darkness. You must forgive me."
Genji was with her when it was delivered. It showed deep feeling, he
said, and must be treated with respect. He ordered wine for the messenger.
Murasaki did not know how to reply. A long and elaborate letter
somehow did not seem appropriate. She finally made do with an im-
promptu poem:
"If your thoughts are upon the world you leave behind,
You should not make a point of cutting your ties."
She gave the messenger a set of women's robes.
So fine was her handwriting that it set the Suzaku emperor to worry-
ing anew. He should not have left his artless daughter in a house where
the other ladies were so subtle.
There were sad farewells now that the rime had come for his ladies
to go their several ways. Oborozukiyo moved into Kokiden's Nijo~ man-
sion. After the Third Princess she had been most on the Suzaku emperor's
mind. She thought of becoming a nun, but he dissuaded her, saying that
a great rush to holy orders would be unseemly. She devoted more and more
of her time to collecting holy images and otherwise preparing for the
religious vocation.
<P 560>
The disastrous conclusion to their affair had made it impossible for
Genji to forget her. He wanted very much to see her again. Their positions
were such, however, that they must always be on good behavior, and the
memory of the disaster was still vivid. He kept his wishes to himself. But
he did want very much to know something of her thoughts now that she
had cut the old entanglements. Though quite aware of the impropriety, he
wrote to her from time to time, pretending that his letters, in fact rather
warm, were routine inquiries after her health. Because they were no longer
young, she sometimes answered. He could tell that she was much im-
proved, and now he did want very much to see her. From time to time he
got off a sad petition to her woman Chu~nagon.
He summoned Chu~nagon's brother, the former governor of Izumi, and
addressed him as if they were young adventurers again. "There is some-
thing I want very much to speak to your sister's lady about, Something
confidential. You must arrange a secret interview. I no longer go off keep-
ing lighthearted rendezvous, and I am sure that she is as careful as I am,
and that we need not worry about being detected."
f But she answered sadly that she could not even consider receiving
him. As she had gown in her understanding of the world she had come
to see rather better that she had been badly treated. And what had they
to talk about now, save regret that the Suzaku emperor was leaving them?
Yes, a meeting might be kept secret--but what was she to tell her own
conscience?
She had welcomed his advances, however, back in the days when they
had presented far greater difficulties. Though her solicitude for the Suzaku
emperor, now off in his hermitage, was without doubt genuine, she could
hardly say that she and Genji had been nothing to each other. She might
now make a great thing of her chastity, but the telltale flock of birds, as
the poet said, would not come back. He summoned his courage and hoped
that he might rely for shelter on the grove of Shinoda.
"The Hitachi lady in the east lodge at Nijo~ has not been well," he said
to Murasaki. "I have been too busy to look in on her, and I have been
feeling guilty. It would not do to raise a great stir in the middle of the day.
I think a quiet evening visit is what is called for, something no one even
need know about."
She thought him improbably nervous about visiting a lady who had
never meant a great deal to him. But a certain reserve had grown up
between them and she let his explanation pass.
As for the Third Princess, he made do with an exchange of notes. He
<P 561>
spent the whole day scenting his robes. It was well after dark when he set
off with four or five close retainers. His carriage was a plain one covered
with woven palm fronds, putting one in mind of his youthful exploits. The
governor of Izumi had been sent ahead to announce his approach.
Oborozukiyo's women informed her in whispers, and she was aghast.
"What can the governor have told him?"
"You must receive him politely, my lady, and send him on his way.
You have no alternative."
Reluctantly, she had him shown in.
After inquiring about her health, he asked that intermediaries be
dispensed with. "I will not object if you keep curtains between us, and I
assure you that I am no longer the unthinking boy you once knew."
She sighed and came forward. So, in spite of everything, she was not
completely unapproachable--and they had known each other well enough
that a certain excitement communicated itself through the barred door
behind which she sat at the southeast corner of the west wing.
"Remember, please, that you have been in my thoughts for a sum of
years which I can reckon up very easily. Do not be so girlish."
It was very late. The call of a waterfowl and the answering call of its
mate were like reminders of the old affair. The house, once so crowded and
noisy, was almost deserted. He could not be accused of wishing to imitate
Heichu~ as he brushed away a tear. He spoke with a calm self-possession
of which he would not earlier have been capable, and yet he rattled
irritably at the door.
"So many years, and we meet at Meeting Barrier.
A barrier it remains, but not to my tears."
"Though tears may flow as the spring at Meeting Hill,
The road between us was long ago blocked off."
She knew that she was not being very friendly. Memories came back
and she asked herself who had been chiefly responsible for their misfor-
tunes. It was not wrong of him to want to see her. She had become more
aware of her own inadequacies as she had come to know more of the world.
In public life and in private the occasions for guilt and regret had been
numberless and had turned her more and more strongly in upon herself.
Now the old affair seemed suddenly very near, and she was not capable
of treating him coldly. She seemed as young and engaging as ever, and her
very great reticence gave her a charm as fresh as upon their first meeting.
He found it very difficult to leave her. Birds were already singing in an
unusually beautiful dawn. The cherry blossoms had fallen and new leaves
were a pale green through morning mists. He remembered a wisteria party
long ago, at just this time of the year. All the years since seemed to come
flooding back at once.
<P 562>
Chu~nagon saw him off. He turned back as he started to leave.
"How can wisteria be so beautiful? Just see what a magical color it is
--and I must leave it."
The morning sun was now pouring over the hills. He had always been
a dazzlingly handsome man, thought Chu~nagon, and the years had only
improved him. Why could he and her lady not have come together? Life
at court was difficult and constricting and her lady had not reached the
highest position. Kokiden had insisted on having things her own way, and
the scandal had served no purpose at all. Nothing had come of her lady's
love for Genji.
Many things had still been left unsaid, but he was not master of his
own movements. He feared prying eyes as the sun rose higher, and his
men, who had had his carriage brought up to a gallery, were coughing
politely but nervously. He had one of them break off a spray of wisteria.
"I have not forgotten the depths into which I plunged,
And now these waves of wisteria seek to engulf me."
Chu~nagon was very sorry for him, leaning against a balustrade in an
attitude of utter dejection. Though even more fearful than he of being
seen, Oborozukiyo felt constrained to answer.
"No waves at all of which to be so fearful.
My heart, unchastened, sends out waves to join them."
Genji regretted the harm his youthful heedlessness had done, and yet,
perhaps encouraged by evidences that her gate was not very closely
guarded, he took his leave only after she had promised to see him again.
Why, after all, should he deny his feelings? She had been important to
him, and the affair had been brief.
A very sleepy Genji returned to Rokujo~. It was not hard for Murasaki
to guess what had happened, but she gave no hint of her suspicions. Her
silence was more effective than the most violent tantrum, and made Genji
feel a little sorry for himself. Did she no longer care what he did? His
avowals of undying love were more fervent than ever, and he so rejected
the claims of secrecy, which he quite recognized, as to tell her a little of
what had happened the night before. There had been a very short inter-
view through screens, he said, and it had left him far from satisfied. He
hoped that another might be arranged, so tastefully and discreetly that no
one could reprove him for it.
A suggestion of a smile came to her lips. "Such a marvel of rejuvena-
tion." But her voice trembled as she went on: "An ancient affair is superim-
posed on a new one, and I am caught beneath."
She was never lovelier than when on the verge of tears.
"Sulking is the one thing I cannot bear. Pinch me and beat me and
pour out all your anger, but do not sulk. It is not what I trained you for."
And presently, it would seem, the whole story came forth.
<P 563>
He was in no hurry to visit the Third Princess. She did not seem to
care a great deal whether he came or not, but her women were unhappy.
If she had made trouble he would probably have been more worried about
her than about Murasaki; but as it was she worried him no more than a
pretty, harmless toy.
Genji's daughter, the crown princess, had not yet been permitted to
come home from court. Young and pampered, she needed a rest, and as the
warm weather came she began feeling unwell and thought it unkind of the
crown prince not to let her go. Her condition was for the crown prince a
most interesting and indeed exciting one. She was still very young, rather
too young, people thought, to have children. Finally her request was
granted and she came home to Rokujo~.
She was given rooms on the east side of the main southeast hall, where
the Third Princess was also living. Her mother, now blissfully happy, was
with her.
Murasaki was to come calling. "Perhaps we might open the doors to
the princess's rooms," she suggested to Genji, "and I can introduce myself.
<P 564>
I have been looking for an occasion. I do want to be friendly, and I think
it might please her."
Genji smiled. "Nothing could please me more. You will find her a mere
child. Perhaps you can make us all happy by being her teacher."
As she sat before her minor she was less worried about the princess
than about the Akashi lady. She washed her hair and brushed it carefully
and took very great pains with her dress. Genji thought her incomparably
lovely.
He went to the princess's rooms. "The lady in the east wing will be
going to see the lady who has just come from court, and she has said that
she thinks it a good opportunity for the two of you to become friends. I
hope you will see her. She is a very good lady, and so young that you
"I'm sure I will be very tongue-tied. Tell me what to say."
"You will think of things. Just let the conversation take its course. You
needn't feel shy."
He wanted the two of them to like each other. He was embarrassed
that the princess should be so immature for her years, but very pleased that
Murasaki had suggested a meeting.
And so she was being received in audience, thought Murasaki--but
was she really so much the princess's inferior? Genji had come upon her
in unfortunate circumstances, and that was the main difference between
them. Calligraphy was her great comfort when she was in low spirits. She
would take up a brush and jot down old poems as they came to her, and
the unhappiness in them would speak to her very directly.
Back from seeing the other two ladies, his daughter and his new wife
Genji was filled with wonder at this more familiar lady. They had been
together for so many years, and here she was delighting him anew. She
managed with no loss of dignity--and it was a noble sort of dignity--to
be bright and humorous. He counted over the several aspects of beauty and
found them here gathered together; and she was at her loveliest. But then
she always seemed her loveliest, more beautiful each year than the year
before, today than yesterday. It was her power of constant renewal that
most filled him with wonder.
She slipped her jottings under an inkstone. He took them up. The
writing was not perhaps her very best, but it had great charm and subtlety.
"I detect a change in the green upon the hills.
Is autumn coming to them? Is it coming to me?"
He wrote beside it, as if he too were at writing practice:
"No change do we see in the white of the waterfowl.
Not so constant the lower leaves of the _hagi_."
She might write of her unhappiness, but she did not let it show. He
thought her splendid.
<P 565>
Free this evening of obligations at Rokujo~, he decided to hazard
another secret visit to Nijo~. Self-loathing was not enough to overcome
temptation.
To the crown princess, Murasaki was more like a mother than her real
mother. Murasaki thought her even prettier than when they had last met.
They talked with all the old ease and intimacy.
Murasaki then went to see the Third Princess. Yes indeed--still very
much a child. Murasaki addressed her in a motherly fashion and reminded
her what close relatives they were.
She turned to the princess's nurse, Chu~nagon. "It will seem imperti-
