the full bloom of spring or autumn. Several of the guests presently took
up instruments and began an impromptu concert. One of To~ no Chu~jo~'s
little sons, a boy of eight or nine who had just this year been admitted to
the royal presence, sang for them in fine voice and played on the sho~ pipes.
<P 210>
A favorite of Genji, who often joined him in a duet, the boy was To~ no
Chu~jo~'s second son and a grandson of the Minister of the Right. He was
gifted and intelligent and very handsome as well, and great care had gone
into his education. As the proceedings grew noisier he sang "Takasago"
in a high, clear voice. Delighted, Genji took off a singlet and presented it
to him. A slight flush from drink made Genji even handsomer than usual.
His skin glowed through his light summer robes. The learned guests
looked up at him from the lower tables with eyes that had misted over.
"I might have met the first lily of spring" --the boy had come to the end
of his song. To~ no Chu~jo~ offered Genji a cup of wine and with it a verse:
"I might have met the first lily of spring, he says.
I look upon a flower no less pleasing."
Smiling, Genji took the cup:
"The plant of which you speak bloomed very briefly.
It opened at dawn to wilt in the summer rains,
and is not what it used to be."
Though To~ no Chu~jo~ did not entirely approve of this garrulity, he
continued to press wine upon his guest.
There seem to have been numerous other poems; but Tsurayuki has
warned that it is in bad taste to compose under the influence of alcohol and
that the results are not likely to have much merit, and so I did not trouble
myself to write them down. All the poems, Chinese and Japanese alike,
were in praise of Genji. In fine form, he said as if to himself: "I am the son
of King Wen, the brother-of King Wu." It was magnificent. And what
might he have meant to add about King Ch'eng? At that point, it seems,
he thought it better to hold his tongue. Prince Sochi, who could always
be counted upon to enliven these gatherings, was an accomplished musi-
cian and a witty and good-humored adversary for Genji.
Oborozukiyo was spending some time with her family. She had had
several attacks of malaria and hoped that rest and the services of priests
might be beneficial. Everyone was pleased that this treatment did indeed
prove effective. It was a rare opportunity. She made certain arrangements
with Genji and, though they were complicated, saw him almost every
night. She was a bright, cheerful girl, at her youthful best, and a small loss
of weight had made her very beautiful indeed. Because her sister, Kokiden,
also happened to be at home, Genji was in great apprehension lest his
presence be detected. It was his nature to be quickened by danger, how-
<P 211>
ever, and with elaborate stealth he continued his visits. Although it would
seem that, as the number increased, several women of the house began to
suspect what was happening, they were reluctant to play informer to the
august lady. The minister had no suspicions.
Then one night toward dawn there came a furious thunderstorm. The
minister's sons and Kokiden's women were rushing about in confusion.
Several women gathered trembling near Oborozukiyo's bed curtains. Genji
was almost as frightened, for other reasons, and unable to escape. Daylight
came. He was in a fever, for a crowd of women had by now gathered
outside the curtains. The two women who were privy to the secret could
think of nothing to do.
The thunder stopped, the rain quieted to showers. The minister went
first to Kokiden's wing and then, his approach undetected because of the
rain on the roof, to Oborozukiyo's. He marched jauntily up the gallery and
lifted a blind.
"How did you come through it all? I was worried about you and meant
to look in on you. Have the lieutenant and Her Majesty's vice-chamber-
lain been here?"
<P 212>
A cascade of words poured forth. Despite the precariousness of his
situation, Genji could not help smiling at the difference between the two
ministers. The man could at least have come inside before he commenced
his speech.
Flushed and trembling, Oborozukiyo slipped through the bed cur-
tains. The minister feared that she had had a relapse.
"My, but you do look strange. It's not just malaria, it's some sort of
evil spirit, I'm sure of it, a very stubborn one. We should have kept those
priests at it."
He caught sight of a pale magenta sash entwined in her skirts. And
something beside the curtain too, a wadded bit of paper on which he could
see traces of writing.
"What might this be?" he asked in very great surprise. "Not at all
something that I would have expected to find here. Let me have it. Give
it to me, now. Let me see what it is."
The lady glanced over her shoulder and saw the incriminating objects.
And now what was she to do? One might have expected a little more tact
and forbearance from a man of parts. It was an exceedingly difficult mo-
ment, even if she was his own daughter. But he was a headstrong and not
<P 213>
very thoughtful man, and all sense of proportion deserted him. Snatching
at the paper, he lifted the bed curtains. A gentleman was lying there in
dishabille. He hid his face and sought to pull his clothes together. Though
dizzy with anger, the minister pulled back from a direct confrontation. He
took the bit of paper off to the main hall.
Oborozukiyo was afraid she would faint and wished she might expire
on the spot. Genji was of course upset too. He had gone on permitting
himself these heedless diversions and now he faced a proper scandal. But
the immediate business was to comfort the lady.
It had always been the minister's way to keep nothing to himself, and
now the crotchetiness of old age had been added in ample measure to this
effusiveness. Why should he hold back? He poured out for Kokiden the
full list of his complaints.
"It is Genji's handwriting," he said, after describing what he had just
seen. I was careless and I let it all get started several years ago. But Genji
is Genji, and I forgave everything and even hoped I might have him as a
son-in-law. I was not happy of course that he did not seem to take her very
seriously, and sometimes he did things that seemed completely outra-
geous; but I told myself that these things happen. I was sure that His
Majesty would overlook a little blemish or two and take her in, and so I
went back to my original plan and sent her off to court. I wasn't happy
--who would have been?--that the affair had made him feel a little odd
about her and kept her from being one of his favorites. And now I really
do think I've been misused. Boys will do this sort of thing, I know, but
it's really too much. They say he's still after the high priestess of Kamo
and gets off secret letters to her, and something must be going on there too.
He is a disgrace to his brother's reign and a disgrace in general, to himself
and everyone else too. But I would have expected him to be cleverer about
it. One of the brighter and more talented people of our day, everyone says.
I simply would not have expected it of him."
Of an even more choleric nature, Kokiden spoke in even stronger
terms. "My son is emperor, to be sure, but no one has ever taken him
seriously. The old Minister of the Left refused to let him have that prize
daughter of his and then gave her to a brother who was hardly out of
swaddling clothes and wasn't even a prince any more. And my sister: we
had thought of letting His Majesty have her, and did anyone say anything
at all to Genji when he had everyone laughing at the poor thing? Oh, no
--he was to be just everyone's son-in-law, it seemed. Well, we had to
make do and found a place for her. I was sorry, of course, but I hoped she
might work hard and still make a decent career, and someday teach that
awful boy a lesson. And now see what she has done. She has let him get
the better of her. I think it very likely indeed that something is going on
between him and the high priestess. The sum and substance of it all is that
we must be careful. He is waiting very eagerly for the next reign to come."
The minister was beginning to feel a little sorry for Genji and to regret
<P 214>
that he had come to her with his story. "Well, be that as it may, I mean
to speak to no one else of what has happened. You would be wise not to
tell His Majesty. I imagine she is presuming on his kindness and is sure
he will forgive even this. Tell her to be more careful, and if she isn't, well,
I suppose I'll have to take responsibility."
But it did not seem that he had quieted her anger. "That awful boy"
had come into a house where she and her sister were living side by side.
It was a deliberate insult. She was angrier and angrier. It would seem that
the time had come for her to lay certain plans.
<W Murasaki Shikibu>{Translated by Edward G.Seidensticker}
<T The Tale of Genji>
<K 2>
<C 11>{The Orange Blossoms}
<N 1>
<P 215>
Genji's troubles, which he had brought upon himself, were nothing new.
There was already gloom enough in his public and private life, and more
seemed to be added each day. Yet there were affairs from which he could
not withdraw.
Among the old emperor's ladies had been one Reikeiden. She had no
children, and after his death her life was sadly straitened. It would seem
that only Genji remembered her. A chance encounter at court, for such was
his nature, had left him with persistent thoughts of her younger sister. He
paid no great attention to her, however, and it would seem that life was
as difficult for her as for her sister. Now, in his own despondency, his
thoughts turned more fondly to the girl, a victim if ever there was one of
evanescence and hostile change. Taking advantage of a rare break in the
early-summer rains, he went to call on her.
He had no outrunners and his carriage and livery were unobtrusive.
As he crossed the Inner River and left the city he passed a small house with
tasteful plantings. Inside someone was playing a lively strain on a Japanese
koto accompanied by a thirteen-stringed Chinese koto of good quality.
The house being just inside the gate he leaned from his carriage to survey
the scene. The fragrance that came on the breeze from a great laurel
tree made him think of the Kamo festival. It was a pleasant scene. And
yes--he had seen it once before, a very long time ago. Would he be
<P 216>
remembered? Just then a cuckoo called from a nearby tree, as if to urge him
on. He had the carriage turned so that he might alight. Koremitsu, as
always, was his messenger.
"Back at the fence where once it sang so briefly,
The cuckoo is impelled to sing again."
The women seemed to be near the west veranda of the main building.
Having heard the same voices on that earlier occasion, Koremitsu coughed
to attract attention and handed in his message. There seemed to be num-
bers of young women inside and they at first seemed puzzled to know who
the sender might be.
This was the answer:
"It seems to be a cuckoo we knew long ago.
But alas, under rainy skies we cannot be sure."
Koremitsu saw that the bewilderment was only pretended." Very
well. The wrong trees, the wrong fence." And he went out.
<P 217>
And so the women were left to nurse their regrets. It would not have
been proper to pursue the matter, and that was the end of it. Among
women of their station in life, he thought first of the Gosechi dancer, a
charming girl, daughter of the assistant viceroy of Kyushu. He went on
thinking about whatever woman he encountered. A perverse concomitant
was that the women he went on thinking about went on thinking about
him.
<N 3>
The house of the lady he had set out to visit was, as he had expected,
lonely and quiet. He first went to Reikeiden's apartments and they talked
far into the night. The tall trees in the garden were a dark wall in the light
of the quarter moon. The scent of orange blossoms drifted in, to call back
the past. Though no longer young, Reikeiden was a sensitive, accom-
plished lady. The old emperor had not, it is true, included her among his
particular favorites, but he had found her gentle and sympathetic. Memory
following memory, Genji was in tears. There came the call of a cuckoo--
might it have been the same one? A pleasant thought, that it had come
following him. "How did it know?" he whispered to himself.
"It catches the scent of memory, and favors
The village where the orange blossoms fall.
"I should come to you often, when I am unable to forget those years.
You are a very great comfort, and at the same time I feel a new sadness
coming over me. People change with the times. There are not many with
whom I can exchange memories, and I should imagine that for you there
are even fewer."
He knew how useless it was to complain about the times, but perhaps
he found something in her, an awareness and a sensitivity, that set off a
chain of responses in himself.
"The orange blossoms at the eaves have brought you
To a dwelling quite forgotten by the world."
She may not have been one of his father's great loves, but there was
no doubt that she was different from the others.
<N 4>
Quietly he went to the west front and looked in on the younger sister.
He was a rare visitor and one of unsurpassed good looks, and it would seem
that such resentment as had been hers quite faded away. His manner as
<P 218>
always gentle and persuasive, it is doubtful that he said anything he did
not mean. There were no ordinary, common women among those with
