fashioned fan, and
looked back at Genji with an arch glance in her sunken eyes. "What an
unsuitable fan for you!" exclaimed Genji, and took it from her hand.
It was made of reddish paper, apparently long in use, and upon it an
ancient forest had been thickly painted. In a corner was written, in
antique style, the following words:--
"On grasses old, 'neath forest trees,
No steed will browse or swain delay,
However real that grass may be,
'Tis neither good for food nor play."
Genji was highly amused. "There are many things one might write on
fans," thought he; "what made her think of writing such odd lines as
these?"
"Ah!" said Genji, "I see, 'its summer shade is still thick
though!'"[74]
While he was joking he felt something like nervousness in thinking
what people might say if anyone happened to see him flirting with such
an elderly lady. She, on her side, had no such fear. She replied--
"If beneath that forest tree,
The steed should come or swain should be,
Where that ancient forest grows,
Is grass for food, and sweet repose."
"What?" retorted Genji,
"If my steed should venture near,
Perhaps he'd find a rival there,
Some one's steed full well, I ween,
Rejoices in these pastures green."
And quitted the room.
The Emperor, who had been peeping unobserved into it, after he had
finished his toilet, laughed heartily to himself at the scene.
Tô-no-Chiûjiô was somehow informed of Genji's fun with this lady, and
became anxious to discover how far he meant to carry on the joke. He
therefore sought her acquaintance. Genji knew nothing of this. It
happened on a cool summer evening that Genji was sauntering round the
Ummeiden in the palace yard. He heard the sound of a _biwa_ (mandolin)
proceeding from a veranda. It was played by this lady. She performed
well upon it, for she was often accustomed to play it before the
Emperor along with male musicians. It sounded very charming. She was
also singing to it the "Melon grower."
"Ah!" thought Genji, "the singing woman in Gakshoo, whom the poet
spoke of, may have been like this one," and he stood still and
listened. Slowly he approached near the veranda, humming slowly, as
he went, "Adzmaya," which she soon noticed, and took up the song, "Do
open and come in! but
I do not believe you're in the rain,
Nor that you really wish to come in."
Genji at once responded,
"Whose love you may be I know not,
But I'll not stand outside your cot,"
and was going away, when he suddenly thought, "This is too abrupt!"
and coming back, he entered the apartment.
How great was the joy of Tô-no-Chiûjiô, who had followed Genji
unperceived by him, when he saw this. He contrived a plan to frighten
him, so he reconnoitred in order to find some favorable opportunity.
The evening breeze blew chill, and Genji it appears was becoming very
indifferent. Choosing this moment Tô-no-Chiûjiô slyly stepped forth to
the spot where Genji was resting.
Genji soon noticed his footsteps, but he never imagined that it was
his brother-in-law. He thought it was Suri-no-Kami, a great friend of
the lady. He did not wish to be seen by this man. He reproached her
for knowing that he was expected, but that she did not give him any
hint. Carrying his Naoshi on his arm, he hid himself behind a folding
screen. Tô-no-Chiûjiô, suppressing a laugh, advanced to the side of
the screen, and began to fold it from one end to the other, making a
crashing noise as he did so. The lady was in a dilemma, and stood
aloof. Genji would fain have run out, and concealed himself elsewhere,
but he could not get on his Naoshi, and his head-dress was all awry.
The Chiûjiô spoke not a word lest he should betray himself, but making
a pretended angry expostulation, he drew his sword. All at once the
lady threw herself at his feet, crying, "My lord! my lord!"
Tô-no-Chiûjiô could scarcely constrain himself from laughing. She was
a woman of about fifty seven, but her excitement was more like that of
a girl of twenty.
Genji gradually perceived that the man's rage was only simulated, and
soon became aware who it was that was there; so he suddenly rushed
out, and catching hold of Tô-no-Chiûjiô's sword-arm, pinched it
severely. Tô-no-Chiûjiô no longer maintained his disguise, but burst
into loud laughter.
"How are you my friend, were you in earnest?" exclaimed Genji,
jestingly--"but first let me put on my Naoshi." But Tô-no-Chiûjiô
caught it, and tried to prevent him putting it on.
"Then I will have yours," cried Genji, seizing the end of
Tô-no-Chiûjiô's sash, and beginning to unfasten it, while the latter
resisted. Then they both began to struggle, and their Naoshi soon
began to tear.
"Ah," cried Tô-no-Chiûjiô,
"Like the Naoshi to the eye,
Your secrets all discovered lie."
"Well," replied Genji,
"This secret if so well you know,
Why am I now disturbed by you?"
And they both quitted the room without much noticing the state of
their garments.
Tô-no-Chiûjiô proceeded to his official chamber, and Genji to his own
apartment. The sash and other things which they had left behind them
were soon afterwards sent to Genji by the lady.
The sash was that of Tô-no-Chiûjiô. Its color was somewhat deeper than
his own, and while he was looking at this, he suddenly noticed that
one end of a sleeve of his own Naoshi was wanting. "Tô-no-Chiûjiô, I
suppose, has carried it off, but I have him also, for here is his
sash!" A page boy from Tô-no-Chiûjiô's office hereupon entered,
carrying a packet in which the missing sleeve was wrapped, and a
message advising Genji to get it mended before all things. "Fancy if I
had not got this sash?" thought Genji, as he made the boy take it back
to his master in return.
In the morning they were in attendance at Court. They were both
serious and solemn in demeanor, as it happened to be a day when there
was more official business than on other days; Tô-no-Chiûjiô (who
being chief of the Kurand, which office has to receive and despatch
official documents) was especially much occupied. Nevertheless they
were amused themselves at seeing each other's solemn gravity.
In an interval, when free from duty, Tô-no-Chiûjiô came up to Genji
and said, with envious eyes, "Have you not been a little scared in
your private expedition?" when Genji replied, "No, why so? there was
nothing serious in it; but I do sympathize with one who took so much
useless trouble."
They then cautioned each other to be discreet about the matter, which
became afterwards a subject for laughter between them.
Now even some Royal Princes would give way to Genji, on account of his
father's favor towards him, but Tô-no-Chiûjiô, on the contrary, was
always prepared to dispute with him on any subject, and did not yield
to him in any way. He was the only brother of the Lady Aoi by the same
Royal mother, with an influential State personage for their father,
and in his eyes there did not seem to be much difference between
himself and Genji.
The incidents of the rivalry between them, therefore, were often very
amusing, though we cannot relate them all.
In the month of July the Princess Wistaria was proclaimed Empress.
This was done because the Emperor had a notion of abdication in favor
of the Heir-apparent and of making the son of the Princess Wistaria
the Heir-apparent to the new Emperor, but there was no appropriate
guardian or supporter, and all relations on the mother's side were of
the Royal blood, and thereby disqualified from taking any active part
in political affairs.
For this reason the Emperor wished to make the position of the mother
firmer.
The mother of the Heir-apparent, whom this arrangement left still a
simple Niogo, was naturally hurt and uneasy at another being
proclaimed Empress. Indeed she was the mother of the Heir-apparent,
and had been so for more than twenty years. And the public remarked
that it was a severe trial for her to be thus superseded by another.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 71: Kalavinka, the beautifully singing holy birds in
Paradise, to whose singing the voice of Buddha is compared.]
[Footnote 72: On New Year's Eve, in Japan, some people fry peas, and
throw them about the rooms, saying, "Avaunt, Devil, avaunt! Come in
happiness!" This is called driving out devils.]
[Footnote 73: An infant born to the Emperor is presented to him only
when it has attained the age of some months.]
[Footnote 74: From an old poem,
"The shade of Ôaraki forest is thick:
The summer has come there, the summer has come!"
This is a mere metaphorical pun referring to her still being lively in
spite of age.]