The Royal Visit

Genji’s mind was still occupied with the question of Tamakatsura’s future. He was, as he put it to himself, exploring various possibilities—honestly endeavoring to discover a plan that would ensure her happiness. But meanwhile the girl’s reputation had, true to Murasaki’s prediction, already begun to suffer. The fact that rumors connecting Genji’s name with hers were now generally current made his situation with regard to her true father more than ever embarrassing. Where other people’s conduct was concerned To no Chujo’s standards were singularly exacting. The moment he heard that the subject of all this gossip was his own daughter Chujo’s moral indignation would know no bounds, and he would certainly not consider it any part of his duty to save Genji’s face or lighten the consequences of his equivocal behavior. Was it, Genji now began to ask himself, of any advantage either to the girl or her father that their relationship should be disclosed? Far better, surely, to find her a suitable husband as soon as possible, or best of all, induce the Emperor to admit her into the Palace.

This year the Emperor was to take part in the Oharano Festival.* People came from all over the country to witness the ceremony, and the sightseers included several parties from the New Palace.^† The procession left the Suzaku gate at the hour of the Hare,^‡ turning to the right when it reached the Great Highway of the Fifth Ward. All through the town, and beyond it as far as the Katsura river, the road was thickly lined by coaches. The procession was, strictly speaking, an Imperial Progress; but on this occasion the Palanquin was followed by most of the younger princes and noblemen, on horses sumptuously saddled and equipped. Their retainers, also on horseback, were all men of fine stature and appearance, clad in magnificent costumes, so that the general effect was one of extraordinary splendor. All the great Ministers of State were there, from the Ministers of the Right and Left, the Palace Minister and Chancellors downwards. Even the lower officers, including those of the Sixth Rank, were as a special privilege allowed to wear the dove-grey cloak and wine-red tunic. There had been a slight fall of snow, but during the time of the procession the weather was perfect. Such of the courtiers as had been taking part in the recent hunting expeditions were still in their strange falconers’ costumes. They were attended by the hawk-trainers drawn from the falconries of the Six Bodyguards. These men, in their rather wild-looking, patterned dresses, quite unfamiliar to most residents of the Capital, attracted a great deal of attention. Though there was much in the proceedings that lay outside the scope of what young ladies are supposed to understand, the mere interest and beauty of the sight brought them to the scene in their thousands, and it was touching to observe how many crazy, tottering conveyances just managed to creak and lumber to the spot in time to see the procession pass. The most fashionable viewpoint was just before the Bridge of Boats. Here the really smart equipages were seen in greatest abundance; among them, that of Lady Tamakatsura. It was of course towards the open window of the Emperor’s Palanquin that she at once turned a fascinated gaze. Clad in a bright scarlet cloak, he sat motionless, not for an instant turning his young face to right or left. Never in her life had she seen so many handsome faces and fine clothes; but the Emperor could hold his own. She could not help casting a secret glance towards her father as he rode by with the other Ministers. He was a finely built man, and wore an air of vigor and enterprise that marked him out from among all the other commoners in the train. But it was not for long that she diverted her gaze from the scarlet-robed figure in the Palanquin. As for such or such a young prince whose conversation or appearance she had heard praised, this or that chamberlain or courtier who had plied her with love letters— though her friends kept pointing them out, she did not pay the slightest attention, but continued to gaze at the figure in the red cloak, who was not only her Sovereign, but also the handsomest young man in all the throng. In cast of countenance he was, she thought, extraordinarily like Prince Genji, though the august position which he held had given to these same features a sternness, an imperturbable dignity very different from the habitual expression of her guardian’s face.

By the lesser figures in the procession she was, she must needs confess, very much disappointed. Used to Genji and Yugiri, she had fallen into the habit of supposing that beauty was the common property of all wellborn gentlemen; and it was with some consternation that she today encountered such chins and noses as she could scarcely believe to be varieties of the organs with which she was familiar. She recognized Prince Hyobukyo;* and also her own suitor Prince Higekuro, who, though not usually very particular about his appearance, was today quite smart in his guardsman’s dress, with a stylish Persian quiver across his shoulders. He was dark-skinned and very hairy. This disgusted her, though she knew that men cannot be expected to have faces as smooth and complexions as delicately graded as those of a lady fresh from her toilet-table. No doubt she was unreasonable; but she could not help it. Argue with herself as she might, the appearance of such people as Prince Higekuro distressed her. Her thoughts went back to the Emperor. Genji had spoken lately about the possibility of her being summoned to the Palace. She did not want to become the Emperor’s concubine. That kind of thing did not appeal to her; moreover she did not think herself sufficiently presentable, and could not imagine that she would ever stand a chance of being chosen for such a purpose. But to be attached to the Palace in some general capacity, and if not actually to enjoy the Emperor’s friendship, at any rate often to see him in a far less fleeting manner than she had done today—such a notion pleased her, and henceforward her mind frequently dwelt upon it.

At last the procession arrived at Oharano, the Palanquin halted, and a great banquet was served in the Imperial Tent. While such of the guests as had arrived in Court dress were changing into their cloaks and hunting-jackets, a great hamper of wine and fruit arrived as a present from the New Palace. The Emperor had expressed a wish that Genji should be present at today’s proceedings; but he had excused himself, saying the day fixed for the ceremony clashed with a religious observance* which it was impossible for him to neglect. His Majesty, upon the receipt of Genji’s hamper, sent a lieutenant of the Guard back to the New Palace with a return present of game—a dozen or so partridges strung to the bough of a tree. With it was a prose message of the usual kind, which I will not here reproduce, for the pronouncements of Royalty on such occasions are not necessarily of great interest. The Imperial Poem was as follows: “The tracks these woodland birds imprinted on the snowy hill would guide you safely on the path that Precedent decrees.” By this he meant that the Grand Minister had never before been absent on the occasion of the Royal Visit.

Genji entertained the messenger with suitable respect, and finally sent him back with the poem: “So thick this morning’s snow that, where I seek my way, no ancient track remains upon the wind-drifts of the desolate hill.”^† I have, as a matter of fact, heard a good deal more of what took place on this occasion; but there are still several gaps that I have not been able to fill in, and I shall therefore at present say nothing further about it.

Next day Genji wrote a note to Tamakatsura in which he said: “How did you get on yesterday? Were you able to see the procession properly? I am sure that, if you were, you now take a very different view about my recent proposal….” She was at first amused by the notion that a fleeting, glimpse through the window of a palanquin could have altered her decision about serving at the Palace. But after a moment’s reflection she realized that this was precisely what had happened. How clever he always was at guessing what went on in other people’s heads!

In reply she sent the poem: “How think you I could have seen the Light of Heaven when snow-clouds dimmed the morning with their sullen breath?”* Genji showed the letter to Murasaki, and explained the situation. “I have been suggesting that she should apply for a post at the Palace,” he said. “But I am not sure that I could get her accepted. You see, it was from my house that Lady Akikonomu entered the Imperial service, and it might be thought that I was asking too much in trying to establish a second ward of mine in a high position at the Palace. Nothing would be gained if I restored her to her father; for he too has already supplied His Majesty with a consort.^† It is all very difficult and confusing.... The Emperor is extremely attractive. Now that she has seen him, were she only a few years younger and somewhat less diffident about her own powers to please, she would not, I am sure, rest content till she secured a footing in his household….” “How horrible you think everyone is,” Murasaki answered, laughing. “Even if she admired the Emperor (and there is no reason to suppose that she did), a girl such as she would never dream of putting herself forward... We women are really far less immodest than you suppose.” “Possibly,” replied Genji. “But on the other hand the Emperor is far handsomer than you suppose, as you will admit when you have seen him.”

Another difficulty was now beginning to present itself. So long as she continued to live quietly in the New Palace the question of Tamakatsura’s clan-rights was not likely to be raised. She would pass as a member of the Minamoto, Genji’s own clan, and be admitted without further scrutiny to the worship of his family gods. But supposing he succeeded in getting her into the Palace or in finding her a husband, it would then be necessary to come into the open about which clan she belonged to. He would, of course, if he intended to pass her off as his own child, have to pretend that she was a Minamoto. If this only meant depriving the Kasuga Deity^‡ of a worshipper, it would not be of much consequence. But there was always the risk that the true facts might one day come to light, and then his own conduct towards those who had accepted her at his hands would appear so discreditable that he would never be able to face them again.

He knew of course that ordinary upper-class people changed over from one clan to another without the slightest compunction; it was, indeed, rather a fashionable thing to do so...

No, it was no use arguing in this way. Such adoptions did not alter the facts of the case. Tamakatsura was not his child, but To no Chujo’s. Sooner or later her father would become aware of this, and that being so it was far better that he should learn the truth from Genji’s own lips He accordingly wrote to To no Chujo, and without giving any explanation asked him to be sponsor* for the girl at the long-deferred ceremony of her Initiation, which was fixed for the second month of the new year.

The old Princess, To no Chujo’s mother, had been very unwell all the winter, and though custom demanded that, if To no Chujo were sponsor, the ceremony should take place in her house, Genji feared that this would be putting her to too much inconvenience. He noticed that Yugiri, who was constantly with her, looked more and more care-worn every day. This was a bad sign; probably the old lady would not last out many weeks more. But if she died before his intended conversation with To no Chujo had taken place, Tamakatsura would not be able to wear mourning for her, and would thus, through no fault of her own, be guilty of a serious offence. Accordingly he set out for the Third Ward, calling first at the old Princess’s apartments. He was obliged to act with great secrecy, for he had pleaded only yesterday that a religious obligation confined him to his rooms. But lest she should be disappointed, he robed himself for the visit quite as magnificently as he would have done for the recent procession. Her joy at the sight of this dazzling spectacle knew no bounds. Ill though she was, she immediately cast away all her troubles, dragged herself from her couch and received him, propped up on an easy chair.

She was evidently very much enfeebled; but she was perfectly well able to carry on a conversation. “I always know how things are going here by watching Yugiri,” Genji said to her. “Lately he has been very absentminded and depressed, and sometimes I have heard him sighing heavily when he was by himself. I knew this meant that he was worrying about you, and I felt I must come and enquire on my own account. Nowadays I do not even visit at the Palace except on very special occasions. I still hold the position of Grand Minister; but you would not find a single business document on my table. I live shut away in my own house, and am quite out of touch with everything that goes on in the outside world. You probably think it very reprehensible of me to withdraw from all public responsibilities at so early an age; and I know that you could quote to me cases, both ancient and modern, of indomitable old men who have gone on tottering to their government offices every day of their lives till their backs were bent double. If I do not manage to supply the world with so edifying a spectacle, it is partly because I feel myself wholly lacking in capacity for such matters, partly because I am by nature in curably indolent...” “You’re only making excuses because it’s a very long time since you have been to see me,” she answered. “Well, I haven’t been getting on so badly. Till this year I had nothing to complain of, except the usual inconveniences of old age. But now they have not much hope for me. I have been wondering lately whether I should ever see you again. As a matter of fact, I am better than usual today, and do not feel at all as though my time were up. I have never thought there was much to be said in favor of dragging on long after all one’s friends were dead, and for my part I was ready and anxious to be gone. If I have hung on till now, it has really been chiefly because of Yugiri’s extraordinary kindness and devotion. I can see that the idea of losing me upsets him terribly...” She cried a good deal while she spoke, and her voice was so tremulous that he found it hard to catch her words; but the emotion which lay behind her quavering and often incoherent phrases was always such as he could most easily comprehend and share. In the course of this conversation Genji said: “I suppose To no Chujo comes to see you several times a day? I should be glad to have a word with him, if he looks in while I am here. There is something I have been wanting to tell him about for a long time. I should be sorry to miss this opportunity; for nowadays we seem very seldom to meet.” “I don’t know how it is,” the old Princess replied; “it may be that he is very busy, or it may be that he simply does not want to come. I can only tell you that he has not been here once since my illness began. I wonder what sort of thing it is you want to discuss with him? I wish he were not so set against poor Yugiri. I have said to him ever so many times: ‘It’s no good arguing about how it all began. The harm is done now; they’ve got themselves talked about, and if you go on keeping them apart, you will only turn everyone against you.’ But once he gets an idea into his head there is no doing anything with him. He was always the same...” Genji smiled at her assumption that whatever was to be said must necessarily concern her darling Yugiri. “I am afraid I was partly to blame,” he said. “I was led to suppose that To no Chujo did not regard the affair as worth his interference, and took the same line myself. Afterwards, when I discovered how angry he was, I wished I had not meddled in the matter at all.

“However, that is not what I want to talk to him about now... Some while ago I happened quite by chance to discover the whereabouts of a person in whose fate I imagine him to be deeply interested. I ought of course to have spoken to him at once; but there were reasons that made me very reluctant to go into the whole matter. A home had to be found for her immediately, and having a very small family myself, I took her into the New Palace, never intending this to be more than a temporary measure...I was seeing very little of To no Chujo at this time, and month after month went by without my having a chance to discuss the matter with him, as I fully intended to do as soon as an opportunity arose...

“It now appears that the Emperor is looking for a Lady-of-the-Wardrobe. The position has been allowed to remain vacant far too long, the work being entrusted to mere housekeepers and lower servants, with the result that everything is in a state of hopeless confusion. In old days there seemed to be no difficulty in filling the post. All that is required is a lady free from domestic ties, who is also of good birth and tolerable character. But now, quite apart from birth and breeding, it seems impossible to produce anyone who even as regards previous conduct and experience is in any way qualified for the position. Having seen several applicants who came with the highest recommendations, the Emperor decided that he must look for someone of quite a different class.

“I at once thought of Lady Tamakatsura, the girl whom I have taken into my house. So far as I can make out, she is just the sort of person His Majesty is looking for. Service at the Palace has, I know, usually been regarded solely as an avenue to Imperial notice and favor, with the result that the work of such offices as the Wardrobe has been treated as something to scramble through with as little effort as possible. But it is not intended that this shall continue, and Lady Tamakatsura seems to me just the right person to put things upon a more sensible footing.

“However, I can do nothing till I have seen her father and talked the matter over with him. I have already asked him to stand sponsor at her Initiation, and now that you are feeling stronger I hope that the ceremony will soon be able to take place at your house.” “If I understand you rightly,” said the old lady, “this is some child of To no Chujo’s. Your story very much surprises me. He was rather wild in his younger days, but he never failed to make provision for his children, and, indeed, he has in his time collected some very queer waifs and strays who succeeded in convincing him he was their father. I think it is most unaccountable that, if this girl is really his daughter, he should have completely lost touch with her and allowed you to pass her off as your child. What strange things you are telling me! But now I come to think of it, there was some story that I heard years ago...”

“It may sound to you very improbable,” he replied, “but all that I have told you is true so far as it goes. I shall necessarily be telling To no Chujo a good deal more about it, and you can get the details from him. It is a long and rather sordid story, and you would soon wish I had not begun it. Even Yugiri still knows nothing, and believes that the girl is my daughter. You will not of course allow the matter to go any further.” So he cautioned her. Meanwhile To no Chujo heard that Prince Genji was at his mother’s house. “Of course my mother will be delighted,” said he, “but I wish he had let us know that he was coming. Only Yugiri is with her... It is most unfortunate. There will be no one to receive him or see to it that his escort is properly entertained.” Much agitated, To no Chujo began routing out such of his own sons and of Genji’s particular acquaintance as could be procured at such short notice, and sent them round post-haste to the old lady’s apartments, begging them to make sure that the distinguished guest was not being shamefully neglected. “The wine!” he called after them. “Be sure that he is offered wine and a little fruit. I would come with you myself, were I not afraid of giving trouble...”

Just then a note from his mother was handed him. “Genji is here,” she said. “Of course I was delighted to see him. But I knew well enough that he had not come merely to chatter with me. It now appears that he counted on finding you here. There is something he wants to discuss with you.” It was quite clear what had happened. The Princess, thinking that her end was near, had again been beseeching Genji to champion Yugiri’s cause. “He himself,” thought To no Chujo, “is probably tired of seeing the boy moping about day after day with the same lovelorn expression. He no doubt imagines that a word from him, preceded by a little judicious flattery, will suffice to alter all my views. If more is required, there is always the plea that, in her present condition, my mother must at all costs be allowed to have her way. At this moment, I suppose, they are putting their heads together and deciding how to propitiate me...under the circumstances it will be very difficult not to give way; and yet I don’t at all see why I should!” So he wavered, feeling very much irritated by the whole affair, and extremely disinclined to obey the summons. But he valued civility very highly, and he could not without great rudeness refuse his mother’s invitation just on the one occasion when Genji was in the house. It would be better not to put himself in the wrong... It was evident, indeed, that he had decided to go; for he began dressing in his finest clothes, and soon afterwards he set out, with only a handful of outriders, but accompanied by all the gentlemen of his household. The party was an imposing one as it swept along, dominated by the resplendent figure of To no Chujo himself, who was noticeably taller than the rest and broad chested to match, fulfilling in dignity of mien and gait all that the popular imagination expects of a great political leader. He was magnificently dressed in long trousers of wine-red silk and a lined cloak, white outside and red within, with a very long and sumptuous train. His costume contrasted in the strangest manner with that of Genji, who had changed into a plain cloak of Chinese silk thrown about him with just that touch of negligence which is proper to a great lord on a small occasion. But the contrast, which would have put anyone else at a disadvantage, only served to show that Genji at his very shabbiest could hold his own against the most grandiose display of trains and trappings.

The friendship of To no Chujo’s sons with Yugiri made it natural that they should accompany their father on this visit. It happened that Chujo’s two younger brothers, sons of a different mother, holding now the positions of Tutor to the Crown Prince and Representative of the Fujiwara Family on the Grand Council, were also at hand; and though no particular meeting of the Government had been called, circumstances had obliged some ten or twelve of the great officers of State (the Chief Treasurer, the Treasurer of the Fifth Rank, the Colonel of the Bodyguard and others) to foregather in To no Chujo’s house that morning. They too, with a number of squires and commoners, joined the throng, and it was an impressive concourse of courtiers and gentlemen that was now entertained in the old Princess’s Reception Hall. The great tankard went round again and again, everyone became very much elated, and scenes took place which (as was generally observed) far exceeded in brilliance and gaiety what is usually witnessed in an antiquated dowager’s apartments. Genji and To no Chujo were soon engaged in an animated conversation. When they were apart it seemed to each that an exasperating accumulation of small grievances was all that now remained of their ancient alliance. But from the first moment of this unpremeditated and almost accidental meeting all consciousness of these recent jars and irritations utterly vanished. No sooner were they seated side by side than a host of common memories crowded to the mind of each. What miseries they had suffered together, what delights they had enjoyed! It seemed impossible that such trivial incidents as those of the last few months could have sufficed to raise a barrier between them. But so it had been; and for that very reason there was more to talk about now than there could possibly else have been. Enquiries, recollections, allusions followed hard upon one another, and when dusk fell the two friends had still not come to a pause in their conversation. At last To no Chujo remembered that the guest must be in need of refreshment, and handing him the tankard he said: “It has for a long while past distressed me very much to see so little of you; and I felt that it would indeed mark a disastrous climax in our estrangement if you should come today without my being here to receive you. I imagined that, had you not expressly desired to avoid me, you would certainly have told me of your intended visit. Fortunately, however, I decided that to come unwanted would endanger our friendship less than to stay away when I knew that you were honoring my mother’s house...” “If anyone has been endangering our good relations, it is I answered Genji. “Did you but know it, I stand in need of all the charity and forbearance that you can muster.”*

To no Chujo was puzzled by this; but he naturally assumed that it referred to the trouble concerning Kumoi and Yugiri, and certain that something very disagreeable was coming, he waited for Genji to continue. “In old days it was very seldom that we differed about any matter of importance, whether it concerned our own lives or the affairs of the country, and for this reason I felt perfectly confident in handing over to you the direction of the Government. It seemed as little likely that our views would clash as that a bird’s two wings should start flying in different directions. If lately I may seem to you sometimes to have acted in a way at variance with this old concord, you cannot claim that it has been in matters of any wide or general importance. But that is not enough; as I grow older I feel all the more anxious that not even these small domestic difficulties should continue to mar our friendship or in any way alter it from what it was in earlier days. You seemed to avoid me; but I knew from experience that the duties I myself had thrust upon you leave little time for friendship, and had I been merely an acquaintance I should not have been surprised at your becoming somewhat difficult of access. But despite all that had arisen between us our relationship was merely of a somewhat different kind...”

To no Chujo had not the least idea what all this was going to lead up to. “Certainly we were very intimate at one time,” he answered. “It is possible that I presumed too much upon our friendship—ignored too completely the great distance that separated us. You have compared us to the two wings of a bird. Such was never our position. You were always far above me, and if I have risen from insignificance to high rank and office I know quite well that it is entirely your doing. Perhaps I ought more frequently to have acknowledged this obligation, but as one grows older one tends more and more to take things for granted...” To no Chujo, who had arrived in such ill humor, was now speaking almost apologetically. It was at this point that Genji ventured upon an allusion to the rainy night’s conversation,^† then to Yugao, and last to To no Chujo’s little daughter, Tamakatsura. “I have news concerning her which will very much surprise you,” Genji said at last, and, without going into the whole story, broke to To no Chujo the news that Yugao was long ago dead, and that Tamakatsura had for some while been living with him.

Tears sprang to Chujo’s eyes. “I think that at the time when I first lost sight of her,” he said at last, “I told you and some of my other friends about my endeavors to trace Yugao and her child. It would have been better not to speak of the matter, but I was so wretched that I could not contain myself. However, the search brought no result, and at last I gave up all hope. It was only recently, when my accession to high office induced all kinds of odd and undesirable creatures in every quarter to claim relationship with me, that I began to think once more about this true child of mine. How much more gladly would I have acknowledged and welcomed Yugao’s daughter than the band of discreditable and unconvincing claimants who henceforward thronged my gates! But now that I know she is in good hands...” Gradually the conversation drifted back to that rainy night and to the theories which each of them had then put forward. Had life refuted or confirmed them? And so, between tears and laughter, the talk went on, with not a shade of reproach or coolness on either side, till morning was almost come. “I have no desire to go away,” said Genji, rising at last. “The things of which we have been speaking happened so long ago that they are already ancient history, and I thought that they no longer much concerned me. But this meeting of ours tonight has brought them back out of the past, and...” Perhaps it was partly because he had been drinking (some special reason there must have been, for it was very seldom indeed that he betrayed his emotion), Genji at this point broke down completely and burst into a flood of tears.

Nor was he the only person in the house to weep that night. For the old Princess, seeing Genji so far increased in dignities and power since the time of Aoi’s death, could not help picturing to herself the impression that the more consequential Genji of today would undoubtedly have made upon her fastidious daughter. A year or two longer, a little more experience on either side, and all might have been well.

The matter of Yugiri and Kumoi had not been so much as mentioned during To no Chujo’s visit. Genji was by no means anxious to start the subject, for he knew that the girl’s family considered that he had been remiss in not putting in a word for her at Court, and he felt no inclination to defend himself; while Chujo, not venturing to embark upon a topic which Genji seemed deliberately to avoid, gave the impression that upon this point he still harbored a grievance. “I shall not escort you to your palace tonight,” he said to Genji. “Our joint cavalcades, suddenly let loose upon the sleeping town, would cause an uncomfortable commotion. But next time we meet here we will let it be known in advance that I am going to escort you...”

It now seemed certain that the old Princess would by the appointed day be sufficiently recovered to allow of the Initiation* taking place in her house. “On that occasion, if not before,” said Genji, “we may count on meeting again.”

It was noticed by the companions who waited for them that when Genji and To no Chujo at last reappeared they were both smiling with evident satisfaction, as though some difficult negotiation had been successfully arranged between them. What was it all about? With what new powers could To no Chujo have been invested? Many wild guesses were made, nor would it have occurred to anyone that politics had not once been mentioned between them.

The news of Tamakatsura’s whereabouts came as such a shock to To no Chujo that he was at first quite unable to decide whether he was glad or sorry at what had happened. Only one reason (not referred to by Genji in his account of the affair) could possibly have induced him to adopt the girl. Nothing had been said about restoring her to her real father, and To no Chujo was certain that under the circumstances Genji would make every possible effort to avoid doing so. If he had not openly accepted her as his concubine, it was through fear of Murasaki and the rest. Certainly it was most unfortunate (the real situation being such as To no Chujo guessed) that Genji should have insisted upon spreading this ridiculous report about the girl being his daughter. After all, in the mere fact of his taking a fancy to her there was nothing discreditable either to her or himself, and only this stupid pretence would make the attachment, should it become known, seem in any way reprehensible.

Should Genji decide to escape from his dilemma by presenting Tamakatsura at Court, she might prove (thought To no Chujo) a formidable rival to his eldest daughter, who already had difficulties enough at the Palace. But in any case, having now resumed his old relations with Genji, he was determined to let no matter of this kind endanger them, and was quite prepared to do whatever Genji seemed to expect of him.

The reconciliation took place early in the second month. The sixteenth of this month, being the first day of the Higan* Festival, seemed particularly favorable for the holding of Tamakatsura’s Initiation Ceremony. An inspection of the calendar showed that there would not be another suitable day for a long time, and as the old Princess maintained her improvement, there seemed a good chance that the ceremony would be able to take place at her house on the sixteenth.

The next time Genji visited his ward he was able to inform her that he had at last arranged the long-promised meeting with her father, and had told him, if not the whole story, at any rate as much of it as it was necessary for him to know. He seemed in the end to have chosen his time so well, and managed the disclosure with so much tact, that she felt no real father could possibly handle her affairs with more judgment and devotion, and she had no desire to change her lot. But all the same it was a weight off her mind to know that To no Chujo had been duly informed of her existence. While he was about it Genji thought that he had better tell Yugiri too, for it was awkward that he should still imagine the girl to be his sister. The news that she was not Genji’s daughter hardly came as a surprise to him, for his father’s manner towards her had in the course of the last months continually aroused his suspicion. But when he remembered the glimpse he had caught of her on the morning of the typhoon (he was obliged to admit to himself that he thought her handsomer even than the lady from whom a cruel fate divided him), for a moment he felt that he had been a fool not to guess the truth and use the opportunities that chance had provided. But no sooner had this idea crossed his mind than he rejected it with horror. Could it be that even in thought he had for an instant been disloyal to the love upon which his whole life was founded?

When the day of the ceremony came round, a messenger arrived from the Sanjo palace bearing presents from the old Princess. There was the usual lacquered box in which to lay the severed lock, and though there had been very little time for preparation, both this and the other presents were of the handsomest kind imaginable. In her letter she said: “I am not certain that it is proper* for me even to write upon such an occasion as this. I should not in any case have been able to witness the proceedings, for I am far too ill to leave my bed; and if a few presents and a letter from me are unprecedented in such a case, so too is the age which I have now reached, and it is clear that the ordinary rules must not be applied to me. In accordance with surprising and delightful information which I have just received, I long to address you as my granddaughter, but hesitate to do so except at your express command... ‘Since son and son-in-law both claim you, a double reason have I to greet you as a long-lost scion of my race.’”^†

Letter and poem were written in a very aged and trembling hand. Genji was present when the messenger arrived, having come across to Tamakatsura’s apartments to make the final arrangements for the ceremony. “The style to which she was brought up looks to us very quaint and old-fashioned,” he said, inspecting the writing; “but I have been told that in her day she was considered the best pen woman at Court. One is apt to forget that she is now, poor thing, a very old lady indeed. Look at that line. How terribly her hand shook!” Then, after reading the poem through a second time: “What ingenuity! There is in the whole poem not a single phrase which has not some special application to today’s ceremony. It would be difficult to imagine lines in which so little space was wasted,” and he smiled.

Even a man of far less hasty disposition than To no Chujo would, after such a revelation as that which had recently taken place at the old Princess’s house, have awaited the day of the Initiation Ceremony with the utmost impatience. It was evident, when the time came, that the proceedings were to be attended with every possible pomp and formality. In fact the whole complexion of the affair only served to convince To no Chujo more firmly than ever that his daughter had from the start been Genji’s mistress. In his capacity as Sponsor he was admitted behind her screens at the Hour of the Swine.* Over and above the equipment that is customary on such occasions he noticed that her dais was furnished with a magnificence such as he had never witnessed. When the main ritual was ended and food had been served behind the screen, Genji saw to it that the Great Lamp was so disposed as to illumine this corner of the room far more clearly than usual; and it was in a flood of lamplight that father and daughter now met face to face. But merely to see her was not enough; he longed to pour upon her a thousand questions concerning her own childhood and later adventures, concerning her mother’s death, and all that had led up to the present extraordinary situation. However, it was clear that for the moment any such conversation was impossible, and he had the strange experience of being called upon to tie the girdle of his daughter’s dress without having yet exchanged a single word with her. “I have not yet publicly announced that you are her father,” whispered Genji, “so please behave as though you were standing Sponsor to her as my friend.” “You need not worry about that,” whispered To no Chujo in reply; “it will be difficult enough under the best of circumstances suddenly to begin addressing her as my daughter, and at the present minute...” While the tankard was going round he added: “I am so overwhelmed by the splendor of today’s proceedings and the trouble which you have evidently taken to make them a success, that I feel it would be ungrateful of me to ask why I was not taken into your confidence before. But you will admit, I am sure, that it would be strange if I were not somewhat puzzled...” Genji made no reply.

Most of the Royal Princes were waiting in the anteroom, among them several of Tamakatsura’s suitors, who were curious to know why the two Ministers were so long in reappearing from behind the screen. Of To no Chujo’s sons, only the two eldest, Kashiwagi and Kobai, had been let into the secret. Their feelings about the matter were necessarily somewhat mixed; for with the disappointment of finding that Tamakatsura was their sister was mingled a feeling of intense relief that their courtship had hitherto remained secret. “I may tell you,” whispered Kobai, leaning across to Kashiwagi, “that I have had a very lucky escape. I was on the point of giving myself away over this. But as it is, I don’t think anyone knows about it.” “There’s something very odd about Genji,” whispered Kashiwagi in reply. “This is really the second time that he has adopted a girl apparently because he had himself taken a fancy to her, and has then pressed her into the arms of anyone who cared to take her...

Genji, as a matter of fact, overheard both these remarks, and going to To no Chujo, he said: “I must beg of you to be very careful for a little while; otherwise both our reputations are likely to suffer. Were we ordinary citizens we should only have our own consciences to satisfy, and if our mutual affairs got into rather a mess it would concern no one but ourselves. Unfortunately, however, we both of us hold positions in which the good opinion of all sorts of people (some of whom judge by standards quite different from ours) is of the greatest importance to us, and can only be disregarded at the risk of disagreeable consequences. It would be fatal, for example, if this situation were suddenly sprung upon the world in all its details. But allowed to leak out piecemeal, it will do very little harm. What matters is that people should have plenty of time to get used to one part of a scandal before the next is allowed to leak out.” “I had no intention of putting her under your wing,” replied To no Chujo; “but I must confess that it has worked out very well. In fact, it seems as though she were intended by Fate to be your child rather than mine; you may count upon me to do exactly as you think best.”

Great efforts were made to hush up for a little while longer the true facts concerning Tamakatsura’s birth. But talking about other people’s affairs is so indispensable an occupation that such efforts are commonly of little avail; and in this case it was not long before every detail was known. Being a great gossip; the Lady from Omi was soon in possession of the secret, and one day in Lady Chujo’s room, when Kashiwagi and Kobai were both present, she screamed out: “Here’s news for you! My father’s found another new daughter! What do you think of that? And she’s a luckier girl than I am, for before father found her Prince Genji said she was his daughter, and made no end of a fuss over her. And listen now, this is the queer part of it: that girl’s mother was no better than mine!” All this was blurted but at her usual high pitch, and without a thought of the effect which she was producing. Lady Chujo, upon whom these outbursts made a painful impression, did not answer. Kashiwagi thought it his duty to say severely, “It is quite true that Lady Tamakatsura is our father’s child. There were reasons why it was more convenient that she should be brought up by Prince Genji. But it is undesirable that this should be talked about. I cannot understand how you came to hear of it at all; and still more surprised that you should regard it as a piece of news that can be shouted all over the house. However, as I know by experience, several of our gentlewomen are particularly bad at holding their tongues, and one of them might possibly have overheard...” The Lady from Omi laughed boisterously: “Well, I never!” she said. “What a silly fuss to make! Why, no one talks of anything else! And look here! They say she thinks she’s going to be Lady-of-the-Bedchamber. Now listen to me all of you. I wouldn’t ever have come to fetch and carry for my sister in these grand rooms and do all the jobs that the rest of you thought yourselves too good for, if I hadn’t been told she would put in a word for me when she got the chance. I could be Lady-of-the-Bedchamber tomorrow, yes, so I could, if my sister didn’t choose to let a stranger get off with the job.” This outburst provoked peals of laughter. “I don’t know why you should have got it into your head,” said someone at last, “that if there was a vacancy for the post of Lady-of-the-Bedchamber, the choice should lie between you and Lady Tamakatsura.” “It’s no good your trying to make fun of me,” she shouted angrily. “I know quite well what it is: you think I’m not fit to live among such grand people as you. And whose fault is it, pray, that I came at all? Master Kashiwagi here thought it was a very clever thing to take a poor girl away from her village and make a joke of her in this fine house. Yes, you’re very grand people, Prime Ministers and I don’t know what! I do you reverence...” And with this she retreated to a corner, stepping backwards in mock obeisance.

Kashiwagi surveyed her as she crouched panting in her corner. She was not such a bad-looking creature. But at the present moment, with her face contorted by rage and her eyeballs extended to twice their proper size, she cut so fantastic a figure that he was obliged to agree with her own dictum: it was indeed a mistake on his part ever to have brought her here. He now made vain efforts to calm her, which were seconded by his brother Kobai, who said: “It is quite true that our sister Lady Chujo has a certain influence in such matters, and I am sure she will do her best for you. But you must first calm yourself down a little. At the present you look for the world like the Sun Goddess,* when she ‘stamped on the hard stones of her courtyard till the chips flew like snow.’ Be patient a little while longer, and you will find that Lady Chujo is most anxious to do what she can for you.” “If you go on like this,” Kashiwagi could not help observing, “we shall all hope that, like the Sun Goddess, you will end by shutting yourself up in a cave.” At this point he and Kobai withdrew.

“Your brothers would never dare come here and make fun of me like this unless you put them up to it,” Omi now gasped to Lady Chujo between her tears. But she still did not despair of winning her sister’s good graces, and to that end she now flung herself with alacrity into all the odd jobs which the charwomen and scullery-maids would not touch. She could be seen at any hour of the day running at full speed hither and thither (but generally in the wrong direction) with a zest never equaled in the annals of this ancient house. Whenever she met her sister she called out to her: “Now you will recommend me, won’t you, for that post at Court?” Lady Chujo resented this continual persecution, but thought it better to make no reply.

The story of Omi’s misguided aspiration reached To no Chujo’s ears and diverted him extremely. He went straight to Lady Chujo’s apartments and called for the Lady of Omi to be sent to him. She was not far off, and hearing her own name uttered she at once replied with a loud whoop and came flouncing into the room. “You seem to have plenty to do nowadays,” he said. “If you put the same energy into this Palace work that I hear you are asking for, you would certainly be setting a new precedent! But why did you not tell me before that you wanted this place? I have only this moment heard about it.” Her father at any rate was not making fun of her, she said to herself with great satisfaction. “I did hope you would hear about it,” she answered To no Chujo; “but Madam my sister or someone else promised me they would tell you, and I thought it was all in safe hands. Indeed, I’d counted on it so, that” when I found out this Lady Tamakatsura was after my place and everyone seemed to think she’d get it, I felt like the poor tinker who dreamed of millions, and was so put about I didn’t know, as the saying goes, whether my hands grew out of my arms or my chest.” There was no denying that she expressed herself with considerable vigor. To no Chujo found it hard to maintain his gravity, but he succeeded in saying at last: “I wish you had taken me into your confidence. If only I had known that you wanted this post I could have put in for it before there was any other candidate in the field. Of course Lady Tamakatsura has considerable claims. But I am sure that if I had known in good time I could easily have convinced His Majesty that you were something not to be missed. Even now I dare say it is not too late. You had better make haste and compose your letter of application, and write it out in your best hand. When His Majesty sees that it is full (as no doubt it will be) of conceits from the Long Poems and other such archaic compositions, he will certainly give your case very serious consideration. For he is particularly open to impressions of that sort.” She had not the least idea that she was being made game of by a heartless and facetious parent. “If that’s all I have got to do,” she answered gaily, “I shall manage famously. I can make Japanese poems one after another; there’s no stopping me. I get a bit mixed up about these terms of respect. But if you’ll just give me a little help with those, I’ll manage to work in something nice about you into the bargain.” So saying she rubbed her hands with delight at the prospect of being allowed to exercise her wonderful powers of composition. The gentlemen who were in attendance upon Lady Chujo heard the whole of this conversation, and nearly died of suppressed laughter. Several were afflicted by so terrible a fit of the giggles that they had to be removed from the room. Lady Chujo herself, so far from being amused, merely went hot and cold all over while this painful exhibition was in progress. To no Chujo insisted upon treating the matter as a joke. “Whenever I feel at all depressed,” he said to Lady Omi, “I shall come to you for distraction. You are an unfailing source of entertainment.” It was, however, said at Court that To no Chujo was in reality very much distressed by the girl’s silliness, and only made a joke of it in order to cover up his disappointment.

Footnotes

* A religious ceremony which took place in the twelfth month. The Oharano shrine was situated in the hills to the west of Kyoto.

† Genji’s palace.

‡ 5 A.M.

* Murasaki’s father.

* Perhaps the anniversary of Lady Rokujo’s death?

† This Royal Visit is so much more splendid than any previous one that precedents do not count. There is a play of words: mi-yuki means “deep snow,” but also “Royal Visit.”

* Again there is a play on the two senses of mi-yuki.

† Lady Chujo, To no Chujo’s eldest daughter.

‡ Clan god of the Fujiwaras, the family to which To no Chujo and consequently Tamakatsura belonged.

* The sponsor was usually the father; but also sometimes an uncle, brother-in-law, or the like. The Initiation, frequently mentioned in the Tale, was a religious ceremony corresponding to our Confirmation.

* Genji is of course referring to his sequestration of Tamakatsura.

† See Part I, p. 18 Seq.

* See above, p. 547.

* In Sanskrit, Paramita. The festival is held in autumn and spring, apparently in Japan only.

* She had taken Buddhist orders, and this was a Shinto occasion.

† An ingenious poem in which every word has some allusion to the ceremony in hand. For example futa = “both” and “cover of the box”; kakego = “hidden child” and “nest of boxes, fitting one into the other.”

* 9 P.M.

* When the God Susano-o returned from the Nether World, his sister the Sun Goddess was enraged at his presumption and “stamped on the stones of her courtyard till the chips flew like snow.” Later on she was so much upset by her brother’s conduct that she retired to a cavern and the Earth was plunged in darkness.