clouds. Her own child seemed so utterly insignificant. She bowed to the
shrine and prayed more fervently.
The governor of the province came to greet Genji, and no doubt the
repast he had made ready was finer than for most ministers.
The lady could bear no more. "If I were to go up with my miserable
little offerings, the god would scarcely notice, and would not think I had
done much by way of keeping my promises. But the whole trip would be
pointless if we were to turn and go home." She suggested that they put
in at Naniwa and there commission lustration ceremonies.
Not dreaming what had happened, Genji passed the night in enter-
tainments sure to please the god. He went beyond all his promises in the
novelty and ingenuity of the dances. His nearest retainers, men like Kore-
mitsu, knew how much the god had done for them. As Genji came unan-
nounced from the shrine, Koremitsu handed him a poem:
"These pines of Sumiyoshi make me think
Of days when we were neighbors to this god."
Very apt, thought Genji.
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"Remembering those fearful winds and waves,
Am I to forget the god of Sumiyoshi?
"Yes, it has without question been through his intervention." There
was solemn gratitude in the words.
Genji was greatly upset when Koremitsu told him that a boat had
come from Akashi and been turned away by the crowds on the beach.
Again the god of Sumiyoshi seemed to be at work. The lady would surely
regret having chosen this day. He must at least get off a note. Leaving
Sumiyoshi, he made excursions to other famous places in the region and
had grand and solemn lustrations performed on the seven strands of
Naniwa. "The waves of Naniwa," he said to himself (though with no real
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thought, one may imagine, of throwing himself in ) as he looked out over
the buoys that marked the Horie channel.
Koremitsu, who was among his mounted attendants, overheard. Al-
ways prepared for such an exigency, he took out a short writing brush and
handed it to Genji.
A most estimable servant, thought Genji, jotting down a poem on a
sheet of paper he had at hand.
"Firm the bond that brings us to Naniwa,
Whose channel buoys invite me to throw myself in."
Koremitsu sent it to the lady by a messenger who was familiar with
the events at Akashi. She wept tears of joy at even so small a favor. A line
of horsemen was just then passing by.
This was her reply, to which she tied sacred cords for the lustration
at Tamino:
"A lowly one whose place is not to demand,
To what purpose, at Naniwa, should I cast myself in?"
It was evening, and the scene was a lovely one, with the tide flooding
in and cranes calling ceaselessly from the shallows. He longed to see her,
whatever these crowds might think.
"My sleeves are wet as when I wandered these shores.
The Isle of the Raincoat does not fend off the dews."
To joyous music, he continued his round of the famous places, but his
thoughts were with the Akashi lady.
Women of pleasure were in evidence. It would seem that there were
susceptible young men even among the highest ranks. Genji looked reso-
lutely away. It was his view that one should be moved only by adequate
forces, and that frivolous claims were to be rejected even in the most
ordinary affairs. Their most seductive and studied poses had no effect
upon him.
His party moved on. The next day being a propitious one, the Akashi
lady made offerings at Sumiyoshi, and so, in keeping with her more modest
station, acquitted herself of her vows. The incident had only served to
intensify her gloom. A messenger came from Genji even before he could
have returned to the city. He meant very shortly to send for her, he said.
She was glad, and yet she hesitated, fearing the uncertainties of sailing off
beyond the islands to a place she could not call home. Her father too was
uneasy. But life in Akashi would be even more difficult than in earlier
years. Her reply was obedient but indecisive.
I had forgotten: a new high priestess had been appointed for the Ise
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Shrine, and the Rokujo~ lady had returned to the city with her daughter.
Genji's attentions, his inquiries as to her needs, were as always very
thorough, but she remembered his coldness in other years and had no wish
to call back the old sorrow and regret. She would treat him as a distant
friend, no more. For his part, he made no special effort to see her. The truth
was that he could not be sure of his own feelings, and his station in life
was now such that he could not pursue sundry love affairs as he once had.
He had no heart for importuning the lady. He would have liked all the
same to see what the years had done to her daughter, the high priestess.
The Rokujo~ house had been kept in good repair. As always, she selected
only ladies of the finest taste and endowments to be with her, and the
house was once more a literary and artistic salon. Though her life was in
many ways lonely, there were ample pleasures and distractions.
Suddenly she fell ill. Troubled by feelings of guilt that she had spent
those years in Ise, so remote from the Good Law, she became a nun.
Genji canceled all his appointments and rushed to her side. The old
passion had departed, but she had been important to him. His commisera-
tions were endless. She had had a place set out for him near her pillows.
Raising herself to an armrest, she essayed her own answers. She seemed
very weak, and he wept to think that she might die before he was able
to let her know how fond he had been of her. It moved her deeply to
think that now, when everything else seemed to be going, he should still
care.
She spoke to him of her daughter. "She will have no one to turn to
when I am gone. Please do count her among those who are important to
you. She has been the unluckiest of girls, poor dear. I am a useless person
and I have done her no good, but I tell myself that if my health will only
hold out a little longer I may look after her until she is better able to look
after herself." She was weeping, and life did indeed seem to be leaving her.
"You speak as if we might become strangers. It could not have hap-
pened, it would have been quite impossible, even if you had not said this
to me. I mean to do everything I can for her. You must not worry."
"It is all so difficult. Even when a girl has a father to whom she can
look with complete confidence, the worst thing is to lose her mother. Life
can be dreadfully complicated when her guardian is found to have
thoughts not becoming a parent. Unfortunate suspicions are sure to arise,
and other women will see their chance to be ugly. These are distasteful
forebodings, I know. But please do not let anything of the sort come into
your relations with her. My life has been an object lesson in uncertainty,
and my only hope now is that she be spared it all."
She need not be _quite_ so outspoken, thought Genji; but he replied
calmly enough. "I am a steadier and soberer person than I used to be, and
it astonishes me that you still think me a trifler. One of these days the true
state of affairs will be apparent even to you."
It was dark outside her curtains, through which came suggestions of
lamplight. Was it just possible? He slid forward and looked through an
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opening in the curtains. He saw her dimly, leaning against an armrest, so
beauriful with her hair cut short that he wished he might ask someone to
do her likeness. And the one beyond, to the east of the bed curtains, would
be the priestess. Her curtain frames had been pushed casually to one side.
She sat chin in hand, in an attitude of utter despondency. Though he could
not see her well, she seemed very beautiful. There was great dignity in the
flow of her hair down over her shoulders and in the shape of her head, and
he could see that, for all the nobility, it was also a winsome and delicate
sort of beauty. He felt certain stirrings of the heart, and remembered her
mother's worries.
"I am feeling much worse," said the lady, "and fear I may be guilty
of rudeness if you stay longer." A woman helped her into bed.
"How happy I would be if this visit might bring some sign of improve-
ment. What exactly is the nature of the illness?"
She had sensed that she was being seen. "I must look like a witch.
There is a very strong bond between us--it must be so--that you should
have come to me now. I have been able to tell you a little of what has been
on my mind, and I am no longer afraid to die."
"It moves me deeply that you should have thought me worthy. I
<P 287>
have many brothers, but I have never felt close to them. My father looked
upon the high priestess as one of his daughters, and to me she shall be a
sister. I have no daughters of my own. She will fill an emptiness in my life."
His inquiries were warm and frequent, but a week or so later she died.
Aware all over again of the uncertainty of life, Genji gave orders for the
funeral and went into retreat. The priestess's stewards could have seen to
them after a fashion, but he was her chief support.
He paid a visit. She replied, through her lady of honor, that she was
feeling utterly lost and helpless.
"Your mother spoke about you, and left instructions, and it would be
a great satisfaction if I might have your complete confidence."
Her women found him such a source of strength and comfort that
they thought he could be forgiven earlier derelictions.
The services were very grand, with numerous people from Genji's
house to help.
Still in retreat, he sent frequently to inquire after her. When presently
she had regained a measure of composure, she sent her own replies. She
was far from easy about being in correspondence with him, but her nurse
and others insisted that it would be rude to use an intermediary.
It was a day of high winds and driving snow and sleet. He thought
how much More miserable the weather must seem to her.
"I can imagine," he wrote, "what these hostile skies must do to you,
and yet--
"From skies of wild, unceasing snow and sleet
Her spirit watches over a house of sorrow."
He had chosen paper of a cloudy azure, and taken pains with all the
details which he thought might interest a young girl.
She was hard put to reply, but her women again insisted that secretar-
ies should have no part in these matters. She finally set down a poem on
a richly perfumed gray paper, relying on the somber texture to modulate
the shadings of her ink.
"I wish to go, but, blind with tears, am helpless
As snows which were not asked where they would fall."
It was a calm, reserved hand, not remarkably skilled, but with a
pleasantly youthful quality about it and much that told of good breeding.
She had had a particular place in his thoughts ever since her departure for
Ise, and now of course nothing stood in his way. But, as before, he recon-
sidered. Her mother had had good reason for her fears, which worried him
less, it must be added, than the rumors that were even now going the
rounds. He would behave in quite the opposite manner. He would be a
model of propriety and parental solicitude, and when the emperor was a
little older and better equipped to understand, he would bring her to court.
With no daughters on hand to make life interesting, he would look after
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her as if she were his daughter. He was most attentive to her needs and,
choosing his occasions well, sometimes visited her.
"You will think it forward of me to say so, but I would like nothing
better than to be thought a substitute for your mother. Every sign that you
trust me will please me enormously."
She was of a very shy and introspective nature, reluctant even to let
him hear her voice. Her women were helpless to overcome this extreme
reticence. She had in her service several minor princesses whose breeding
and taste were such, he was sure, that she need not feel at all uncomforta-
ble or awkward at court. He wanted very much to have a look at her and
see whether his plans were well grounded--evidence, perhaps, that his
fatherly impulses were not unmixed. He could not himself be sure when
his feelings would change, and he let fall no hint of his plans. The prin-
cess's household felt greatly in his debt for his careful attention to the
funeral and memorial services.
The days went by in dark procession. Her retainers began to take their
leave. Her house, near the lower eastern limits of the city, was in a lonely
district of fields and temples where the vesper bells often rang an accom-
paniment to her sobs. She and her mother had been close as parent and
child seldom are. They had not been separated even briefly, and it had been
without precedent for a mother to accompany a high priestess to Ise. She
would have begged to be taken on this last journey as well, had it been
possible.
There were men of various ranks who sought to pay court through her
women. Quite as if he were her father, Genji told the women that none
of them, not even the nurse, should presume to take matters into her own
hands. They were very careful, for they would not want damaging reports
to reach the ears of so grand a gentleman.
The Suzaku emperor still had vivid memories of the rites in the Grand
Hall upon her departure for Ise, and of a beauty that had seemed almost
frightening.
"Have her come to me," he had said to her mother. "She shall live
exactly as my sisters, the high priestess of Kamo and the others."
But the Rokujo~ lady had misgivings and managed to evade the august
invitation. The Suzaku emperor already had several wellborn consorts, and
her daughter would be without strong backing. He was not in good health,
