perhaps because the occasion seemed right, Omyo~bu showed the
letter to her lady.
"Do please answer him," she said, "if with something of no more
weight than the dust on these petals."
Herself prey to violent emotions, Fujitsubo did send back an answer,
a brief and fragmentary one, in a very faint hand:
"It serves you ill, the Japanese carnation,
To make you weep. Yet I shall not forsake it."
pleased with her success, Omyo~bu delivered the note. Genji was look-
ing forlornly out at the garden, certain that as always there would be
<P 141>
silence. His heart jumped at the sight of Omyo~bu and there were tears of
joy in his eyes.
This moping, he decided, did no good. He went to the west wing in
search of company. Rumpled and wild-haired, he played a soft strain on
a flute as he came into Murasaki's room. She was leaning against an
armrest, demure and pretty, like a wild carnation, he thought, with the dew
fresh upon it. She was charming.
Annoyed that he had not come immediately, she turned away.
"Come here," he said, kneeling at the veranda.
She did not stir."'Like the grasses at full tide,'" she said softly, her
sleeve over her mouth.
"That was unkind. So you have already learned to complain? I would
not wish you to tire of me, you see, as they say the fishermen tire of the
sea grasses at Ise."
<P 142>
He had someone bring a thirteen-stringed koto.
"You must be careful. The second string breaks easily and we would
not want to have to change it." And he lowered it to the hyo~o~ mode.
After plucking a few notes to see that it was in tune, he pushed it
toward her. No longer able to be angry, she played for him, briefly and very
competently. He thought her delightful as she leaned forward to press a
string with her left hand. He took out a flute and she had a music lesson.
Very quick, she could repeat a difficult melody after but a single hearing.
Yes, he thought, she was bright and amiable, everything he could have
wished for. "Hosoroguseri" made a pretty duet, despite its outlandish
name. She was very young but she had a fine sense for music. Lamps were
brought and they looked at pictures together. Since he had said that he
would be going out, his men coughed nervously, to warn him of the time.
If he did not hurry it would be raining, one of them said. Murasaki was
suddenly a forlorn little figure. She put aside the pictures and lay with her
face hidden in a pillow.
"Do you miss me when I am away?" He stroked the hair that fell
luxuriantly over her shoulders.
She nodded a quick, emphatic nod.
"And I miss you. I can hardly bear to be away from you for a single
day. But we must not make too much of these things. You are still a child,
and there is a jealous and difficult lady whom I would rather not offend.
I must go on visiting her, but when you are grown up I will not leave you
ever. It is because I am thinking of all the years we will be together that
I want to be on good terms with her."
His solemn manner dispelled her gloom but made her rather uncom-
fortable. She did not answer. Her head pillowed on his knee, she was
presently asleep.
He told the women that he would not after all be going out. His
retinue having departed, he ordered dinner and roused the girl.
"I am not going," he said.
She sat down beside him, happy again. She ate very little.
"Suppose we go to bed, then, if you aren't going out." She was still
afraid he might leave her.
He already knew how difficult it would be when the time came for
the final parting.
Everyone of course knew how many nights he was now spending at
home. The intelligence reached his father-in-law's house at Sanjo-.
"How very odd. Who might she be?" said the women. "We have not
been able to find out. No one of very good breeding, you may be sure, to
judge from the way she clings to him and presumes upon his affection.
Probably someone he ran into at court and lost his senses over, and now
he has hidden her away because he is ashamed to have people see her. But
the oddest thing is that she's still a child."
<P 143>
"I am sorry to learn that the Minister of the Left is unhappy with
you," the emperor said to Genji. "You cannot be so young and innocent
as to be unaware of all he has done for you since you were a very small
boy. He has been completely devoted to you. Must you repay him by
insulting him?"
It was an august reproach which Genji was unable to answer.
The emperor was suddenly sorry for him. It was clear that he was not
happy with his wife. "I have heard no rumors, it is true, that you are
promiscuous, that you have scattered your affections too liberally here at
court and elsewhere. He must have stumbled upon some secret."
The emperor still enjoyed the company of pretty women. He preferred
the pretty ones even among chambermaids and seamstresses, and all the
ranks of his court were filled with the best-favored women to be found.
Genji would joke with one and another of them, and few were of a mind
to keep him at a distance. Someone among them would remark coyly that
perhaps he did not like women; but, no doubt because she offered no
novelty, he would answer so as not to give offense and refuse to be
tempted. To some this moderation did not seem a virtue.
There was a lady of rather advanced years called Naishi. She was
wellborn, talented, cultivated, and widely respected; but in matters of the
<P 144>
heart she was not very discriminating. Genji had struck up relations, inter-
ested that her wanton ways should be so perdurable, and was taken some-
what aback at the warm welcome he received. He continued to be
interested all the same and had arranged a rendezvous. Not wanting the
world to see him as the boy lover of an aged lady, he had turned away
further invitations. She was of course resentful.
One morning when she had finished dressing the emperor's hair and
the emperor had withdrawn to change clothes, she found herself alone
with Genji. She was bedecked and painted to allure, every detail urging
him forward. Genji was dubious of this superannuated coquetry, but curi-
ous to see what she would do next. He tugged at her apron. She turned
around, a gaudy fan hiding her face, a sidelong glance--alas, the eyelids
were dark and muddy--emerging from above it. Her hair, which of course
the fan could not hide, was rough and stringy. A very poorly chosen fan
for an old lady, he thought, giving her his and taking it from her. So bright
a red that his own face, he was sure, must be red from the reflection, it was
decorated with a gold painting of a tall grove. In a corner, in a hand that
was old-fashioned but not displeasingly so, was a line of poetry: "With-
ered is the grass of Oaraki." Of all the poems she could have chosen!
"What you mean, I am sure, is that your grove is summer lodging for
the cuckoo."
They talked for a time. Genji was nervous lest they be seen, but Naishi
was unperturbed.
"Sere and withered though these grasses be,
They are ready for your pony, should you come."
She was really too aggressive.
"Were mine to part the low bamboo at your grove,
It would fear to be driven away by other ponies.
"And that would not do at all."
He started to leave, but she caught at his sleeve. "No one has ever been
so rude to me, no one. At my age I might expect a little courtesy."
These angry tears, he might have said, did not become an old lady.
"I will write. You have been on my mind a great deal." He tried to
shake her off but she followed after.
"'As the pillar of the bridge--'" she said reproachfully.
<P 145>
Having finished dressing, the emperor looked in from the next room.
He was amused. They were a most improbable couple.
"People complain that you show too little interest in romantic things,"
he laughed, "but I see that you have your ways."
Naishi, though much discommoded, did not protest with great vehe-
mence. There are those who do not dislike wrong rumors if they are about
the right men.
The ladies of the palace were beginning to talk of the affair, a most>
surprising one, they said. To~ no Chu~jo~ heard of it. He had thought his own
affairs varied, but the possibility of a liaison with an old woman had not
occurred to him. An inexhaustibly amorous old woman might be rather
fun. He arranged his own rendezvous. He too was very handsome, and
Naishi thought him not at all poor consolation for the loss of Genji. Yet
(one finds it hard to condone such greed) Genji was the one she really
wanted.
Since To~ no Chu~jo~ was secretive, Genji did not know that he had been
replaced. Whenever Naishi caught sight of him she showered
him with reproaches. He pitied her in her declining years and would have
liked to do something for her, but was not inclined to trouble himself
greatly.
One evening in the cool after a shower he was strolling past the
Ummeiden Pavilion. Naishi was playing on her lute, most appealingly. She
was a unique mistress of the instrument, invited sometimes to join men
in concerts before the emperor. Unrequited love gave her playing tonight
an especial poignancy.
"Shall I marry the melon farmer?" she was singing, in very good
voice.
Though not happy at the thought of having a melon farmer supplant
him, he stopped to listen. Might the song of the maiden of E-chou, long
ago, have had the same plaintive appeal? Naishi seemed to have fallen
into a meditative silence. Humming "The Eastern Cottage," he came up
to her door. She joined in as he sang: "Open my door and come in." Few
women would have been so bold.
"No one waits in the rain at my eastern cottage.
Wet are the sleeves of the one who waits within."
<P 146>
It did not seem right, he thought, that he should be the victim of such
reproaches. Had she not yet, after all these years, learned patience?
"On closer terms with the eaves of your eastern cottage
I would not be, for someone is there before me."
He would have preferred to move on, but, remembering his manners,
decided to accept her invitation. For a time they exchanged pleasant ban-
ter. All very novel, thought Genji.
To~ no Chu~jo~ had long resented Genji's self-righteous way of chiding
him for his own adventures. The proper face Genji showed the world
seemed to hide rather a lot. To~ no Chu~jo~ had been on the watch for an
opportunity to give his friend a little of what he deserved. Now it had
come. The sanctimonious one would now be taught a lesson.
It was late, and a chilly wind had come up. Genji had dozed off, it
seemed. To~ no Chu~jo~ slipped into the room. Too nervous to have more than
dozed off, Genji heard him, but did not suspect who it would be. The
superintendent of palace repairs, he guessed, was still visiting her. Not for
the world would he have had the old man catch him in the company of
the old woman.
"This is a fine thing. I'm going. The spider surely told you to expect
him, and you didn't tell me."
He hastily gathered his clothes and hid behind a screen. Fighting back
laughter, To~ no Chu~jo~ gave the screen an unnecessarily loud thump and
folded it back. Naishi had indulged her amorous ways over long years and
had had similarly disconcerting experiences often enough before. What did
this person have in mind? What did he mean to do to her Genji? She
fluttered about seeking to restrain the intruder. Still ignorant of the latter's
identity, Genji thought of headlong flight; but then he thought of his own
retreating figure, robes in disorder, cap all askew. Silently and wrathfully,
To~ no Chu~jo~ was brandishing a long sword.
"Please, sir, please."
Naishi knelt before him wringing her hands. He could hardly control
the urge to laugh. Her youthful smartness had taken a great deal of con-
triving, but she was after all nearly sixty. She was ridiculous, hopping back
and forth between two handsome young men. To~ no Chu~jo~ was playing his
role too energetically. Genji guessed who he was. He guessed too that this
fury had to do with the fact that he was himself known. It all seemed very
stupid and very funny. He gave the arm wielding the sword a stout pinch
and To~ no Chu~jo~ finally surrendered to laughter.
"You are insane," said Genji. "And these jokes of yours are dangerous.
Let me have my clothes, if you will."
But To~ no Chu~jo~ refused to surrender them.
"Well, then, let's be undressed together." Genji undid his friend's belt
<P 147>
and sought to pull off his clothes, and as they disputed the matter Genji
burst a seam in an underrobe.
"Your fickle name so wants to be known to the world
That it bursts its way through this warmly disputed garment.
"It is not your wish, I am sure, that all the world should notice."
Genji replied:
"You taunt me, sir, with being a spectacle
When you know full well that your own summer robes are showy."
Somewhat rumpled, they went off together, the best of friends. But
as Genji went to bed he felt that he had been the loser, caught in such a
very compromising position.
An outraged Naishi came the next morning to return a belt and a pair
of trousers. She handed Genji a note:
<P 148>
"I need not comment now upon my feelings.
The waves that came in together went out together,
leaving a dry river bed."
It was an inappropriate reproof after the predicament in which she
