moreover, and she feared that to her own misfortune might be added her
daughter's. With the Rokujo~ lady gone, the priestess's women were more
acutely aware than ever of the need for strong backing. The Suzaku em-
peror repeated his invitation.
Genji learned of his brother's hopes. It would be altogether too high-
handed to spirit the princess away, and on the other hand Genji would
have strong regrets at letting such a beautiful lady go. He decided that he
must consult Fujitsubo, the mother of the new emperor.
He told her of all that was troubling him. "Her mother was a careful,
<P 289>
thoughtful lady. My loose ways were responsible for all the trouble. I
cannot tell you how it hurts me to think that she came to hate me. She died
hating me; but as she lay dying she spoke to me about her daughter.
Enough had been said about me, I gather, to convince her that I was the
one to turn to, and so she controlled her anger and confided in me. The
thought of it makes me want to start weeping again. I would find it difficult
to ignore such a sad case even if it were not my personal concern, and I
want to do all I can to put the poor lady's soul at rest and persuade her
to forgive me. His Majesty is mature for his age, but he is still very young,
and I often think how good it would be if he had someone with him who
knew a little about the world. But of course the decision must be yours."
"This is very thoughtful and understanding of you. One does not
wish to be unkind to the Suzaku emperor, of course, but perhaps, taking
advantage of the Rokujo~ lady's instructions, you could pretend to be
unaware of his wishes. He seems in any case to have given himself over
to his prayers, and such concerns can scarcely matter very much any more.
I am sure that you explain the situation to him he will not harbor any
deep resentment."
"If you agree, then, and are kind enough to number her among the
acceptable candidates, I shall say a word to her of your decision. I have
thought a great deal about her interests and have at length come to the
conclusion I have just described to you. The gossips do upset me, of
course."
He would do as she suggested. Pretending to be unaware of the
Suzaku emperor's hopes, he would take the girl into the Nijo~ mansion.
He told Murasaki of this decision. "And," he added, "she is just the
right age to be a good companion."
She was delighted. He pushed ahead with his plans.
Fujitsubo was concerned about her brother, Prince Hyo~bu, who was
in a fever, it seemed, to have his own daughter received at court. He and
Genji were not on good terms. What did Genji propose to do in the matter?
To~ no Chu~jo~'s daughter, now a royal consort, occupied the Kokiden
apartments, and made a good playmate for the emperor. She had been
adopted by her grandfather, the chancellor, who denied her nothing.
Prince Hyo~bu's daughter was about the same age as the emperor, and
Fujitsubo feared that they would make a rather ridiculous couple, as if they
were playing house together. She was delighted at the prospect of having
an older lady with him, and she said as much. Genji was untiring in his
services, advising him in public matters, of course, to the great satisfaction
of Fujitsubo, and managing his private life as well. Fujitsubo was ill much
of the time. Even when she was at the palace she found it difficult to be
with her son as much as she wished. It was quite imperative that he have
an older lady to look after him.
<W Murasaki Shikibu>{Translated by Edward G.Seidensticker}
<T The Tale of Genji>
<K 2>
<C 15>{The Wormwood Patch}
<N 1>
<P 290>
In those days of sea grass steeped in brine, many ladies had lamented
Genji's absence and hoped he would soon be back in the city. For ladies
like Murasaki, whose place in his life was secure, there were at least letters
(though of course they did not completely deaden the pain) to inform them
that he was well. Though he wore the plainer clothes of exile, Murasaki
found comfort, in a gloomy world, in making sure that they followed the
seasons. There were less fortunate ones whom he had not openly recog-
nized and who, not having seen his departure into exile, could only imag-
ine how it must have been.
<N 2>
The safflower princess had lived a very straitened life after the death
of her father, Prince Hitachi. Then had come that windfall. For Genji it had
been the merest trifle, but for her, whose sleeves were so pitifully narrow,
it was as if all the stars had suddenly fallen into her bowl. And then had
come the days when the whole world had seemed to turn against him.
Genji did not have time for everyone, and after his removal to distant
Suma he did not or could not take the trouble to write. The Princess wept
for a time, and lived a loveless and threadbare existence after the tears had
dried.
"Some people seem to have done all the wrong things in their other
lives," grumbled one of her old women. "As if he had not been unkind
enough already, the Blessed One all of a sudden brings a bit of pleasure
<P 291>
--rather more than a bit, actually--and then takes it away again. How nice
it was! The way of the world, you might say, that it should all disappear
--and a body is expected to go on living."
Yes, it had been very perverse of the Blessed One. A lady grows used
to hunger and deprivation, but when they have been absent for a time they
no longer seem like proper and usual conditions. Women who could be
useful to her had somehow of their own accord come into her ken, and one
by one they went away again; and so, as the months passed, her house was
lonelier and lonelier.
<N 3>
Her gardens, never well tended, now offered ample cover for foxes
and other sinister creatures, and owls hooted in unpruned groves morning
and night. Tree spirits are shy of crowds, but when people go away they
come forward as if claiming sovereignty. Frightening apparitions were
numberless.
"Really, my lady, we cannot go on this way," said one of the few
women who still remained with her. "There are governors of this and that
province who have a taste for old parks and who have set their eyes on
these woods and grounds and asked through neighbors if you might not
be persuaded to let them go. Please, my lady, do consider selling. Do let
us move to a place where we need not be constantly looking over our
shoulders. We have stayed with you, but we cannot be sure how much
longer we will be able to."
"You must not say such things. What will people think? Can you
really believe that I would sell Father's house? I agree with you that we
have not kept it up very well, and sometimes I find myself looking over
my shoulder too. But it is home for me and it was home for Father and
I somehow feel that he is still here." She wept and refused to listen.
The furnishings were old but of the finest workmanship, exactly the
sort that collectors like best. Word got out that this and that piece was by
this and that master, and the collectors were sure that the impoverished
Hitachi house would be an easy target.
"But, my lady, everyone does it. Why should we pretend to be differ-
ent?" When their lady was not looking, they sought to make their own
accommodations.
She was very angry when she detected what was happening. "Father
had them made for us and no one else. How can you dream of having those
awful people paw at them? It would kill me to think he might be watch-
ing."
There was no one now to whom she might turn for help. It is true that
her older brother, a monk, would stop by when he chanced to be in the
city; but he had no part in practical or elegant affairs. Even among his
colleagues he had a name for saintly unworldliness. He did not seem to
notice that the wormwood was asking to be cut back. The rushes were so
thick that one could not be sure whether they grew from land or water.
Wormwood touched the eaves, bindweed had firmly barred the gates. This
<P 292>
last fact would perhaps have given comfortable feelings of security had it
not been for the fact that horses and cattle had knocked over the fences
and worn paths inside. Still more impolite were the boys who in spring and
summer deliberately drove their herds through. In the Eighth Month one
year a particularly savage typhoon blew down all the galleries and stripped
the servants' quarters to bare frames, and so the servants left. No smoke
rose from the kitchen. Things had, in a word, come to a sorry pass. A glance
at the brambles convinced robbers that the place was not worth looking
into. But the furnishings and decorations in the main hall were as they had
always been. There was no one to clean and polish them, of course; but
if the lady lived among mountains of dust it was elegant and orderly dust.
<N 4>
She might have beguiled the loneliness of her days with old songs and
poems, but she really did not have much feeling for such things. It is usual
for young ladies who, though not remarkably subtle, have time on their
hands to find amusement through the passing seasons in exchanging little
notes and poems with kindred spirits; but, faithful to the principles by
which her father had reared her, she did not welcome familiarity, and
remained aloof even from people who might have enjoyed an occasional
note. Sometimes she would open a scarred bookcase and take out an
illustrated copy of _The Bat, The Lady Recluse, or The Bamboo Cutter_.
Old poems bring pleasure when they are selected with taste and
discrimination, with fine attention to author and occasion and import; but
there can be little to interest anyone in random, hackneyed poems set
down on yellowing business paper or portentously furrowed Michinoku.
Yet it was just such collections that she would browse through when the
loneliness and the gloom were too much for her. The sacred texts and rites
to which most recluses turn intimidated her, and as for rosaries, she would
not have wished, had there been anyone to see, to be seen with one. It was
a very undecorated life she lived.
<N 5>
Only Jiju~, her old nurse's daughter, was unable to leave. The high
priestess of Kamo, whose house she had frequented, was no longer living,
and life was very difficult and uncertain.
There was a lady, the princess's maternal aunt, who had fallen in the
world and married a provincial governor. She was devoted to her daugh-
ters, into whose service she had brought numbers of not at all contemptible
women. Jiju~ occasionally went to visit, for after all a house so close to her
family was more inviting than a house of strangers.
The princess, of an extremely shy and retiring nature, had never
warmed to her aunt, and there had been some petulance on the part of the
latter.
"I know that my sister thought me a disgrace to the family," she
would say; "and that is why, though I feel very sorry indeed for your lady,
I am able to offer neither help nor sympathy."
<P 293>
She did, however, write from time to rime.
The sons and daughters of provincial governors are sometimes nobler
than the high nobility, as they imitate their betters; and a child of the high
nobility can sometimes sink to a lamentable commonness. So it was with
the aunt, a drab, vulgar sort of person. She herself had come to be looked
down upon, and now that her sister's house was in ruins she would have
loved to hire her niece as governess. The princess was rather old-fashioned,
it was true, but she could be depended upon.
"Do come and see us occasionally," wrote the aunt. "There are several
people here who long to hear your koto."
Jiju~ kept at her lady to accept the invitarion; but, less from any wish
to resist than from extreme and incurable shyness, the princess remained
aloof, and the aunt's resentment unalloyed.
<N 6>
Her husband was presently appointed assistant viceroy of Kyushu.
Making suitable arrangements for her daughters, she set off with him for
his new post.
She was eager to take her niece along. "I will be very far away," she
would say, always plausibly. "I have not inquired after you as frequently
as I would have wished, but I have had the comfort of knowing you are
near, and I do hate to leave you behind."
<P 294>
She was noisily angry when the princess refused again. "A most un-
pleasant person. She has made up her mind that she is better than the rest
of us. Well, I doubt that the Genji general will come courring the princess
of the wormwood patch."
And then the court was astir with the news that Genji would return
to the city. The competition was intense, in high places and low, to demon-
strate complete and unswerving loyalty. Genji learned a great deal about
human nature. In these busy, unsettled times he apparently did not think
of the safflower princess. It was the end of all hope, she thought. She had
grieved for him in his misfortune and prayed that happy spring would
come. Now all the clods in the land were rejoicing, and she heard of all
the joy from afar, as if he were a stranger. She had asked herself, in the
worst days, whether some change had perhaps been wrought by herself
upon the world. It had all been to no purpose. Sometimes, when she was
alone, she wept aloud.
The aunt thought her a proper fool. It was just as she had said it would
be. Could anyone possibly pay court to a person who lived such a beggarly
existence, indeed such a ridiculous existence? It is said that the Blessed
One bestows his benign grace upon those who are without sin--and here
the princess was, quite unapologetic, pretending that matters were as they
had been while her royal father and her good mother lived. It was rather
sad, really.
