Kaoru offered this in reply:
"With flowers that fade, with leaves that turn, they speak
Most surely of a world where all is fleeting."
The newly arrived guards commander also had a poem:
"Regretfully, we leave the autumn groves
Whence autumn, unobserved, has slipped away."
And the chamberlain:
"The vine yet clings to the stone-walled mountain village,
Longer-lived than he whom once I knew."
The oldest man in the party, he was in tears, remembering how it had
been when the Eighth Prince was young.
And finally Niou, also in tears, had a poem:
"Blow not harshly, wind from the mountain pines,
Through trees where sadness waxes as autumn wanes."
The men who knew even a little about his feelings made admiring
note of their genuineness, and of the trial it must have been for him to let
such an opportunity pass. Nothing was to be done: they could not send
a grand flotilla out across the river.
The more interesting passages from the Chinese poems were intoned
over and over again, and there were a great many Japanese poems as well,
inspired by the place and the season; but is anything really original likely
to emerge from drunken revelry? The smallest fragment would do injury
to my story, I fear, if I were to write it down.
The princesses, their thoughts too deep for words, heard the shouts
of the outrunners receding into the distance. Hardly what one would
expect from a famous gallant, said the women who had helped with the
preparations.
Oigimi's thoughts, indeed, were making her physically ill. It was true,
then: he had, after all, the shifting hue of the dewflower. She had heard
<P 855>
about that. She had heard, albeit in general terms, that men were good at
lying, that many a sweet word went into the pretense of love. The rather
common women by whom she was surrounded had told her of their
ancient affairs. Well of course, she had said to herself: there would be such
cads among the men _they_ were likely to keep company with. But surely
among wellborn people a sense of propriety, a respect for appearances, put
limits upon such behavior. She had been wrong. Her father, knowing all
about Niou's ways, had rejected him at the outset. And then Kaoru had
come along to plead his friend's case with an intensity that should have
made them suspicious, and so the impossible had happened. What would
Kaoru be thinking now of the sincerity and steadfastness he had pro-
claimed so energetically? There was no one here at Uji to whom Oigimi
need feel at all inferior, but she cringed to think what must be running
through the minds of them all. A ridiculous clown indeed, a perfect fool
she had made of herself!
And the lady most concerned: on those meetings so few in number he
had made the most solemn of pledges, and she had comforted herself with
the thought that his absences might be long but he would not abandon her.
Even when his apparent neglect had begun to disturb her, she had been
able to tell herself that he must have his reasons. It could not have been
said, all the same, that his conduct did not trouble her, and now for him
to have come so near and passed on again--she was lost in sorrow and
chagrin beyond description.
It was apparent to Oigimi that Nakanokimi was crushed, and the pity
was almost as difficult to bear as the anger. "If I had been able to care for
her in any ordinary way, if ours had been an ordinary house, she would
not have been subjected to such treatment."
Oigimi was convinced that she would one day find herself in the same
predicament. Kaoru had made numerous promises, but he was not to be
trusted. However long she might seek to put him off, she would eventually
run out of excuses. And her women did not seem to recognize a disaster
for what it was. They actually seemed to be asking one another what might
be arranged for Oigimi herself, and so she too would presently find herself
with an unwanted husband. Against precisely such an eventuality her
father had told her over and over again that living alone was far from the
worst of fates. They had been born under unlucky stars, that was the first
and most essential fact. Why else should their parents have left them
behind? They could look forward to being abandoned by their husbands
as well. She had made up her mind. If she were to find herself on the list
of the world's favorite ninnies, then her father would be the most griev-
ously injured. No, she wanted to die before the worst happened, while the
burden of guilt was still relatively light.
The prisoner of these anguished thoughts, she quite refused to eat.
She was tormented too by thoughts of her sister, thoughts so painful that
it was almost more than she could do to look at the girl. The loneliness
<P 856>
would be next to unbearable. The beautiful figure before her, so sadly
neglected by the world, had been the secret support of her own existence,
the hope of making a decent marriage for her sister had given purpose to
her life. And they had found a husband, a man of indisputably good birth,
and the marriage had become a cruel joke! It would now be impossible for
her sister, the defenseless butt of the joke, to face the world. A decent life
was now out of the question. They had been born to no purpose, she and
her sister. Life might offer consolation, but not to them.
Back in the city, Niou considered turning around and making another
trip, a quiet one this time, to Uji. But the guards captain had already been
to the emperor and empress. It was for the secret reasons which he now
chose to divulge, he had informed them, that Prince Niou was in the habit
of slipping off into the country; and he had added that Prince Niou was
conducting himself in a manner altogether irresponsible, of which people
were beginning to talk. The empress was much upset, and the emperor too
was displeased. It had all happened, he said, because the boy was allowed
to live away from the palace. With matters at this difficult pass, Niou was
required to take up residence in the palace. He had no wish at all to marry
Yu~giri's daughter Rokunokimi, but a consensus had been reached to be-
stow her upon him.
Kaoru was in dismay. What was to be done now? His own eccentric
ways had been to blame--and perhaps fate had stepped in. Unable to
forget the Eighth Prince's concern for his daughters, sad that such elegance
and beauty, favored by not the smallest stroke of luck, should be wasted,
he had been seized by a longing to help them so intense that even to him
it had seemed curious. The importunings of his friend had also been hard
to resist, and he had found himself in the awkward position of not wanting
the one sister when the other did not want him. And so he had made these
arrangements, and a fine pass they had come to. No one would have
reproved him for making either of the princesses his own. But that was all
finished, and what was left was a piece of idiocy to gnash his teeth over
at his leisure.
Niou found lighthearted forgetfulness even more elusive. "If you have
someone on your mind," said his mother time after time, "bring her here,
and settle down to the sort of life people expect of you. We both know
very well that you are your father's favorite, and it drives me wild to hear
what people are saying about your irresponsible behavior."
On a quiet day of heavy winter rains he went to call on his sister, the
First Princess. She and a few attendants had been looking over a collection
of paintings. He addressed her through a curtain. She was among the
famous beauties of the day, and yet she preserved a winning girlishness
that made him ask whether her rival was to be found anywhere. There was,
to be sure, the daughter of the Reizei emperor, her father's joy and pride.
What he had heard of her secluded life suggested again a most compelling
beauty, but he had no way of approaching her. And there was his own
princess at Uji, loveliness itself. With each thought of her the longing grew.
<P 857>
By way of distraction he picked up several of the pictures that lay scattered
about. They had been painted, and very skillfully, to appeal to womanly
tastes. There was, for instance, a lovelorn gentleman, and there was a
tasteful mountain villa, and there were numbers of other scenes that
seemed to have interested the artists. Several called his own circumstances
to mind, and he thought of asking his sister for a few to send to Uji. The
illustration for the scene from _Tales of Ise_ in which the hero gives his sister
a koto lesson brought him closer to the curtain.
"'A pity indeed if the grasses so sweet, so inviting,'" he whispered,
and one may wonder what he had in mind." I gather that in those days
brother and sister did not have to talk through curtains. You are very
remote."
She asked what picture he was referring to. He rolled it up and pushed
it under the curtain, and as she bent to look at it her hair was swept aside
and he caught a brief and partial glimpse of her profile. It delighted him.
He found himself wishing that she were not his sister. A verse came to his
lips:
"I do not propose to sleep among the young grasses,
But ensnared in them I must confess to be."
Her attendants had withdrawn in embarrassment. A most curious
thing to say, thought the princess herself. She did not answer. Her manifest
and quite proper discomfort reminded him that the recipient of the old
poem had replied in a somewhat inviting manner.
Murasaki had been fondest of these two, the First Princess and Niou,
and of all the royal children they had been the closest. The empress had
been especially careful with this oldest daughter, and if anyone among her
attendants, who were numerous and all from the best families, was seen
to have the slightest flaw, she was very quickly made to feel unwanted.
The volatile Niou moved from one liaison to the next as interesting
new ladies appeared, but through them all his heart was with the princess
at Uji. He was a lazy correspondent, however, and so the days went by.
It seemed to the Uji sisters that they had been asked to wait a very
long time. It was as she had feared, thought Oigimi; and then Kaoru,
having heard that she was not well, came to inquire after her. She was not
seriously ill, but she made the indisposition her excuse for not receiving
him.
<P 858>
"I have come running all this way," he said. "Take me to her room,
please, as you did before."
He seemed so genuinely concerned that someone did presently lead
him to her bed curtains. Though she had not wanted to see him, she raised
her head and answered civilly enough. He explained that Niou had not had
the least intention, on that maple-viewing expedition, of passing them by.
"Do be patient, and try not to worry."
"My sister does not complain." There were tears in her voice. "But
what a very unhappy situation it is. I know now what Father was trying
to warn us against."
"The world does not always go as we wish it. You have not had a great
deal of experience, and it is natural that you should see things entirely
from your own point of view. But try to imagine his, if you will. You have
nothing to worry about, not a thing. I would not say so if I were not
convinced of it." How odd, he thought, to have to explain away derelic-
tions that were not his responsibility.
She was in greater discomfort at night. Since her sister was uneasy at
having a stranger so near, the women suggested that he remove himself to
a detached wing with which he was already familiar.
"I am sick with worry, and I want to be near her. Can you really send
me into exile? Can I expect anyone else to do what must be done?"
He summoned Bennokimi and told her that religious services were to
be commenced immediately. Oigimi objected, but in silence. She did not
want priests to see her in her present condition, and she had no wish that
anything be done to prolong her life. She was not up to stating her views,
however, and she was touched by these hopes for her recovery.
"Are you feeling a little better?" he asked the next morning. "Let me
talk to you, please, even as briefly as yesterday."
"I am afraid that time has only made things worse, and I really am
very unwell. But do come in anyway."
He went to her bedside, in great apprehension. This unwonted
docility had the effect of making the worst seem at hand. He spoke of this
and that trifling matter.
"I am so unwell, I am afraid, that I cannot really talk to you. Perhaps
after I have rested." The sound of her voice, scarcely more than a whisper,
only added to his anguish. But he had work to do, and could stay no longer.
With the darkest forebodings, he started back for the city.
"Uji is not good for her," he said to the old woman. "Don't you
suppose we could make this our excuse to find a more hospitable spot?"
He left instructions for the abbot to conduct intensive and careful services.
Some of his attendants had become familiar with the young women
of the house. "I hear they have put a stop to Prince Niou's wanderings?"
said one of them, idly passing the time of day." They have shut him up
in the palace. And it seems that they have arranged a match between him
and the minister's young daughter. Her family has wanted it for years, and
<P 859>
so no one will be inconvenienced. The talk is that they'll be married before
the end of the year. Of course he isn't all that enthusiastic. He goes on
having little affairs with the ladies-in-waiting. His mother and father
haven't had much luck at reforming him. Now if you want a real contrast
look at our own master for a minute or two. So serious and self-contained
