The Tale of Genji . Murasaki Shikibu
lady of that dawn encounter, remembering the evanescent dream, was sunk in sad thoughts. Her father’s plans to give her to the crown prince in the Fourth Month were a source of great distress. As for Genji, he was not without devices for searching her out, but he did not know which of Kokiden’s sisters she was, and he did not wish to become involved with that unfriendly family.
Late in the Fourth Month the princes and high courtiers gathered at the mansion of the Minister of the Right, Kokiden’s father, for an archery meet. It was as followed immediately by a wisteria banquet. Though the cherry blossoms had for the most part fallen, two trees, perhaps having learned that mountain cherries do well to bloom 1ate, were at their belated best. The minister’s mansion had been rebuilt and beautifully refurnished for the initiation ceremonies of the princesses his granddaughters. It was in the ornate style its owner preferred, everything in the latest fashion.
Seeing Genji in the palace one day, the minister had invited him to the festivities. Genji would have preferred to stay away, but the affair seemed certain to languish without him. The minister sent one of his sons, a guards officer, with a message:
“If these blossoms of mine were of the common sort,
Would I press you so to come and look upon them?”
Genji showed the poem to his father.
“He seems very pleased with his flowers,” laughed the emperor. “But you must go immediately. He has, after all, sent a special invitation. It is use that the princesses your sisters are being reared. You are scarcely a stranger.”
Genji dressed with great care. It was almost dark when he finally presented himself. He wore a robe of a thin white Chinese damask with a red lining and under it a very long train of magenta. Altogether the dashing young prince, he added something new to the assembly that so cordially received him, for the other guests were more formally clad. He quite overwhelmed the blossoms, in a sense spoiling the party, and played beautifully on several instruments. Late in the evening he got up, pretending to be drunk. The first and third princesses were living in the main hall. He went to the east veranda and leaned against a door. The shutters were raised and women were gathered at the southwest corner, where the wisteria was in bloom. Their sleeves were pushed somewhat ostentatiously out from under blinds, as at a New Year’s poetry assembly. All rather overdone, he thought, and he could not help thinking too of Fujitsubo’s reticence.
“I was not feeling well in the first place, and they plied me with drink. I know I shouldn’t, but might I ask you to hide me?” He raised the blind at the corner door.
“Please, dear sir, this will not do. It is for us beggars to ask such favors of you fine gentlemen.” Though of no overwhelming dignity, the women were most certainly not common.
Incense hung heavily in the air and the rustling of silk was bright and lively. Because the princesses seemed to prefer modern things, the scene may perhaps have been wanting in mysterious shadows.
The time and place were hardly appropriate for a flirtation, and yet his interest was aroused. Which would be the lady of the misty moon?
“A most awful thing has happened,” he said playfully. “Someone has stolen my fan.” He sat leaning against a pillar.
“What curious things that Korean does do.” The lady who thus deftly returned his allusion did not seem to know about the exchange of fans.
Catching a sigh from another lady, he leaned forward and took her hand.
“I wander lost on Arrow Mount and ask:
May I not see the moon I saw so briefly?
“Or must I continue to wander?”
It seemed that she could not remain silent:
“Only the flighty, the less than serious ones,
Are left in the skies when the longbow moon is gone.”
It was the same voice. He was delighted. And yet —
The Tale of Genji, by Murasaki Shikibu
Chapter 9
Heartvine
With the new reign Genji’s career languished, and since he must be the more discreet about his romantic adventures as he rose in rank, he had less to amuse him. Everywhere there were complaints about his aloofness.
As if to punish him, there was one lady who continued to cause him pain with her own aloofness. Fujitsubo saw more of the old emperor, now abdicated, than ever. She was always at his side, almost as if she were a common housewife. Annoyed at this state of affairs, Kokiden did not follow the old emperor when he left the main palace. Fujitsubo was happy and secure. The concerts in the old emperor’s palace attracted the attention of the whole court, and altogether life was happier for the two of them than while he had reigned. Only one thing was lacking: he greatly missed the crown prince, Fujitsubo’s son, and worried that he had no strong backers. Genji, he said, must be the boy’s adviser and guardian. Genji was both pleased and embarrassed.
And there was the matter of the lady at Rokujō. With the change of reigns, her daughter, who was also the daughter of the late crown prince, had been appointed high priestess of the Ise Shrine. No longer trusting Genji’s affections, the Rokujō lady had been thinking that, making the girl’s youth her excuse, she too would go to Ise.
The old emperor heard of her plans. “The crown prince was so very fond of her,” he said to Genji, in open displeasure. “It is sad that you should have made light of her, as if she were any ordinary woman. I think of the high priestess as one of my own children, and you should be good to her mother, for my sake and for the sake of the dead prince. It does you no good to abandon yourself to these affairs quite as the impulse takes you.
It was perfectly true, thought Genji. He waited in silence.
“You should treat any woman with tact and courtesy, and be sure that you cause her no embarrassment. You should never have a woman angry with you.”
What would his father think if he were to learn of Genji’s worst indiscretion? The thought made Genji shudder. He bowed and withdrew.
The matter his father had thus reproved him for did no good for either of them, the woman or Genji himself. It was a scandal, and very sad for her. She continued to be very much on his mind, and yet he had no thought of making her his wife. She had grown cool toward him, worried about the difference in their ages. He made it seem that it was because of her wishes that he stayed away. Now that the old emperor knew of the affair the whole court knew of it. In spite of everything, the lady went on grieving that he had not loved her better.
There was another lady, his cousin Princess Asagao. Determined that she would not share the plight of the Rokujō lady, she refused even the briefest answer to his notes. Still, and he thought her most civil for it, she was careful to avoid giving open offense.
At Sanjō, his wife and her family were even unhappier about his infidelities, but, perhaps because he did not lie to them, they for the most part kept their displeasure to themselves. His wife was with child and in considerable distress mentally and physically. For Genji it was a strange and moving time. Everyone was delighted and at the same time filled with apprehension, and all manner of retreats and abstinences were prescribed for the lady. Genji had little time to himself. While he had no particular wish to avoid the Rokujō lady and the others, he rarely visited them.
At about this time the high priestess of Kamo resigned. She was replaced by the old emperor’s third daughter, whose mother was Kokiden. The new priestess was a favorite of both her brother, the new emperor, and her mother, and it seemed a great pity that she should be shut off from court life; but no other princess was qualified for the position. The installation ceremonies, in the austere Shinto tradition, were of great dignity and solemnity. Many novel details were added to the Kamo festival in the Fourth Month, so that it was certain to be the finest of the season. Though the number of high courtiers attending the princess at the lustration was limited by precedent, great