upon him as more than this inferior day of ours has any right to expect,
and I know perhaps better than anyone how unlikely he is to refuse Your
Majesty's smallest request. There is no cause for concern, none at all. Yet
it is as Your Majesty has said: there is a limit to what even he can do. When
his day comes he may be able to manage public affairs quite as he wishes,
but there is no assurance that he can arrange things ideally for his own
sisters. Yes, the safest thing by far would be to find someone whom the
Third Princess can depend upon in everything. Let the vows be exchanged
and the man charged with responsibilities he cannot deny. If Your Majesty
will insist upon worrying about the whole of the vast, distant future, then
a decision must be made and a suitable guardian chosen, promptly but
quietly."
"I quite agree. But it is by no means easy. Many princesses have been
provided with suitable husbands while their fathers have still occupied the
throne. The matter is more urgent for my own poor girl, and her affairs are
the last which I still think of as my own. Promptly and quietly, you say
--but they remain beyond my power either to ignore or to dispose of. And
<P 549>
as I have worried my health has deteriorated, and days and weeks which
will not return have gone by to no purpose.
" It is not easy for me to make the request, and no easier for you, I am
sure, to be the object--but might I ask that you take the girl in your very
special charge and, quite as you think appropriate, find a husband for her?
I should have made a proposal to your son while he was still single, and
it is a great source of regret that I was anticipated by the chancellor. "
"He is a serious, dependable lad, but he is still very young and inex-
perienced. It may seem presumptuous of me--but let us suppose that I
were myself to take responsibility. Her life need not be much different
from what it is now, though there is the disquieting consideration that I
am no longer young, and the time may come when I can no longer be of
service to her."
And so the contract was made.
In the evening there was a banquet, for Genji's party and the Suzaku
household. The priest's fare was unpretentious but beautifully prepared
and served. The tableware and the trays of light aloeswood also suggested
the priestly vocation and brought tears to the eyes of the guests. The
melancholy and moving details were innumerable, but I fear that they
would clutter my story.
It was late in the night when Genji and his men departed, the men
bearing lavish gifts. The Fujiwara councillor was among those who saw
them off. There had been a fall of snow and the Suzaku emperor had
caught cold. But he was happy. The future of the Third Princess seemed
secure.
Genji was worried. Murasaki had heard vague rumors, but she had
told herself that it could not be. Genji had once been very serious about
the high priestess of Ise, it seemed, but in the end he had held himself back.
She had not worried a great deal, and asked no questions.
How would she take this news? Genji knew that his feelings towards
her would not change, or if they did it would be in the direction of greater
intensity. But only time could. assure her of that fact, and there would be
cruel uncertainty in the meantime. Nothing had been allowed to come
between them in recent years, and the thought of having a secret from her
for even a short time made him very unhappy.
He said nothing to her that night.
The next day was dark, with flurries of snow.
"I went yesterday to call on the Suzaku emperor. He is in very poor
health indeed." It was in the course of a leisurely conversation that Genji
brought the matter up. "He said many sad things, but what seems to
trouble him most as he goes off to his retreat is the future of the Third
Princess." And he described that part of the interview. "I was really so
extremely sorry for him that I found it impossible to refuse. I suppose
people will make a great thing of it. The thought of taking a bride at my
age has seemed so utterly preposterous that I have tried through this and
<P 550>
that intermediary to suggest a certain want of ardor. But to see him in
person and have it directly from him--I simply could not bring myself to
refuse. Do you think that when the time does finally come for him to go
off into the mountains we might have her come here? Would that upset
you terribly? Please do not let it. Trust me, and tell yourself what is the
complete truth, that nothing is going to change. She has more right to feel
insecure than you do. But I am sure that we can arrange things happily
enough for her too."
She was always torturing herself over the smallest of his affairs, and
he had dreaded telling her of this one.
But her reply was quiet and unassertive. "Yes, it is sad for her. The
only thing that worries me is the possibility that she might feel less than
completely at home. I shall be very happy if our being so closely related
persuades her that I am no stranger."
"How silly that this very willingness to accept things should bother
me. But it does. It makes me start looking for complications, and I am sure
I will feel guiltier as the two of you get used to each other. You must pay
no attention to what people say. Rumors are strange things. It is impossible
to know where they come from, but there they are, like living creatures
bent on poisoning relations between a man and a woman. You must listen
only to yourself and let matters take their course. Do not start imagining
things, and do not torture yourself with empty jealousies."
It was a tempest out of the blue which there was no escaping.
Murasaki was determined that she would not complain or give any hint
of resentment. She knew that neither her wishes nor her advice would
have made any difference. She did not want the world to think that she
had been crushed by what had to come. There was her sharp-tongued
stepmother, so quick to blame and to gloat--she had even held Murasaki
responsible for the curious solution to the Tamakazura problem. She was
certain to gloat over this, and to say that Murasaki deserved exactly what
had come to her. Though very much in control of herself, Murasaki was
prey to these worries. The very durability of her relations with Genji was
sure to make people laugh harder. But she gave no hint of her unhappiness.
The New Year came, and at the Suzaku Palace the Third Princess's
wedding plans kept people busy. Her several suitors were deeply disap-
pointed. The emperor, who had let it be known that he would welcome
her at court, was among them.
It was Genji's fortieth year, to which the court could not be indiffer-
ent and which had long promised to send gladness ringing through the
land. With his dislike for pomp and ceremony, Genji only hoped that the
rejoicing would not be too loud.
The Day of the Rat fell on the twenty-third of the First Month.
<P 551>
Tamakazura came with the new herbs that promise long life. She came
very quietly, not letting anyone know of her intentions. Faced with an
accomplished fact, Genji could hardly turn her and her gifts away. She too
disliked ceremony, but the movements of so important a lady were cer-
tain to be noticed.
A west room of the main southeast hall was made ready to receive her.
New curtains were hung and new screens set out, as were forty cushions,
more comfortable and less ostentatious, thought Genji, than ceremonial
chairs. In spite of the informality, the details were magnificent. Wardrobes
were laid out upon four cupboards inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and there
was a fine though modest array of summer and winter robes, incense jars,
medicine and comb boxes, inkstones, vanity sets, and other festive para-
phernalia. The stands for the ritual chaplets were of aloeswood and
sandalwood, beautifully carved and fitted in the modern manner, with
metal trimmings in several colors. Tamakazura's touch was apparent
everywhere. She was a lady of refinement and sensibility, and when she
exerted herself the results were certain to be memorable--though she
agreed with Genji that lavish display was in poor taste.
The party assembled and Genji and Tamakazura exchanged greetings,
formal but replete with memories. Genji seemed so youthful that one
wondered whether he might not have miscalculated his age. He looked
more like her bridegroom than her foster father. She was shy at first, not
having seen him in a very long time, but determined not to raise unneces-
sary barriers. She had brought her two sons with her, very pretty boys
indeed. It rather embarrassed her to have had two sons in such quick
succession, but Higekuro, her husband, had said that they must be intro-
duced to Genji, and that there was not likely to be a better occasion. They
were in identical dress, casual and boyish, and they still wore their hair in
the page-boy fashion, parted in the middle.
"I try not to worry about my age," said Genji, "and to pretend that
I am still a boy, and it gives me pause to be presented with the new
generation. Yu~giri has children, I am told, but he makes a great thing of
not letting me see them. This day which you were the first to remember
does after all bring regrets. I had hoped to forget my age for a little while
yet."
Tamakazura was very much the matron, in an entirely pleasant way.
Her congratulatory poem was most matronly:
"I come to pray that the rock may long endure
And I bring with me the seedling pines from the field."
Genji went through the ceremony of sampling the new herbs, which
were arranged in four aloeswood boxes. He raised his cup.
<P 552>
"Long shall be the life of the seedling pines--
To add to the years of the herbs brought in from the fields?"
There was a large assembly of high officials in the south room. Prince
Hyo~bu had been of two minds about coming. He finally decided, at about
noon, that to stay away would be to attract attention to his daughter's
misfortunes. Yes, of course it was annoying that Higekuro should be
making such a show of his close relations with Genji, but his other chil-
dren, Prince Hyo~bu's grandchildren, were doubly close to Genji, through
their mother and through their stepmother, and had been assigned a con-
spicuous part in the celebrations.
There were forty baskets of fruit and forty boxes of food, presented
by as many courtiers, with Yu~giri leading the procession. Genji poured
wine for his guests and sampled a broth from the new herbs. Before him
were four aloeswood stands, laid out with the finest tableware in the
newest fashion.
Out of respect for the ailing Suzaku emperor, no musicians had been
summoned from the palace. To~ no Chu~jo~ had brought wind instruments,
taking care from far in advance to choose only the best. "There is not likely
to be another banquet so splendid," he said.
<P 553>
It was an easy, informal concert. To~ no Chu~jo~ had also brought the
Japanese koto that was among his most prized treasures. He was one of the
finest musicians of the day, and when he put himself out no one was his
equal--certainly no one was eager to take up the japanese koto when he
had finished. At Genji's insistence Kashiwagi did finally venture a strain,
and everyone agreed that he was very little if at all his father's inferior.
There was something almost weirdly beautiful about his playing, to make
people exclaim in wonder that though of course talent could be inherited
no one would have expected so original a style to be handed from father
to son. There is perhaps nothing so very mysterious about the secret
Chinese repertory, for all its variety. The scores may be secret but they are
fixed and not hard to read. It is rather the Japanese koto, the improvising
after the dictates of one's fancy, all the while deferring to the requirements
of other instruments, that fills the listener with wonder. His koto tuned
very low, To~ no Chu~jo~ managed an astonishingly rich array of overtones.
Kashiwagi chose a higher, more approachable tuning. Not informed in
advance that he had such talents, the audience, princes and all, was mute
with admiration.
Genji's brother, Prince Hotaru, chose a seven-stringed Chinese koto,
a palace treasure rich in associations, having been handed down from
emperor to emperor. In his last years Genji's father had given it to his eldest
daughter, who numbered it among her dearest treasures. To~ no Chu~jo~ had
asked for it especially to honor the occasion. Prince Hotaru, who had drunk
rather freely and was in tears, glanced tentatively at Genji and pushed the
koto towards him. All this gaiety seemed to demand novel music, and
though both Tamakazura and Genji had wished to avoid ostentation it was
in the end a most remarkable concert. The singers, gathered at the south
stairway, were all in fine voice. They presently shifted to a minor key, to
announce that the hour was late and the music should be more familiar
and intimate. "Green Willow" was enough to make the warblers start
from their roosts. Since the affair was deemed exempt from public sumptu-
ary regulations, the gifts were of astonishing richness and variety, for
Tamakazura and for all the other guests. She made ready to leave at dawn.
"I live quite apart from the world," said Genji, "and I find myself
losing track of time. Your very courteous reminder is also a melancholy
one. Do stop by occasionally to see how I have aged. It is a great pity that
an elder statesman cannot move about as he would wish, and so I do not
see you often."
Yes, the associations were both melancholy and happy. He thought
it a pity that she must leave so soon, nor did she want to go. She honored
her real father in a formal and perfunctory way, but it was to Genji that
she owed the larger debt. He had taken her in and made a place for her,
