has been no one, past or present, to rival him in good looks. You are quite
right when you say that there cannot be two such handsome men."
"I think I may expect to live awhile longer if I may be honored from
time to time with a visit like this. It is as if both years and sorrows were
leaving me." There was a pause for tears. "I was, I must admit it, envious
of Princess Omiya that she had succeeded in establishing such close rela-
tions with you. There was evidence that Prince Shikibu was envious too."
The conversation had taken an interesting turn. "A bond with Prince
Shikibu's house," he said somewhat sardonically, "would have been an
honor and a pleasure. But I fear that I was not made to feel exactly
wanted."
<N 2>
His eye had been wandering in the direction of the other wing. The
Withered garden had a monochrome beauty all its own. He was restless.
What would this quiet seclusion have done to Asagao?
"I think I will just look in at the other wing. She would think it rude
of me not to."
He passed through a gallery. In the gathering darkness he could still
see somber curtains of mourning beyond blinds trimmed in dark gray. A
wonderfully delicate incense came drifting towards him.
He was invited into the south room, for it would not do to leave him
on the veranda. Asagao's lady of honor came with a message.
"So you still treat me as if I were a headstrong boy. I have waited so
long that I have come to think myself rather venerable, and would have
expected the privilege of the inner rooms."
<P 350>
"I feel as if I were awakening from a long dream," the princess sent
back, "and I must ask time to deliberate the patience of which you speak."
Yes, thought Genji, the world was an uncertain, dreamlike place.
"One does indeed wait long and cheerless months
In hopes the gods will someday give their blessing.
"And what divine command do you propose to invoke this time? I
have thought and felt a great deal, and would take comfort from sharing
even a small part of it with you?"
The princess sensed cool purpose in the old urgency and impetuosity.
He had matured. Yet he still seemed much too young for the high office
he held.
"The gods will tell me I have broken my vows
For having had the briefest talk with You."
"What a pity. I would have thought them prepared to let the gentle
winds take these things away."
There really was no one else like him. But she was in grim earnest,
refusing to be amused when her lady of honor suggested that the god
<P 351>
of Kamo was likely to take her no more seriously than he had taken
Narihira. The years only seemed to have made her less disposed to wel-
come gallantry. Her women were much distressed by her coldness.
"You have given the interview quite the wrong turn." Genuinely
annoyed, he got up to leave. "We seem to grow older for purposes of
suffering more massive indignities. Is it your purpose to reduce me to the
ultimate in abjection?"
The praise was thunderous (it always had been) when he was gone.
It was a time when the skies would have brought poignant thoughts in any
case, and a falling leaf could take one back to things of long ago. The
women exchanged memories of his attentions in matters sad and joyous.
<N 3>
He lay awake with his disappointment. He had the shutters raised
early and stood looking out at the morning mist. Trailing over the withered
flowers was a morning glory that still had one or two sad, frostbitten little
blooms. He broke it off and sent it to Asagao.
"You turned me away in shame and humiliation, and the thought of
how the rout must have pleased you is not comfortable.
"I do not forget the morning glory I saw.
Will the years, I wonder, have taken it past its bloom?
"I go on, in spite of everything, hoping that you pity me for the sad
thoughts of so many years."
It was a civil sort of letter which it would be wrong to ignore, said her
women, pressing an inkstone upon her.
"The morning glory, wholly changed by autumn,
Is lost in the tangle of the dew-drenched hedge.
"Your most apt simile brings tears."
It could not have been called a very interesting or encouraging reply,
but he was unable to put it down. Perhaps it was the elegance of the
handwriting, on soft gray-green paper, that so held him.
Sometimes, in an exchange of this sort, one is deluded by rank or an
elegant hand into thinking that everything is right, and afterwards, in
attempting to describe it, made to feel that it was not so at all. It may be
that I have written confidently and not very accurately.
Not wishing to seem impulsive, he was reluctant to reply; but the
thought of all the months and years through which she had managed to
be cold and yet keep him interested brought some of his youthful ardor
back.<N 4> He wrote a most earnest letter, having summoned her messenger to
the east wing, where they would not be observed. Her women tended to
<P 352>
be of an easygoing sort, less than firm even towards lesser men, and their
noisy praise had put her on her guard. She herself had always been uncom-
promising, and now she thought that they were too old and too conspicu-
ous, he and she, for such flirtations. The most routine and perfunctory
exchange having to do with the flowers and grasses of the seasons seemed
likely to invite criticism. The years had not changed her. In annoyance and
admiration, he had to admit that she was unusual.
Word that he had seen her got abroad in spite of everything. It was
said that he was sending her very warm letters. The Fifth Princess, among
others, was pleased. They did seem such a remarkably well-matched pair.
The rumor presently reached Murasaki, who at first told herself that he
would not dream of keeping such a secret from her. Then, watching him
closely, she could not dismiss the evidences which she found of restless-
ness. So he was serious about something which he had treated as a joke.
She and Asagao were both granddaughters of emperors, but somehow the
other lady had cut the grander figure. If Genji's intentions proved serious
Murasaki would be in a very unhappy position indeed. Perhaps, too confi-
dent that she had no rivals, she had presumed too much upon his affec-
tions. It did not seem likely that he would discard her, at least in the
immediate future, but it was quite possible that they had been together too
long and that he was taking her for granted. Though in matters of no
importance she could scold him most charmingly, she gave no hint of her
concern when she was really upset. He spent much of his time these days
gazing into the garden. He would spend several nights at court and on his
return busy himself with what he called official correspondence, and she
would conclude that the rumors were true. Why didihe not say something?
He seemed like a stranger.
<N 5>
There were no festivals this year. Bored and fidgety, he set off for
Momozono again one evening. He had taken the whole day with his toilet,
choosThere were no festivals this year. Bored and fidgety, he set off for
ing pleasantly soft robes and making sure that they were well per-
fumed. The weaker sort of woman would have had even fewer defenses
against his charms than usual.
He did, after all, think it necessary to tell Murasaki. "The Fifth Prin-
cess is not well. I must look in upon her."
He waited for a reply, but she was busying herself with the little girl.
Her profile told him that all was not well.
"You seem so touchy these days. I cannot think why. I have not
wanted to be taken for granted, like a familiar and rumpled old robe, and
so I have been staying away a little more than I used to. What suspicions
are you cherishing this time?"
"Yes, it is true. One does not enjoy being wearied of." She turned
away and lay down.
He did not want to leave her, but he had told the Fifth Princess that
he would call, and really must be on his way.
<P 353>
So this, thought Murasaki, was marriage. She had been too confident.
Mourning robes have their own beauty, and his were especially
beautiful in the light reflected from the snow. She could not bear to think
that he might one day be leaving her for good.
He took only a very few intimate retainers with him. "I have reached
an age," he said, very plausibly, "when I do not want to go much of
anywhere except to the palace. But they are having a rather sad time of
it at Momozono. They had Prince Shikibu to look after them, and now it
seems very natural, and very sad too, that they should turn to me."
Murasaki's women were not convinced. "It continues to be his great
defect that his attention wanders. We only hope that no unhappiness
comes of it."
<N 6>
At Momozono the traffic seemed to be through the north gate. It
would have been undignified for Genji to join the stream, and so he sent
one of his men in through the great west gate. The Fifth Princess, who had
not expected him so late on a snowy evening, made haste to order the gate
opened. A chilly-looking porter rushed out. He was having trouble and
there was no one to help him.
"All rusty," he muttered. Genji felt rather sorry for him.
<P 354>
And so thirty years had gone by, like yesterday and today. It was a
fleeting, insubstantial world, and yet the temporary lodgings which It
offered were not easy to give up. The grasses and flowers of the passing
seasons continued to pull at him.
"And when did wormwood overwhelm this gate,
This hedge, now under snow, so go to ruin?',
Finally the gate was opened and he made his way in.
The Fifth Princess commenced talking, as always, of old times. She
talked on and on, and Genji was drowsy. She too began to yawn.
"I get sleepy of an evening. I'm afraid I'm not the talker I used to be."
The sounds which then began to emerge from her may have been
snores, but they were unlike any he had heard before.
Delighted at this release, he started off. But another woman had taken
over, coughing a very aged cough. "I had ventured to hope that you might
remember me, but I see that you no longer count me among the living.
Your late father used to call me Granny and have a good laugh over me."
She identified herself and he remembered. It was old Naishi. He had
heard that she had become a nun and that she and the old princess kept
religious company, but it astonished him to learn that she was still alive.
"It seems a very long time since my father died. Even to think of those
days somehow makes me sad. What a pleasure it is to hear your voice. You
must be kind to me, as you would be kind to a fatherless wanderer."
Evidence that he had settled down again and that she had his attention
seems to have swept her back to the old years, and all the old coquettish-
ness came forth anew. It was too evident, from the imperfect articulation,
that the playful words came from a toothless old mouth. "Even as I
spoke," she said, and it seemed rather too much. He was both amused
and saddened at the suggestion that old age had come upon her suddenly
and undetected.
Of the ladies who had competed for the old emperor's affections when
Naishi was in her prime, some were long dead, and no doubt others had
come upon sad days at the end of long lives. What a short life Fujitsubo
had lived! A world which had already seemed uncertain enough was mak-
ing another display of cruel uncertainty. Here serenely pursuing her devo-
tions was a woman who had seemed ready for death even then and who
had never had a great deal to recommend her.
<P 355>
Pleased that she had had an effect upon him, she moved on to other
playful endeavors.
"I do not forget that bond, though years have passed,
For did you not choose to call me Mother's mother?"
It was a bit extreme.
"Suppose we wait for another world to tell us
Of instances of a child's forgetting a parent.
"Yes, it does seem a most durable bond. We must have a good talk
about it sometime."
And he left.
<N 7>
A few shutters were still open along the west wing, as if the princess
did not want to make him feel completely unwelcome. The moon had
come out and was shining upon the snow to turn the evening into a
suddenly beautiful one. Such encounters as the one from which he had just
emerged were held by the world to be inept examples of something or
other.
His manner was very sober and proper this evening. "If I could have
a single word directly from you expressing your dislike for me, then I
might resign myself to what must be."
But she was disinclined to grant him even this. Young indiscretion can
be forgiven, and she had sensed that her late father was not ill disposed
toward him; but she had rejected him, and that was that. At their age it
was all most unseemly. The prospect of the single word he asked for left
her in acute embarrassment. He thought her a very cold lady indeed, and
she for her part wished he would give her credit for trying, through her
intermediary, not to seem inhospitable. It was late and the wind was high
and cold.
Though feeling very sorry for himself, he managed a certain elegance
as he brushed away a tear.
"Long years of coldness have not chastened me,
And now I add resentment to resentment.
Though of course it is true that I came asking for it."
He spoke as if to himself, and once again her women were noisy in
agreeing that he was not being treated well.
She sent out an answer:
