Weeping quietly, the girl lay down.
Sho~nagon sat up beside them, looking out over the garden as dawn
came on. The buildings and grounds were magnificent, and the sand in the
garden was like jewels. Not used to such affluence, she was glad there were
no other women in this west wing. It was here that Genji received occa-
sional callers. A few guards beyond the blinds were the only attendants.
They were speculating on the identity of the lady he had brought with
him. "Someone worth looking at, you can bet."
Water pitchers and breakfast were brought in. The sun was high when
Genji arose. "You will need someone to take care of you. Suppose you send
this evening for the ones you like best." He asked that children be sent
from the east wing to play with her. "Pretty little girls, please." Four little
girls came in, very pretty indeed.
The new girl, his Murasaki, still lay huddled under the singlet he had
thrown over her.
"You are not to sulk, now, and make me unhappy. Would I have done
all this for you if I were not a nice man? Young ladies should do as they
are told." And so the lessons began.
She seemed even prettier here beside him than from afar. His manner
warm and fatherly, he sought to amuse her with pictures and toys he had
sent for from the east wing. Finally she came over to him. Her dark
mourning robes were soft and unstarched, and when she smiled, inno-
cently and unprotestingly, he had to smile back. She went out to look at
the trees and pond after he had departed for the east wing. The flowers
in the foreground, delicately touched by frost, were like a picture. Streams
of courtiers, of the medium ranks and new to her experience, passed back
and forth. Yes, it was an interesting place. She looked at the pictures on
screens and elsewhere and (so it is with a child) soon forgot her troubles.
Staying away from court for several days, Genji worked hard to make
<P 110>
her feel at home. He wrote down all manner of poems for her to copy, and
drew all manner of pictures, some of them very good. "I sigh, though I have
not seen Musashi," he wrote on a bit of lavender paper. She took it up,
and thought the hand marvelous. In a tiny hand he wrote beside it:
"Thick are the dewy grasses of Musashi,
Near this grass to the grass I cannot have."
"Now you must write something."
"But I can't." She looked up at him, so completely without affectation
that he had to smile.
"You can't write as well as you would like to, perhaps, but it would
be wrong of you not to write at all. You must think of me as your teacher."
It was strange that even her awkward, childish way of holding the
brush should so delight him. Afraid she had made a mistake, she sought
to conceal what she had written. He took it from her.
"I do not know what it is that makes you sigh.
And whatever grass can it be I am so near to?"
The hand was very immature indeed, and yet it had strength, and
character. It was very much like her grandmother's. A touch of the modern
and it would not be at all unacceptable. He ordered dollhouses and as the
two of them played together he found himself for the first time neglecting
his sorrows.
Prince Hyo~bu went for his daughter on schedule. The women were
acutely embarrassed, for there was next to nothing they could say to him.
Genji wished to keep the girl's presence at Nijo~ secret, and Sho~nagon had
enjoined the strictest silence. They could only say that Sho~nagon had
spirited the girl away, they did not know where.
He was aghast. "Her grandmother did not want me to have her, and
so I suppose Sho~nagon took it upon herself, somewhat sneakily I must say,
to hide her away rather than give her to me." In tears, he added: "Let me
know if you hear anything."
Which request only intensified their confusion.
The prince inquired of the bishop in the northern hills and came away
no better informed. By now he was beginning to feel some sense of loss
(such a pretty child); and his wife had overcome her bitterness and, happy
at the thought of a little girl to do with as she pleased, was similarly
regretful.
Presently Murasaki had all her women with her. She was a bright,
lively child, and the boys and girls who were to be her playmates felt quite
at home with her. Sometimes on lonely nights when Genji was away she
<P 111>
would weep for her grandmother. She thought little of her father. They
had lived apart and she scarcely knew him. She was by now extremely
fond of her new father. She would be the first to run out and greet him
when he came home, and she would climb on his lap, and they would talk
happily together, without the least constraint or embarrassment. He was
delighted with her. A clever and watchful woman can create all manner
of difficulties. A man must be always on his guard, and jealousy can have
the most unwelcome consequences. Murasaki was the perfect companion,
a toy for him to play with. He could not have been so free and uninhibited
with a daughter of his own. There are restraints upon paternal intimacy.
Yes, he had come upon a remarkable little treasure.
<W Murasaki Shikibu>{Translated by Edward G.Seidensticker}
<T The Tale of Genji>
<K 1>{Japanese Volume}
<C 6>{The Safflower}
<N 1>
<P 112>
Though the years might forget "the evening face" that had been with him
such a short time and vanished like the dew, Genji could not. His other
ladies were proud and aloof, and her pretty charms were unlike any others
he had known. Forgetting that the affair had ended in disaster, he would
ask himself if he might not find another girl, pretty and of not too high
a place in the world, with whom he might be as happy. He missed no
rumor, however obscure, of a well-favored lady, and (for he had not
changed) he felt confident in each instance that a brief note from him
would not be ignored. The cold and unrelenting ones seemed to have too
grand a notion of their place in the world, and when their proud ambition
began to fail it failed completely and in the end they made very undistin-
guished marriages for themselves. His inquiries usually ended after a note
or two.
He continued to have bitter thoughts about the governor's wife, the
lady of "the locust shell." As for her stepdaughter, he favored her with
notes, it would seem, when suitable occasions arose. He would have liked
to see her again as he had seen her then, in dishabille by lamplight. He was
a man whose nature made it impossible for him to forget a woman.
<N 2>
One of his old nurses, of whom he was only less fond than of Kore-
mitsu's mother, had a daughter named Tayu~, a very susceptible young lady
<P 113>
who was in court service and from time to time did favors for Genji. Her
father belonged to a cadet branch of the royal family. Because her mother
had gone off to the provinces with her present husband, the governor of
Chikuzen, Tayu~ lived in her father's house and went each day to court. She
chanced to tell Genji that the late prince Hitachi had fathered a daughter
in his old age. The princess had enjoyed every comfort while she had had
him to dote upon her, but now she was living a sad, straitened life. Genji
was much touched by the story and inquired further.
"I am not well informed, I fear, about her appearance and disposition.
She lives by herself and does not see many people. On evenings when I
think I might not be intruding, I sometimes have a talk with her through
curtains and we play duets together. We have the koto as a mutual friend,
you might say."
"That one of the poet's three friends is permitted to a lady, but not the
next. You must let me hear her play sometime. Her father was very good
at the koto. It does not seem likely that she would be less than remarkable
herself."
"I doubt, sir, that she could please so demanding an ear."
"That was arch of you. We will pick a misty moonlit night and go pay
a visit. You can manage a night off from your duties."
Though she feared it would not be easy, they made their plans, choos-
ing a quiet spring evening when little was happening at court. Tayu~ went
on ahead to prince Hitachi's mansion. Her father lived elsewhere and
visited from time to time. Not being on very good terms with her step-
mother, she preferred the Hitachi mansion, and she and the princess had
become good friends.
<N 3>
Genji arrived as planned. The moon was beautiful, just past full.
"It seems a great pity," said Tayu~, "that this should not be the sort
of night when a koto sounds best."
"Do go over and urge her to play something, anything. Otherwise I
will have come in vain."
She showed him into her own rather cluttered room. She thought the
whole adventure beneath his dignity, but went to the main hall even so.
With the shutters still raised, a delicate fragrance of plum blossoms was
wafted in.
She saw her chance. "On beautiful nights like this I think of your koto
and wish we might become better acquainted. It seems a pity that I always
have to rush off."
"I fear that you have heard too much really fine playing. My own can
hardly seem passable to someone who frequents the palace."
<P 114>
Yet she reached for her koto. Tayu~ was very nervous, wondering what
marks Genji would give the concert. She played a soft strain which in fact
he found very pleasing. Her touch was not particularly distinguished, but
the instrument was by no means ordinary, and he could see that she had
inherited something of her father's talent. She had been reared in old-
fashioned dignity by a gentleman of the finest breeding, and now, in this
lonely, neglected place, scarcely anything of the old life remained. She
must have known all the varieties of melancholy. It was just such a spot
that the old romancers chose for their most moving scenes. He would have
liked to let her know of his presence, but did not want to seem forward.
A clever person, Tayu~ thought it would be best not to let Genji hear
too much. "It seems to have clouded over," she said. "I am expecting a
caller and would not wish him to think I am avoiding him. I will come
again and hope for the pleasure of hearing you at more considerable
length." And on this not very encouraging note she returned to her room.
"She stopped just too soon," said Genji. "I was not able to tell how
good she might be." He was interested. "Perhaps if it is all the same you
can arrange for me to listen from a little nearer at hand."
Tayu~ thought it would be better to leave him as he was, in a state of
<P 115>
suspense. "I fear not, sir. She is a lonely, helpless person, quite lost in her
own thoughts. It is all very sad, and I would certainly not want to do
anything that might distress her."
She was right. He Must defer to the lady's position. There were ranks
and there were ranks, and it was in the lower of them that ladies did not
always turn away sudden visitors.
"But do please give her some hint of my feelings." He had another
engagement and went quietly out.
"It amuses me sometimes to think that your royal father believes you
to be excessively serious. I doubt that he ever sees you dressed for these
expeditions."
He smiled over his shoulder. "You do not seem in a very good position
to criticize. If this sort of thing requires comment, then what are we to say
of the behavior of certain ladies I know?"
She did not answer. Her somewhat indiscriminate ways invited such
remarks.
<N 4>
Wondering if he might come upon something of interest in the main
hall, he took cover behind a moldering, leaning section of bamboo fence.
Someone had arrived there before him. Who might it be? A young gallant
who had come courting the lady, no doubt. He fell back into the shadows.
In fact, it was his friend To~ no Chu~jo~. They had left the palace
together that evening. Genji, having abruptly said goodbye, had gone
neither to his father-in-law's Sanjo~ mansion nor to his own at Nijo~. To~ no
Chu~jo~ followed him, though he had an engagement of his own. Genji was
in disguise and mounted on a very unprepossessing horse and, to puzzle
his friend further, made his way to this unlikely place. As To~ no Chu~jo~
debated the meaning of these strange circumstances there came the sound
of a koto. He waited, thinking that Genji would appear shortly. Genji tried
to slip away, for he still did not recognize his friend, and did not want to
be recognized himself.
To~ no Chu~jo~ came forward. "I was not happy to have you shake me
off, and so I came to see you on your way.
This moon of the sixteenth night has secret ways."
Genji was annoyed and at the same time amused. "This is a surprise.
"It sheds its rays impartially here and there,
And who should care what mountain it sets behind?"
"So here we are. And what do we do now? The important thing when
you set out on this sort of escapade is to have a proper guard. Do not,
please, leave me behind next time. You have no idea what awful things
can happen when you go off by yourself in disguise." And so he made it
seem that he was the one privileged to administer reproofs.
<P 116>
It was the usual thing: To~ no Chu~jo~ was always spying out his secrets.
Genji thought it a splendid coup on his part to have learned and concealed
from his friend the whereabouts of "the wild carnation."
<N 5>
They were too fond of each other to say goodbye on the spot. Getting
into the same carriage, they played on their flutes as they made their way
