‘So far, so good’ thought Shōnagon when she heard this speech. But she was still very far from easy in her mind. She knew that there were several ladies of very great influence with whom Genji was on terms of friendship and she feared that when it came to choosing a second wife, he would be far more likely to take one of these than to remember her own little mistress; and she was not at all satisfied.
When Genji had retired to the eastern wing, he sent for a certain Lady Chūjō to rub his limbs and then went to bed. Next morning he wrote to the nurses of Aoi’s child and received from them in reply a touching account of its beautyand progress; but the letter served only to awaken in him useless memories and regrets. Towards the end of the day he felt very restless and the time hung heavily on his hands, but he was in no mood to resume his secret rovings and such an idea did not even occur to him. In Murasaki none of his hopes had been disappointed; she had indeed grown up into as handsome a girl as you could wish to see, nor was she any longer at an age when it was impossible for him to become her lover. He constantly hinted at this, but she did not seem to understand what he meant.
He still had plenty of time on his hands, and the whole of it was now spent in her society. All day long they played together at draughts or word-picking, and even in the course of these trivial pursuits she showed a quickness of mind and beauty of disposition which continually delighted him; but she had been brought up in such rigid seclusion from the world that it never once occurred to her to exploit her charms in any more adult way.
Soon the situation became unendurable, and though he knew that she would be very much upset he determined somehow or another to get his own way.
There came a morning when the gentleman was already up and about, but the young lady was still lying a-bed. Her attendants had no means of knowing that anything out of the ordinary had happened, for it had always been Genji’s habit to go in and out of her room just as he chose. They naturally assumed that she was not feeling well and were glancing at her with sympathy when Genji arrived carrying a writing-box which he slipped behind the bed curtains. He at once retired, and the ladies also left the room. Seeing that she was alone Murasaki slowly raised her head. There by her pillow was the writing-box and tied to it with ribbon, a slender note. Listlessly she detached the note and unfolding it read the hastily scribbled poem:‘Too long have we deferred this new emprise, who night by night till now have lain but with a shift between.’
Thatthiswas what Genji had so long been wanting came to her as a complete surprise and she could not think why he should regard the unpleasant thing that had happened last night as in some way the beginning of a new and more intimate friendship between them. Later in the morning he came again. ‘Is something the matter with you?’ he asked. ‘I shall be very dull to-day if you cannot play draughts with me.’ But when he came close to her she only buried herself more deeply than ever under the bedclothes. He waited till the room was empty and then bending over her he said ‘Why are you treating me in this surly way? I little expected to find you in so bad a humour this morning. The others will think it very strange if you lie here all day,’ and he pulled aside the scarlet coverlet beneath which she had dived. To his astonishment he found that she was bathed in sweat; even the hair that hung across her cheeks was dripping wet. ‘No! This is too much,’ he said; ‘what a state you have worked yourself up into!’ But try as he would to coax her back to reason he could not get a word out of her, for she was really feeling very vexed with him indeed. ‘Very well then,’ he said at last, ‘if that is how you feel I will never come to see you again,’ and he pretended to be very much mortified and humiliated. Turning away, he opened the writing-box to see whether she had written any answer to his poem, but of course found none. He understood perfectly that her distress was due merely to extreme youth and inexperience, and was not at all put out. All day long he sat near her trying to win back her confidence, and though he had small success he found even her rebuffs in a curious way very endearing.
At nightfall, it being the Day of the Wild Boar, thefestival cakes27were served. Owing to Genji’s bereavement no great display was made, but a few were brought round to Murasaki’s quarters in an elegant picnic-basket. Seeing that the different kinds were all mixed up together Genji came out into the front part of the house and calling for Koremitsu said to him: ‘I want you to take these cakes away and bring me some more to-morrow evening; only not nearly so many as this, and all of one kind.28This is not the right evening for them.’ He smiled as he said these words and Koremitsu was quick-witted enough at once to guess what had happened. He did not however think that it would be discreet to congratulate his master in so many words, and merely said: ‘It is true enough that if you want to make a good beginning you must eat your cakes on the proper day. The day of the Rat is certainly very much to the purpose.29Pray how many am I to bring?’ When Genji answered ‘Divide by three30and you will get the answer,’ Koremitsu was no longer in any doubt, and hastily retired, leaving Genji amused at the practised air with which he invariably handled matters of this kind. He said nothing to anyone, but returning to his private house made the cakes there with his own hands.
Genji was beginning to despair of ever restoring her confidence and good humour. But even now, when sheseemed as shy of him as on the night when he first stole her from her home, her beauty fascinated him and he knew that his love for her in past days had been but a particle compared with what he had felt since yesterday.
How strange a thing is the heart of man! For now it would have seemed to him a calamity if even for a single night he had been taken from Murasaki’s side; and only a little while ago....
Koremitsu brought the cakes which Genji had ordered very late on the following night. He was careful not to entrust them to Shōnagon, for he thought that such a commission might embarrass a grown woman. Instead, he sent for her daughter Miss Ben and putting all the cakes into one large perfume-box he bade her take them secretly to her mistress. ‘Be sure to put them close by her pillow, for they are lucky cakes and must not be left about the house. Promise me not to do anything silly with them.’ Miss Ben thought all this very odd, but tossing her head she answered ‘When, pray, did you ever know me to be silly,’ and she walked off with the box. Being quite a young girl and completely innocent as regards matters of this kind she marched straight up to her mistress’s bed and, remembering Koremitsu’s instructions, pushed the box through the curtains and lodged it safely by the pillow. It seemed to her that there was someone else there as well as Murasaki. ‘No doubt,’ thought she ‘Prince Genji has come as usual to hear her repeat her lessons.’
As yet no one in the household save Koremitsu had any knowledge of the betrothal. But when next day the box was found by the bed and brought into the servant’s quarters some of those who were in closest touch with their master’s affairs at once guessed the secret. Where did these little dishes come from, each set on its own little carved stand? and who had been at such pains to make these daintyand ingenious cakes? Shōnagon, though she was shocked at this casual way of slipping into matrimony, was overjoyed to learn that Genji’s strange patronage of her young mistress had at last culminated in a definite act of betrothal, and her eyes brimmed with tears of thankfulness and delight. All the same, she thought he might at least have taken the trouble to inform her old nurse, and there was a good deal of grumbling in the household generally at an outside retainer such as Koremitsu having got wind of the matter first.
During the days that followed he grudged even the short hours of attendance which he was obliged to put in at the Palace and in his father’s rooms, discovering (much to his own surprise) that save in her presence he could no longer enjoy a moment’s peace. The friends whom he had been wont to visit showed themselves both surprised and offended by this unexplained neglect, but though he had no wish to stand ill with them he now found that even a remote prospect of having to absent himself from his palace for a single night was enough to throw him quite out of gear; and all the time he was away his spirits were at the very lowest ebb and he looked for all the world as though he were sickeningfromsome strange illness. To all invitations or greetings he invariably replied that he was at present in no fit mood for company (which was naturally taken as an allusion to his recent loss) or that he must now be gone, for someone with whom he had business was already awaiting him.
The Minister of the Right was aware that his youngest daughter31was still pining for Prince Genji and he said one day to Princess Kōkiden: ‘While his wife was alive we were bound of course to discourage her friendship with him in every way we could. But the position is now quite changed and I feel that as things are there would be muchto be said for such a match.’ But Kōkiden had always hated Genji and having herself arranged that her sister should enter the Palace,32she saw no reason why this plan should suddenly be abandoned. Indeed from this moment onwards she became obstinately determined that the girl should be given to the Emperor and to no one else. Genji indeed still retained a certain partiality towards her; but though it grieved him to hear that he had made her unhappy he had not at present any spare affection to offer her. Life, he had come to the conclusion, was not long enough for diversions and experiments; henceforward he would concentrate. He had moreover received a terrible warning of the dangers which might accrue from such jealousies and resentments as his former way of life had involved. He thought with great tenderness and concern of Lady Rokujō’s distress; but it was clear to him that he must beware of ever again allowing her to regard him as her true haven of refuge. If however she would renew their friendship in quite new terms, permitting him to enjoy her company and conversation at such times as he could conveniently arrange to do so, he saw no reason why they should not sometimes meet.
Society at large knew that someone was living with him, but her identity was quite unknown. This was of no consequence; but Genji felt that sooner or later he ought to let her father PrinceHyōbukyōknow what had become of her and decided that before he did so it would be best to celebrate her Initiation. This was done privately, but he was at pains that every detail of the ceremony should be performed with due splendour and solemnity, and though the outside world was not invited it was as magnificent an affair as it well could be. But ever since their betrothal Murasaki had shown a certain shyness and diffidence in hispresence. She could not help feeling sorry that after all the years during which they had got on so well together and been such close friends he should suddenly take this strange idea into his head, and whenever her eyes met his she hastily averted them. He tried to make a joke of the matter, but to her it was very serious indeed and weighed heavily upon her mind. Her changed attitude towards him was indeed somewhat comic; but it was also very distressing, and one day he said: ‘Sometimes it seems as though you had forgotten all the long years of our friendship and I had suddenly become as new to you as at the start’; and while thus he scolded her the year drew to a close. On New Year’s Day he paid the usual visits of ceremony to his father, to the Emperor and to the Heir Apparent. Next he visited the Great Hall. The old Minister made no reference to the new year, but at once began to speak of the past. In the midst of his loneliness and sorrow he was so deeply moved even by this hasty and long deferred visit that though he strove hard to keep his composure it was more than he could compass to do. Looking fondly at his son-in-law he thought that the passage of each fresh year did but add new beauty to this fair face. They went together into the inner rooms, where his entry surprised and delighted beyond measure the disconsolate ladies who had remained behind. Next they visited the little prince who was growing into a fine child; his merry face was indeed a pleasure to see. His resemblance to the Heir Apparent was certainly very striking and Genji wondered whether it had been noticed.
Aoi’s things were still as she had left them. His New Year clothes had as in former years been hung out for him on the clothes-frame. Aoi’s clothes-frame which stood empty beside it wore a strangely desolate air. A letter from the Princess her mother was now brought to him: ‘To-day,’ she said, ‘our bereavement was more than everpresent to my mind, and though touched at the news of your visit, I fear that to see you would but awaken unhappy recollections.’ ‘You will remember,’ she continued, ‘that it was my custom to present you with a suit of clothes on each New Year’s Day. But in these last months my sight has been so dimmed with tears that I fear you will think I have matched the colours very ill. Nevertheless I beg that though it be for to-day only you will suffer yourself to be disfigured by this unfashionable garb ...’ and a servant held out before him a second33suit, which was evidently the one he was expected to wear to-day. The under-stuff was of a most unusual pattern and mixture of colours and did not at all please him; but he could not allow her to feel that she had laboured in vain, and at once put the suit on. It was indeed fortunate that he had come to the Great Hall that day, for he could see that she had counted on it. In his reply he said: ‘Though I came with the hope that you would be the first friend I should greet at this new springtide, yet now that I am here too many bitter memories assail me and I think it wiser that we should not meet.’ To this he added an acrostic poem in which he said that with the mourning dress which he had just discarded so many years of friendship were cast aside that were he to come to her34he could but weep. To this she sent in answer an acrostic poem in which she said that in this new season when all things else on earth put on altered hue, one thing alone remained as in the months gone by—her longing for the child who like the passing year had vanished from their sight.
But though hers may have been the greater grief we must not think that there was not at that moment very deep emotion on both sides.
1We learn in Chapter XXXIV that he was made Commander of the Bodyguard at the age of twenty-one. He is now twenty-two.
2Genji’s son by Fujitsubo (supposed by the world to be the Emperor’s child) had been made Heir Apparent.
3An Emperor upon his succession was obliged to send one unmarried daughter or grand-daughter to the Shintō Temple at Ise, another to the Shintō Temple at Kamo. See Appendix II.
4She was seven years older than Genji.
5a Daughter of Prince Momozono. See above, p.68.
6We learn later that he was a son of Iyo no Kami.
7Father of Princess Asagao; brother of the ex-Emperor and therefore Genji’s paternal uncle.
8The clash of coaches took place at the Purification. The actualmatsuri(Festival) takes place some days later.
9I.e. astrologically.
10Kokinshū509.
11The clash of the chariots at the Festival of Purification. Probably a quotation.
12The jealous person is unconscious of the fatal effects which his jealousy is producing.
13Members of the Imperial family were not allowed to leave the Capital without the consent of the Emperor.
14A temporary building erected afresh for each new Virgin a few miles outside Kyoto. She spent several years there before proceeding to Ise.
15The Chinese version of the SanskritSaddharma Pundarika Sutra; seeSacred Books of the East, Vol. 21.
16The lying-in jacket.
17These presents (ubuyashinai) were given on the third, fifth and ninth nights.
18The ceremony of investing the newly elected officials.
19Had she corresponded with someone who was in mourning, she would herself have become unclean and been disqualified from attending upon her daughter the Vestal Virgin.
20Used in writing to people who were in mourning.
21See p.182.
22Winter clothes are begun on the first day of the tenth month.
23From a poem to a dead lady, by Liu Yü-hsi (a.d.772–842).I saw you first standing at the window of Yü Liang’s tower;Your waist was slender as the willow-trees that grow at Wu-ch‘ang.My finding you and losing you were both like a dream;Oh tell me if your soul dwells in the rain, or whether in the clouds above!
I saw you first standing at the window of Yü Liang’s tower;Your waist was slender as the willow-trees that grow at Wu-ch‘ang.My finding you and losing you were both like a dream;Oh tell me if your soul dwells in the rain, or whether in the clouds above!
I saw you first standing at the window of Yü Liang’s tower;Your waist was slender as the willow-trees that grow at Wu-ch‘ang.My finding you and losing you were both like a dream;Oh tell me if your soul dwells in the rain, or whether in the clouds above!
I saw you first standing at the window of Yü Liang’s tower;Your waist was slender as the willow-trees that grow at Wu-ch‘ang.My finding you and losing you were both like a dream;Oh tell me if your soul dwells in the rain, or whether in the clouds above!
I saw you first standing at the window of Yü Liang’s tower;
Your waist was slender as the willow-trees that grow at Wu-ch‘ang.
My finding you and losing you were both like a dream;
Oh tell me if your soul dwells in the rain, or whether in the clouds above!
24A husband in mourning may not wear winter clothes. The mourning lasts for three months.
25Fujitsubo.
26Murasaki quotes the line in the form in which it occurs in Japanese MSS. of Po Chü-i’s poem. The Chinese editions have a slightly different text. Cf. Giles’s translation,History of Chinese Literature, p. 172.
27On the Day of the Boar in the tenth month it was the custom to serve little cakes of seven different kinds, to wit: Large bean, mungo, dolicho, sesamun, chestnut, persimmon, sugar-starch.
28On the third night after the first cohabitation it was the custom to offer up small cakes (all of one kind and colour) to the god Izanagi and his sister Izanami.
29First, because the Rat comes at the beginning of the series of twelve animal signs; secondly, because ‘Rat’ is written with a character that also means ‘baby.’
30The phrase which I have translated ‘Divide by three’ also means ‘One of three’ i.e. of the Three Mysteries (Birth,Marriage, Death). That is why Koremitsu was ‘no longer in any doubt.’ But many other explanations of the passage have been given. It is indeed one of the three major difficulties enumerated by the old-fashioned Genji teachers.
31Oborozukiyo. See above, p.242.
32I.e. become a concubine of the Emperor.
33In addition to the one hanging on the frame.
34Kiteba, ‘were he to come,’ also means ‘should he wear it.’