had placed him, thought Genji, and yet he could imagine how upset she
must be. This was his reply:
"I shall not complain of the wave that came raging in,
But of the welcoming strand I must complain."
The belt was To~ no Chu~jo~'s of a color too dark to go with Genji's robe.
He saw that he had lost a length of sleeve. A most unseemly performance.
People who wandered the way of love found themselves in mad situations.
With that thought he quelled his ardor.
On duty in the palace, To~ no Chu~jo~ had the missing length of sleeve
wrapped and returned, with the suggestion that it be restored to its proper
place. Genji would have liked to know when he had succeeded in tearing
it off. It was some comfort that he had the belt.
He returned it, wrapped in matching paper, with this poem:
"Not to be charged with having taken your take,
I return this belt of indigo undamaged."
An answer came immediately:
"I doubted not that you took my indigo belt,
And charge you now with taking the lady too.
You will pay for it, sir, one day."
Both were at court that afternoon. To~ no Chu~jo~ had to smile at Genji's
cool aloofness as he sorted out petitions and orders, and his own business-
like efficiency was as amusing to Genji. They exchanged frequent smiles.
To~ no Chu~jo~ came up to Genji when no one else was near. "You have
had enough, I hope," he said, with a fierce sidelong glance, "of these
clandestine adventures?"
"Why, pray, should I? The chief hurt was to you who were not invited
--and it matters a great deal, since you do so love each other." And they
made a bond of silence, a vow that they would behave like the Know-
Nothing River.
To~ no Chu~jo~ lost no opportunity to remind Genji of the incident. And
it had all been because of that troublesome old woman, thought Genji. He
<P 149>
would not again make such a mistake. It was a trial to him that she
continued, all girlishly, to make known her resentment. To~ no Chu~jo~ did
not tell his sister, Genji's wife, of the affair, but he did want to keep it in
reserve. Because he was his father's favorite, Genji was treated respectfully
even by princes whose mothers were of the highest rank, and only To~ no
Chu~jo~ refused to be awed by him. Indeed he was prepared to contest every
small point. He and his sister, alone among the minister's children, had the
emperor's sister for their mother. Genji belonged, it was true, to the royal
family, but the son of the emperor's sister and of his favorite minister did
not feel that he had to defer to anyone; and it was impossible to deny that
he was a very splendid young gentleman. The rivalry between the two
produced other amusing stories, I am sure, but it would be tedious to
collect and recount them.
In the Seventh Month, Fujitsubo was made empress. Genji was given
a seat on the council of state. Making plans for his abdication, the emperor
wanted to name Fujitsubo's son crown prince. The child had no strong
backing, however. His uncles were all princes of the blood, and it was not
for them to take command of public affairs. The emperor therefore wanted
Fujitsubo in an unassailable position from which to promote her son's
career.
Kokiden's anger, most naturally, reached new peaks of intensity.
"You needn't be in such a stir," said the emperor. "Our son's day is
coming, and no one will be in a position to challenge you."
As always, people talked. It was not an easy thing, in naming an
empress, to pass over a lady who had for more than twenty years been the
mother of the crown prince. Genji was in attendance the night Fujitsubo
made her formal appearance as empress. Among His Majesty's ladies she
alone was the daughter of an empress, and she was herself a flawless jewel;
but for one man, at least, it was not an occasion for gladness. With anguish
he thought of the lady inside the ceremonial palanquin. She would now
be quite beyond his reach.
" I see her disappear behind the clouds
And am left to grope my way through deepest darkness."
The days and months passed, and the little prince was becoming the
mirror image of Genji. Though Fujitsubo was in constant tenor, it ap-
peared that no one had guessed the truth. How, people asked, could some-
one who was not Genji yet be as handsome as Genji? They were, Genji and
the little prince, like the sun and moon side by side in the heavens.
<W Murasaki Shikibu>{Translated by Edward G.Seidensticker}
<T The Tale of Genji>
<K 1>{Japanese Volume}
<C 8>{The Festival of the Cherry Blossoms}
<N 1>
<P 150>
Towards the end of the Second Month, the festival of the cherry blossoms
took place in the Grand Hall. The empress and the crown prince were
seated to the left and right of the throne. This arrangement of course
displeased Kokiden, but she put in an appearance all the same, unable to
let such an occasion pass. It was a beautiful day. The sky was clear, birds
were singing. Adepts at Chinese poetry, princes and high courtiers and
others, drew lots to fix the rhyme schemes for their poems.
"I have drawn 'spring,'" said Genji, his voice finely resonant in even
so brief a statement.
To~ no Chu~jo~ might have been disconcerted at something in the eyes
of the assembly as they turned from Genji to him, but he was calm and
poised, and his voice as he announced his rhyme was almost as distin-
guished as Genji's. Several of the high courtiers seemed reluctant to follow
the two, and the lesser courtiers were more reluctant still. They came stiffly
out into the radiant garden, awed by the company in which they found
themselves--for both the emperor and the crown prince were connoisseurs
of poetry, and it was a time when superior poets were numerous. To
produce a Chinese poem is never an easy task, but for them it seemed
positive torture. Then there were the great professors who took such
<P 151>
occasions in their stride, though their court dress may have been a little
shabby. It was pleasant to observe the emperor's interest in all these varied
sorts of people.
The emperor had of course ordered the concert to be planned with the
greatest care. "Spring Warbler," which came as the sun was setting, was
uncommonly fine. Remembering how Genji had danced at the autumn
excursion, the crown prince himself presented a sprig of blossoms for his
cap and pressed him so hard to dance that he could not refuse. Though he
danced only a very brief passage, the quiet waving of his sleeves as he came
to the climax was incomparable. The Minister of the Left forgot his anger
at his negligent son-in-law. There were tears in his eyes.
"Where is To~ no Chu~jo~?" asked the emperor. "Have him come im-
mediately."
To~ no Chu~jo~, whose dance was "Garden of Willows and Flowers,"
danced with more careful and deliberate art than had Genji, perhaps be-
cause he had been prepared for the royal summons. It was so interesting
a performance that the emperor presented him with a robe--a most grati-
fying sign of royal approval, everyone agreed.
Other high courtiers danced, in no fixed order, but as it was growing
dark one could not easily tell who were the better dancers. The poems were
read. Genji's was so remarkable that the reader paused to comment upon
each line. The professors were deeply moved. Since Genji was for the
emperor a shining light, the poem could not fail to move him too. As for
the empress, she wondered how Kokiden could so hate the youth--and
reflected on her own misfortune in being so strangely drawn to him.
"Could I see the blossom as other blossoms,
Then would there be no dew to cloud my heart."
She recited it silently to herself. How then did it go the rounds and
presently reach me?
<N 2>
The festivities ended late in the night.
The courtiers went their ways, the empress and the crown prince
departed, all was quiet. The moon came out more brightly. It wanted
proper appreciation, thought Genji. The ladies in night attendance upon
the emperor would be asleep. Expecting no visitors, his own lady might
have left a door open a crack. He went quietly up to her apartments, but
the door of the one whom he might ask to show him in was tightly closed.
He sighed. Still not ready to give up, he made his way to the gallery by
Kokiden's pavilion. The third door from the north was open. Kokiden
herself was with the emperor, and her rooms were almost deserted. The
hinged door at the far corner was open too. All was silent. It was thus, he
thought, that a lady invited her downfall. He slipped across the gallery and
up to the door of the main room and looked inside. Everyone seemed to
be asleep.
<P 152>
"'What can compare with a misty moon of spring?'" It was a sweet
young voice, so delicate that its owner could be no ordinary serving
woman.
She came (could he believe it?) to the door. Delighted, he caught at
her sleeve.
"Who are you?" She was frightened.
"There is nothing to be afraid of.
"Late in the night we enjoy a Misty moon.
There is nothing misty about the bond between us."
Quickly and lightly he lifted her down to the gallery and slid the door
closed. Her surprise pleased him enormously.
Trembling, she called for help.
<P 153>
"It will do you no good. I am always allowed my way. Just be quiet,
if you will, please."
She recognized his voice and was somewhat reassured. Though of
course upset, she evidently did not wish him to think her wanting in good
manners. It may have been because he was still a little drunk that he could
not admit the possibility of letting her go; and she, young and irresolute,
did not know how to send him on his way. He was delighted with her, but
also very nervous, for dawn was approaching. She was in an agony of
apprehension lest they be seen.
"You must tell me who you are," he said. "How can I write to you
if you do not? You surely don't think I mean to let matters stand as they
are?"
"Were the lonely one to vanish quite away,
Would you go to the grassy moors to ask her name?"
Her voice had a softly plaintive quality.
"I did not express myself well.
"I wish to know whose dewy lodge it is
Ere winds blow past the bamboo-tangled moor.
"Only one thing, a cold welcome, could destroy my eagerness to visit.
Do you perhaps have some diversionary tactic in mind?"
They exchanged fans and he was on his way. Even as he spoke a
stream of women was moving in and out of Kokiden's rooms. There were
women in his own rooms too, some of them still awake. Pretending to be
asleep, they poked one another and exchanged whispered remarks about
the diligence with which he pursued these night adventures.
He was unable to sleep. What a beautiful girl! One of Kokiden's
younger sisters, no doubt. Perhaps the fifth or sixth daughter of the family,
since she had seemed to know so little about men? He had heard that both
thy fourth daughter, to whom To~ no Chu~jo~ was uncomfortably married,
and Prince Hotaru's wife were great beauties, and thought that the en-
counter might have been more interesting had the lady been one of the
older sisters. He rather hoped she was not the sixth daughter, whom the
minister had thoughts of marrying to the crown prince. The trouble was
that he had no way of being sure. It had not seemed that she wanted the
affair to end with but the one meeting. Why then had she not told him
how he might write to her? These thoughts and others suggest that he was
much interested. He thought too of Fujitsubo's pavilion, and how much
more mysterious and inaccessible it was, indeed how uniquely so.
<N 3>
He had a lesser spring banquet with which to amuse himself that day.
He played the thirteen-stringed koto, his performance if anything subtler
<P 154>
and richer than that of the day before. Fujitsubo went to the emperor's
apartments at dawn.
Genji was on tenterhooks, wondering whether the lady he had seen
in the dawn moonlight would be leaving the palace. He sent Yoshikiyo and
Koremitsu, who let nothing escape them, to keep watch; and when, as he
was leaving the royal presence, he had their report, his agitation increased.
"Some carriages that had been kept out of sight left just now by the
north gate. Two of Kokiden's brothers and several other members of the
family saw them off; so we gathered that the ladies must be part of the
family too. They were ladies of some importance, in any case--that much
was clear. There were three carriages in all."
How might he learn which of the sisters he had become friends with?
Supposing her father were to learn of the affair and welcome him gladly
into the family--he had not seen enough of the lady to be sure that the
prospect delighted him. Yet he did want very much to know who she was.
He sat looking out at the garden.
Murasaki would be gloomy and bored, he feared, for he had not
visited her in some days. He looked at the fan he had received in the dawn
moonlight. It was a "three-ply cherry." The painting on the more richly
colored side, a misty moon reflected on water, was not remarkable, but the
fan, well used, was a memento to stir longing. He remembered with espe-
cial tenderness the poem about the grassy moors.
He jotted down a poem beside the misty moon:
"I had not known the sudden loneliness
Of having it vanish, the moon in the sky of dawn."
<N 4>
He had been neglecting the Sanjo~ mansion of his father-in-law for
