ladies you see here, and I doubt that I have ever felt toward any of them
quite that intensity of affection. Most of them have lived long enough to
see that I am after all a steady sort, and she vanished so quickly, and I have
had only you to remember her by. I have not forgotten her. It would be
as if all my prayers had been answered if you were to bring the girl here."
He got off a letter. Yet he was a little worried, remembering the
safflower princess. Ladies were not always what one hoped they would be,
and this was a lady who had had a hard life.
His letter was most decorous. At the end of it he said: "And as to my
reasons for writing,
"You may not know, but presently Fou will,
Where leads the line of rushes at Mishimae."
Ukon delivered it and gave an account of their conversation. She
brought all manner of garments for the lady herself and for the others.
Genji had told Murasaki the whole story and gone through his warehouses
for the best of everything, and very different it all was from what they had
been used to in Kyushu.
Tamakazura suggested that the delight would be more considerable if
there were word from her father. She saw no reason to go and live with
a stranger.
Ukon set about making her think otherwise. "Your father is sure to
hear of you once you are set up in a decent sort of life. The bond between
parent and child is not so easily broken. I am nobody, and I found you
because of my prayers. There can be no other explanation. These things
happen if we live long enough. You must get off an answer."
The girl was timid, sure that any answer from her would seem hope-
lessly countrified. She chose richly perfumed Chinese paper and wrote
only this, in a faint, delicate hand:
"You speak of lines and rushes--and by what line
Has this poor rush taken root in this sad world?"
The hand was immature, but it showed character and breeding. Genji
was more confident.
<P 403>
The problem now was where to put her. There was no room in the
several wings of Murasaki's southeast quarter. It was the grandest part of
the house and all its apartments were in use, and it was so much frequented
that a new presence would very probably be noticed. Akikonomu's south-
west quarter was quiet and in many ways suitable, but Genji would not
have wished Tamakazura to be taken for one of the empress's attendants.
Though a little gloomy and remote, there was the west wing of the
northeast quarter, now being used as a library. Genji ordered the books and
papers moved. The lady of the orange blossoms had already been assigned
the northeast quarter, but she was a gentle, amiable person who would be
good company for the new lady.
He had told Murasaki the whole ancient story. She chided him for
having kept it so long a secret.
"Please, my dear--why should I have offered it to you all gratui-
tously? I would have been reluctant to tell such a story even if it had been
about someone you know. I am telling you now because you mean so very
much to me." He was in a reminiscent mood. "I have seen and heard of
so many cases in which I have not myself been involved. I have seen and
heard how strong a woman's feelings can be in the most casual affair, and
I have not wanted that sort of thing in my own life. But one's wishes are
not always consulted in these matters. I have had numbers of affairs that
might be called illicit, but I doubt that any of them has had quite that
gentle sort of pull on me. I think that if she were still living I would be
doing at least as much for her as for the lady in the northwest quarter. No
one in this world is quite like anyone else. She may not have been the most
intelligent and accomplished person, but she did have a way about her, and
she was pretty."
"I doubt very much indeed that she would be a rival of the lady in
the northwest quarter." Evidently there was still resentment.
But here was the little Akashi girl, listening to the conversation with
such charming unconcern. Murasaki thought she could see why he had a
high regard for the mother.
It was the Ninth Month. Tamakazura's move was no routine affair.
Superior women must be found to wait on her. Through various offices a
retinue of women who had drifted down from the capital had been put
together in Kyushu, but the suddenness of the departure had made it
impossible to bring them along. The city was a vast place. Tradeswomen
could be helpful in these matters. Quietly, not letting the girl's identity be
known, the Kyushu people moved in with Ukon's family. Finally every-
thing was ready. In the Tenth Month they moved to Rokujo~.
Genji had taken the lady of the orange blossoms into his confidence.
"Someone I was once fond of was having a difficult time and ran off into
the mountains. I hunted and hunted, but I did not find the daughter until
she was quite grown-up. Even then it was only by accident that I learned
a little about her. I do not think it is too late. Might I bring her here? The
mother is no longer living. I think I might without imposing too dreadfully
<P 404>
ask you to do for her as you have done for Yu~giri. She grew up in the
country, and no doubt you will find a great deal that does not entirely
please you. Do give her the benefit of your advice." He was very polite and
attentive to detail.
She agreed most generously. "I had not dreamed of such a thing. How
very nice for you. You have been lonely with just the one little girl."
"Her mother was a gentle, amiable young lady. It has all worked out
so nicely. You are such an amiable lady yourself."
r "I shall be delighted. I have so little to do."
He had only a few words for the other women.
"And what will he have come up with this time? Such a bothersome
collector as he is?"
There were three carriages for the move. Ukon managed to cover the
more obvious appearances of rusticity. Genji sent a large supply of dam-
asks and other figured cloths. Promptly that evening he paid a visit. The
Kyushu women had long known of "the shining Genji," but his radiance
had come to seem very far off. And here it was, dimming the lamplight
through openings in curtains, almost frightening.
Ukon went to admit him. "One comes through this door," he said,
laughing, "with wildly palpitating heart." He took a seat in an outer room.
"A very soft and suggestive sort of light. I was told that you wished to see
your father's face. Is that not the case?" He pushed the curtain aside.
She looked away, but he had seen enough to be very pleased.
"Can't we have a little more light? This is really too suggestive."
Ukon trimmed a lamp and brought it near.
"Now we are being bold."
Yes, she was very beautiful, and she reminded him of her mother.
"There was no time through all those years when you were out of my
thoughts, and now that we are together it is all like a dream." His manner
was intimate, as if he were her father. "I am overwhelmed and reduced to
silence." He was in fact deeply moved, and he brushed away a tear as he
counted up the years. "How very sad it has been. I doubt that many fathers
and daughters are kept apart for so long. But come: you are too old for this
d shfulness, and there are so many things we must talk about. You must
not treat me like a stranger."
She could not look at him. Finally she replied in a voice which he
could barely hear but which, as it trailed off into silence, reminded him
very much of her mother. "I was like the leech child when they took me
away. I could not stand up. Afterwards I was hardly sure whether it was
happening to me or not."
He smiled. It was a most acceptable answer. "And now who besides
me is to pity you for all the wasted years?"
He gave Ukon various instructions and left.
Pleased that she had passed the test so nicely, he went to tell
Murasaki. "I had felt for her, in a lofty, abstract sort of way; and now I
<P 405>
find her so much in control of herself that she almost makes me uncomfort-
able. I must let everyone know that I have taken her in, and we shall watch
the pulses rise as Prince Hotaru and the rest come peeking through my
fences. We have seen composed and sedate countenances all around us,
and tha has been because we have not had the means for creating disturb-
ances. Now we shall improve our service and see who among them is the
most unsettled."
"What a very odd sort of father, thinking first how to lead them all
into temptation."
"If I had been sufficiently alive to these things," he said, "I might
have been similarly thoroughgoing in my management of your affairs.
I did not consider all the possibilities."
She flushed, as young and beautiful as ever.
He reached for an inkstone and jotted down a verse:
"With unabated longing I sought the other.
What lines have drawn me to the jeweled chaplet?
"It is all so very affecting," he added, as if to himself.
<P 406>
Yes, thought Murasaki, he would seem to have found a memento of
someone very important to him.
He told Yu~giri that he must be good to the girl.
"Not that I could have done very much," Yu~giri said to her solemnly,
"but I am the one you should have come to. I must apologize for not having
been present to receive you."
The situation was somewhat embarrassing to those who shared the
secret.
The house in Kyushu had seemed the ultimate in luxury and elegance,
but now she could see that it had been hopelessly provincial. Here every
detail was in the latest fashion, and every member of the family (she was
received as one of the family) was very prepossessing indeed. The woman
Sanjo~ was now able to put the assistant viceroy in his place, and as for the
hot-blooded person from Higo, the very thought of him repelled her.
Tamakazura and Ukon knew how much they owed the nurse's son, the
former vice-governor of Bungo. Genji chose Tamakazura's stewards with
the greatest care, for he wanted no laxness in the management of her
household. The nurse's son was among them. He would not in ordinary
circumstances have had entree to so grand a mansion, and the change after
all those years in the provinces was almost too sudden. Here he was among
the great ones, coming and going, morning and night. It was a singular
honor. Genji was almost too attentive to all the housekeeping details.
With the approach of the New Year he turned his attention to festive
dress and appurtenances, determined that nothing suggest less than the
highest rank. Though the girl had been a pleasant surprise thus far, he
made allowances for rustic tastes. He himself reviewed all the colors and
cuts upon which the finest craftsmen had concentrated their skills.
"Vast numbers of things," he said to Murasaki. "We must see that
they are divided so that no one has a right to feel slighted."
He had everything spread before him, the products of the offices and
of Murasaki's personal endeavors as well. Such sheens and hues as she had
wrought, displaying yet another of her talents! He would compare what
the fullers had done to this purple and that red, and distribute them among
chests and wardrobes, with women of experience to help him reach his
decisions.
Murasaki too was with him. "A very hard choice indeed. You must
always have the wearer in mind. The worst thing is when the clothes do
not suit the lady."
Genji smiled. "So it is a matter of cool calculation? And what might
my lady's choices be for herself?"
"My lady is not confident," she replied, shyly after all, "that the
mirror can give her an answer."
For Murasaki he selected a lavender robe with a clear, clean pattern
of rose-plum blossoms and a singlet of a fashionable lavender. For his
<P 407>
little daughter there was a white robe lined with red and a singlet beaten
to a fine glow. For the lady of the orange blossoms, a robe of azure with
a pattern of seashells beautifully woven in quiet colors, and a crimson
singlet, also fulled to a high sheen. For the new lady, a cloak of bright red
and a robe of russet lined with yellow. Though pretending not to be much
interested, Murasaki was wondering what sort of lady would go with these
last garments. She must resemble her father, a man of fine and striking
looks somewhat lacking in the gentler qualities. It was clear to Genji that
despite her composure she was uneasy.
"But it is not fair to compare them by their clothes," he said. "There
is a limit to what clothes can do, and the plainest lady has something of
her own."
He chose for the safflower princess a white robe lined with green and
decorated profusely with Chinese vignettes. He could not help smiling at
its vivacity. And there were garments too for the Akashi lady: a cloak of
Chinese white with birds and butterflies flitting among plum branches and
a robe of a rich, deep, glossy purple. Its proud elegance immediately caught
the eye--and seemed to Murasaki somewhat overdone. For the lady of the
locust shell, now a nun, he selected a most dignified habit of a deep
blue-gray, a yellow singlet of his own, and a lavender jacket. He sent
around messages that everyone was to be in full dress. He wanted to see
how well, following Murasaki's principle, he had matched apparel and
wearer.
All the ladies took great pains with their answers and with gifts for
the messengers. The safflower lady, left behind in the east lodge at Nijo~,
might have had certain feelings of deprivation, but she was not one to
neglect ceremony. She gave the messenger a yellow lady's robe rather
